Scars part 2

"There was no semen present, but that doesn't mean anything. The guy could have used a condom," Amanda reported, grim-faced, when Mark entered the path lab a few hours later. He had stayed with Jesse in the recovery room, accompanied him to the ICU where he would spend the night before, hopefully, being moved to an ordinary room the next day and had only left him albeit grudgingly when he had received Amanda's call.
Now he sagged against the workbench, rubbing his hand across eyes gritty with the lack of sleep. At first he had hoped that the news Amanda would have to give him would be definitive, but it seemed that nothing was going to be easy with this situation.
It occurred to him now somewhat belatedly, he had to admit - that no-one had questioned whether he should even have performed surgery on Jesse. They should have done so, he realised now. He hadn't slept properly in days, too caught up in the investigation into Jesse's disappearance and his own deep worry over the young doctor's welfare. He was dead on his feet and his physical and nervous exhaustion could have had serious repercussions for his young friend.
Only the fact that he was Head of Internal medicine and the only other person who could have seriously questioned his authority was the one who lay, insensible, on the table in the OR had prevented him from being replaced as Jesse's surgeon.
Guilt swept through him at the cold reality of the situation. By not even allowing anyone else to question his responsibility for Jesse's care, he had been risking the life of his patient his friend his almost son.
He shuddered violently at the realisation. Jesse could have died under the scalpel he had been wielding. He hadn't thank god. But he could have.
Dear god, what had he been thinking?
The truth was he hadn't.
In his efforts to ensure Jesse's safety and keep confidential the nature of his injuries, he had flouted every rule in place for the safety and well-being of patients.
He had been selfish and arrogant and only now was he appreciating the full scope of his own actions.
Jesse was not just his friend. He had never been `just a friend'. He was the youngest member of Mark's small family and as such was accorded all the protection and indulgence that entailed.
Mark's `protection' had, on this occasion, been fraught with danger. He should have handed off to another surgeon. Someone who hadn't been on his feet for almost five straight days.
Yet the very thought of relinquishing responsibility for Jesse's welfare to someone else
"Mark? Mark?!"
He slowly realised that Amanda was trying to attract his attention had been trying to do so for some considerable time if the alarm in her voice was anything to go by. His thoughts had wandered dangerously off course over the last few minutes.
"I'm sorry, honey," he said, wearily. "What were you saying?"
"Did you hear me?" she asked, deep concern etched on her beautiful face. "You haven't said anything since I told you about my analysis."
He nodded. "I heard you," he replied, despondently. "I was just so hoping "
"That it wouldn't prove to be what you suspected it to be?" she completed the sentence for him as his voice trailed away. Heaving a huge sigh, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Mark it wouldn't matter what caused it. You know that. It would still be termed as rape, not just indecent assault."
"I know."
She studied him appraisingly. If she thought he had looked bad before, now he seemed to have aged overnight. He also looked dead on his feet as though he was going to collapse at any moment. "Mark, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he said, automatically. It wasn't true, of course. He was very far from being okay. "I'll be all right," he amended, smiling gamely at her.
"Steve went back to the precinct," she said, with a sad smile. "I wondered if you knew, if you'd had a chance to tell him how Jesse was "
"Yes, yes, I did," he interjected, trying to allay her concern. "I called him after I came out of the OR. He'd been called back by Captain Newman. They've been interviewing the man they found at the scene. He's going to let us know what they find out."
"And how is Jesse?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper as she voiced the question she didn't want to ask.
He swallowed hard. "As well as can be expected," he replied. "He's stable and we managed to stop the bleeding. All we can do now is let him rest, continue to give him fluids and hope that he makes it out of this in one piece."
"And how likely is that?" she wanted to ask, but didn't. Mark looked worse now, if it were possible, than he had when Jesse had been missing. The discovery that he had been treated so inhumanly, so sadistically had devastated them all. The only good news so far was that he was alive.
"I have to get back to him," he said, rising to his feet. As he did so, he swayed violently, the world tilting on his axis. He heard Amanda's voice as if from far away, as darkness veered in from both sides and the floor rushed up to meet him.
Then he knew no more.

He awoke several hours later, confused and disoriented. He stared up at the ceiling for several minutes, trying to ascertain what had happened. Then it all came rushing back to him. The surgery; Amanda's call; her news that there had been no semen present in the rape test; her concern and finally finally
"Jesse!" he exclaimed, flinging back the bedclothes as he prepared to leap out of the bed. He paid for that action with a sudden surge of nausea as the room spun around him in a dizzying vortex.
"And where do you think you're going?" demanded a stern voice. Amanda.
"Jesse," he gasped. "I have to get to him!"
"You're going nowhere for the moment, mister," she decreed. "Mark, you collapsed in my pathology lab last night. Or don't you remember? Do you realise how scared I was? You clutched your chest as you went down. I thought you were having a heart attack!"
He sank back down on the bed, eyeing her soberly. "I'm sorry, Amanda," he apologised. "I wasn't having a heart attack. At least I don't think I was was I?"
Amanda had been terrified when she had seen her friend drop to the floor like a stone, clasping his left side. She had been convinced that the pressure had been too much; that it had led to a coronary. And coming on top of her fears for Jesse, it had been too much. In tears, she had fumbled for the phone to call an ER team even whilst carrying out a rudimentary examination herself.
She had spent the night wandering between the two rooms. Jesse was still unconscious and would remain that way for some hours yet. Mark had merely collapsed due to exhaustion and stress. His heart had been fine.
But the incident had not only frightened her to death, it had angered her. How dare he put his own health at risk that way? He was an experienced doctor, for god's sake. He knew better! He had no right to do this to those who loved him! Didn't he think they had enough to worry about?
Not that she had told Steve about it. Once she had been told that Mark's heart was fine, she didn't think it was necessary. She justified her actions by telling herself that he was just getting the rest he needed and as long as he was going to be okay, then Steve didn't need the added strain of knowing that his father had blacked out.
Of course, if he ever found out, there would be all hell to pay
"No, you didn't have a heart attack," she finally said, in answer to his question. "But that doesn't mean you won't if you don't look after yourself. Mark Sloan, I could kill you myself for doing what you've done to yourself! You need to look after yourself! Don't you know how many people depend on you? Need you? Love you?" It was as far as she could get before the emotions that were always near the surface lately got the better of her and she broke down, covering her face with her hands as she sank onto the bed next to him. "Oh, M .. Mark, I was so sc scared!" she sobbed.
Now he felt truly mortified. Reaching out a hand, he touched her cheek. "I'm so sorry, honey," he said, in a low voice. "Please forgive me. I've just it was just "
"You needed to do something to find Jesse, I know," she whispered, wiping her eyes as she managed a shaky, forgiving smile for him. "I love him too, Mark. But he needs us now he's going to need us for a long time. You can't be there for him if you've worked yourself so far into exhaustion that you're ill too."
"I know," he admitted, shamefacedly. "I realise that. I Amanda, is he awake yet?"
She shook her head. "No," she said. "You still have time to have something to eat, get yourself together and get dressed. Just promise me you'll take things easy from now on?"
He clasped the hand she held out to him. "I promise," he vowed.

Three hours later, Mark was back holding vigil at Jesse's bedside. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch the younger man, even though he hardly dared to believe that he was finally safe and here with them. What if his touch should wake Jesse up and his young friend should shy away from him? It might well happen after everything he had been through. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt him further so he simply sat there, drinking in the sight of the young doctor, thanking providence and all that was holy for his return.
Some time later he spotted the first signs of Jesse's return to consciousness. He had found a comfortable spot in the chair and was on the verge of dozing off when a small moan captured his attention. Sitting bolt upright, his gaze riveted on the mobile features, he waited patiently as Jesse broke through the miasma in his mind to regain his senses.
He tried not to dwell on the implications of what had happened to his young friend and what his emotional reaction would be to it all as he watched the long, dark eyelashes flutter on the bruised cheeks. It was sufficient that he was waking up for now. Everything else could be dealt with as and when it happened.
Another low groan escaped the dry, cracked lips. Then slowly, infinitesimally slowly, Jesse blinked once, twice, three times until a hint of the deepest blue became visible and the blond head slowly turned in his direction.
"Hey," he said, softly, smiling down at his friend. "Jesse, can you hear me?"
"Mmmmm" Jesse murmured, gazing groggily up at his mentor with confusion evident in those azure orbs. "M Mk?"
His voice was barely audible and it was obviously an effort to speak. Reaching over to the nightstand, Mark filled a cup with the ice chips that were stored in a container there. He took one out, placing it against Jesse's mouth.
"Here you go, Jess," he said. "Suck that. It will help."
Obediently, Jesse followed his instructions, a look of contentment on his face as the moisture slipped down his throat, easing the tightness there. "M more," he croaked as he finished the first one.
Obligingly, Mark placed another one between his lips, watching as Jesse sucked on that, too. The smile never wavered. It was an expression of utter pleasure.
"Okay?" he asked as, finally, the younger man finished the second ice chip.
Jesse nodded. He glanced around, frowning slightly. "Hosp hospital?" he grated out.
"Yes," Mark said, simply. "You're going to be just fine, Jess."
Unexpectedly, tears filled Jesse's eyes. "I I di't think I was gonna get outta there," he admitted, fearfully.
Mark took hold of his hand. It was instinctive and he didn't even realise he was doing it. "I know," he said, affectionately. "Jess "
"They they hurt me, Mark."
The confession almost broke his heart. "Jesse "
"They they beat me up so bad " Jesse's voice was distant, as was his expression as he remembered what they had done to him. "They kept asking me where it was."
Mark frowned. "Where what was?"
"I don't know!" came the despairing response. "I I couldn't tell them! I didn't I didn't know that they were talking about! So they they kept hurting me, Mark. I tried to be I tried to be strong. I knew I knew you'd be looking for me."
"And we did," the older man confirmed, not even realising that he was crying, too. "We never stopped, Jess. We never would have stopped till we'd found you. You do know that, don't you?"
Jesse nodded, squeezing the hand that held his so firmly. "I know," he whispered. "M Mark?"
"Yes, Jesse?"
"They they they hurt me down there."
The confession had obviously taken what little bit of strength he had as his tears spilled over, pouring down his cheeks and he sobbed softly, little cries being torn out of his abused throat.
Mark threw caution to the wind, enveloping Jesse in his arms, stroking the soft blond hair as Jesse buried his head in the older man's chest, utterly inconsolable.

Some considerable time later, as Jesse's sobs died away and a series of soft hiccups took their place, Mark gently lowered him back down to the bed, regarding him sadly. "Jesse, I am so sorry," he whispered. "If we had only known where you were sooner. If we had only had some warning, we could have found you. You wouldn't have had to go through all of that. My god, can you ever forgive us for letting them do that to you?"
Jesse stared at him, his brow furrowed in a tiny frown. "Mark?" he queried, softly. "Mark, why are you apologising? S'not your fault. S'nobody's fault. I just I don't know why still don't understand what they wanted."
"They gave you no clue?"
He shook his head. "I just I wanted to tell them specially when they Mark, did did they do much damage?"
The older man stared at him, completely lost for words. "I "
"They they kicked me," Jesse elaborated. "Wasn't wasn't just a punch. I it hurt so much. Threw up they laughed. Mark it was awful."
"Wh .. what?"
"My my you know?" Jesse coloured, pointing vaguely with his hand to his groin area. Mark suddenly realised what he was referring to.
"You're going to be just fine, Jesse," he said, firmly. "There's no lasting damage. I promise."
A sigh of relief escaped the younger man and he managed a small smile. "Thank god," he breathed.
Mark studied him a moment. He had to know "Jess?"
"Hmmm?"
"What happened after after they did that to you?"
A shudder ran the length of the diminutive frame. "Beat me up again the next day," he declared very quietly. "Held me against the wall so so they could get to me better."
Mark swallowed. "And?" he prompted.
"Couldn't couldn't breathe," he went on. "Felt sick `n dizzy `n think I threw up again. I I pleaded with them to stop but they just laughed."
"Oh, Jesse " Mark didn't want to hear this, but he had felt he had to ask, as the litany of brutality continued.
"One guy ring sliced my neck," Jesse said, softly, eyes widening with horror as he remembered "thought I was gonna bleed to death. Remember lookin' up at him and then someone hit me on the back of the head. Next thing I remember is waking up here."
"What?"
"I don't Mark, what is it?" Jesse was alarmed by the expression of shock on his friend's face. Had Mark kept something about his condition from him? Was he really going to be all right or had he been lied to?
"Nothing nothing," Mark hurried to assure him. "It's all right, Jess. It's fine. I promise. I just did you know that they had you for nearly five days?"
He nodded. "One of `em he gave me some water once or twice," he said. "But they wouldn't let him do it again. Think he felt sorry for me."
`Thank god', Mark thought silently. Had it not been for that one semi-saviour, Jesse would probably have died from dehydration. He had been as close as Mark wanted to see him come to meeting his maker as it was.
The younger man's eyelids were beginning to flicker and it was obvious that he was exhausted. "You need your rest," Mark said, idly stroking one bruised arm. "Go to sleep, son. I'll be right here beside you. You're safe now, Jess. No-one is ever going to harm you again."
`Think he means that,' mused Jesse as he obeyed his mentor, closing his eyes and slipping easily back into slumber.
Waiting until he was sure Jesse was asleep, Mark rose, padding softly to the door and opening it. He walked down the corridor a little way, then sagged against the wall, hiding his head in his hands as he sobbed silently. `He doesn't remember! Either that or he was unconscious when it happened. Either way he doesn't remember! Thank god."
But was it really going to be that easy?

"He doesn't remember anything? Nothing at all?"
Steve stared incredulously at his father as Mark repeated to him and Amanda what Jesse had told him.
"No," said the older man. "He said someone hit him on the head and then he lost consciousness. To be honest, I'm not sure if that's true or not. We did find a knot on the back of his head which corresponds with a blow that would probably render him unconscious. He was also suffering dehydration and starvation. He was probably delirious and unaware of what was happening toward the end if he was conscious at all."
"But?" Steve prompted his father.
"But he could be blocking it out," Mark admitted, gloomily. "If he is "
"Then there's a chance that he'll remember," Amanda whispered in a voice filled with dread. "Oh, Mark !"
"It's possible," he confirmed. "In fact, it's more than likely. If he was awake and aware when that particular assault took place then he will remember at some stage. It's just a question of when."
"Jesus!" Steve fell into the chair, his head sinking into his hands. He had returned to the hospital after his interrogation of the prisoner. His attorney had showed up shortly after his incarceration at the precinct and all they had gotten out of him was the fact that he didn't know what they were talking about. He was lying, of course. He had known where Jesse was, had told them, in fact, under duress, but now he was maintaining a stubborn silence and it was driving Steve crazy.
When he had come back to the hospital in the hopes of seeing Jesse, his father had taken him aside and ushered him into the doctors' lounge, where Amanda was waiting. That was when he had dropped his bombshell.
He was shaking, he realised. He wasn't sure if it was exhaustion, the continued stress, or the news about Jesse. He realised that it could even be a combination of all three. God knew, he needed some sleep soon otherwise he was going to collapse. He wasn't sure how his father was coping under the strain. He knew for a fact that the older man hadn't been to bed since Jesse had been kidnapped and then he had been in on the rescue and had operated. Hours had gone by since then a whole day in fact; Jesus, where was the time going? and Mark Sloan was still on his feet. Maybe he should suggest that his dad get some rest now that Jesse was safe.
Safe. That was a relative term. Steve had had a guard placed on his friend's door. The kidnappers weren't just going to let him alone now that he had been rescued. They had gone to extraordinary lengths to capture him in the first place. They had subjected him to the most abominable treatment. He obviously hadn't told them what they needed to know hell, he didn't know what they wanted of him! but he could identify them.
Once he was awake.
Steve only hoped and prayed that the interrogation to which he would have to subject his friend wouldn't trigger the memory that his father seemed to suspect Jesse was suppressing. He already felt responsible for what the young doctor had undergone. He didn't think he could cope with knowing that he was responsible for awakening something best left buried.

"He's really not well enough for this, Steve."
The detective sighed, heavily. They stood outside Jesse's room. He had spiked a temperature during the night and Mark was treating him with an aggressive course of antibiotics. Steve had been reluctant to carry out the questioning in the first place. All he really wanted to do was go in there and just be with his friend. Something he hadn't had a chance to do since they had liberated him from the hellhole in which he had been imprisoned. In fact, he had not even seen Jesse since his father had rushed him off to surgery the previous day. After his near collapse in the ER he had been called back to the precinct. Cheryl had driven them there, casting continual glances of concern at her partner on the way. He had finally had enough and yelled at her.
It hadn't made him feel any better.
He had felt worse when their prisoner's attorney had shown up, refusing to allow him to answer questions. He had hoped that they might get all the evidence they needed from him. That way he could have avoided what he was about to do.
So here he was, in his capacity as a cop, about to interrogate the one person who didn't need this right now. It made him feel sick.
"I wish I didn't have to do this, Dad," he said, unhappily. "But we have to get these guys. It's the only way to ensure Jesse's safety."
"You think I don't know that?" snapped his father. He immediately regretted his sharp words as his son regarded him in hurt surprise. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just I don't know what this will do to him, Steve. The last thing I want to do is open up wounds that are best left alone." `Even though you yourself tried to probe those wounds yesterday,' his conscience chastised him.
Steve sighed, heavily. "Dad, that's the one thing that terrifies me. What if I mean, if he doesn't remember and something I say prompts him to god, I just I just don't know how I'd live with that."
"I know." The older man's voice had descended into a whisper as he stared into the room, where the lone occupant was shifting restlessly beneath the sheets. The fever didn't seem to be abating and, even more worryingly, Jesse's urinary output had diminished alarmingly over the past few hours. Mark was waiting on the results of tests to ascertain if it was merely a kidney infection or something more sinister. "Just be careful, son. That's all we can ask."
Steve smiled. It didn't reach his eyes and was totally devoid of humour. "I will."

Jesse's eyes flickered open as Steve took a seat beside him, his father maintaining a respectful distance at the window. . He smiled wanly at his friend and didn't protest when the older man took one slender hand and held it firmly between his own. That, more than anything, told Steve not only how sick he was, but also gave him some insight into Jesse's state of mind. His normally independent spirit seemed to have temporarily fled, replaced by the need to be cherished and protected.
It was hardly surprising, given what he'd been through. Steve only hoped it wasn't indicative of something deeper and more disturbing. "Hey, pal," he said, softly. "How're you doing?"
"'M okay," croaked the younger man. "S' good to see you, Steve."
"Not half as good as it is to see you, Jess," replied the other man, warmly. "I hear you've got a fever."
Jesse nodded feebly. "Uh-huh. Mark thinks it might be a kidney infection."
"Well, you just do everything he tells you, you hear me?" his friend instructed him, sternly. "We want you well again. This hospital and BBQ Bob's can't run themselves, ya know."
That elicited a more genuine smile and even a brief giggle. It was good to hear and warmed the hearts of the two older men.
Steve then took a deep breath. "Listen, Jess," he said, soberly. "I've gotta ask you some questions. I didn't wanna do this, but I have to know. Once I've asked `em, though, I'll leave you alone."
"You you're not coming back?" Jesse looked profoundly disturbed at that prospect and Steve mentally kicked himself for giving him the wrong impression.
"No, no, that isn't what I meant," he assured him. "I meant I'd leave you alone as a cop. As your friend well, you try getting rid of me!"
"You you won't go?"
The older man swallowed hard. He had never, ever heard his friend sound so fragile, so needy. It hurt his heart to hear it now. Those bastards were going to pay dearly for what they had done. "I'll be here just as long as you need me, Jess," he promised. One hand relinquished its hold on the slender fingers, to reach up and stroke his cheek. The skin beneath his flesh was burning and he couldn't contain his gasp of horror.
"St Steve?"
"It's It's nothing," he reassured the younger man, sliding an anxious glance up to his father. The older man nodded knowingly, sadly, in response. Returning his attention to his friend he realised he had to get this over as quickly as possible. Jesse needed his rest and this was going to tax every bit of his remaining strength. "Jess, what do you remember about the men who kidnapped you?"
Jesse looked at his friend, saw the resolute expression on his face, tempered by the concern in his eyes. He sighed, deeply. "Nothing," he admitted. "I I didn't see their faces, Steve. It it was real dark in that room and the only light came when they opened the door."
"Backlighting," murmured Steve. If that was the case, then all Jesse would have seen would be silhouettes. It made his job a lot tougher.
"Yeah," confirmed the younger man. "They they were bigger than me. A lot heavier, and there were there were three of them." His voice faltered as a memory suddenly flashed into his mind
"You're gonna tell us what we want to know, you little runt!" The larger of the three men advanced on him, looming over him menacingly. The next instant he was hauled to his feet, flung back against the wall and before he could crumple to the floor was flattened against it, held immobile by the man's meaty grip on his throat.
He couldn't breathe and his feet couldn't gain purchase on the floor, dangling as they were several inches above it. He panicked, forgetting his vow to be strong as death stared him in the face.
"I don' know what you're talkin'' about!" he managed.
That earned him another blow to his midsection by one of the other guys. The impact sent waves of shock around his body, adding to the throbbing pain that had been his constant companion for the last few hours.
"I'll ask ya again!" rasped the man who was holding him by his throat. "Where is it?"
He couldn't tell them what they wanted to know. He didn't know what they were talking about. He shook his head wildly as much as he could with the hand tightening on his throat, cutting off his air, threatening to crush his windpipe.
"Okay, boys, let's teach him another lesson."
There followed a beating even worse than the others. He was kicked and punched, his head slapped from side to side, till he felt blood running out of his nose. A booted foot caught him another blow to the kidneys and he cried out in agony. But he couldn't escape. He was restrained by two huge hands, unable to even defend himself or protect his most sensitive areas.
When they finally left him, he was a writhing heap of agony on the floor, gasping for breath, crying breathlessly from the pain.
That was when he knew that he was going to die there.

"Jesse! Jesse!"
He came back to awareness to discover Steve and Mark hovering over him, their faces filled with alarm.
"S sorry!" he gasped. "F flashback .. I I'm sorry,"
Mark and Steve exchanged glances. `What kind of flashback?' was the question uppermost in both minds. Before they could voice it however, Jesse was speaking again.
"It I remembered one of the beatings," he told them, haltingly. "It it was awful. They just wouldn't stop. They kept asking me where `it' was but I didn't have any idea what they were talking about. I .. tried telling them they just didn't listen .." His voice wavered as it became fainter, finally disappearing altogether as he lay back, his eyes closed, trying to stop the tears which had sprung to his eyes.
Steve's jaw tightened as he saw the effort Jesse was making to retain his composure, his resolve to get the guys who had done this to his friend strengthening in tandem with his horror at what Jesse had been forced to endure. "It's okay, Jess," he whispered, leaning over the diminutive figure. "It's gonna be okay, I promise."
Tear-starred eyes flew open, to meet his gaze. Trust and pain and horror were evident in their azure depths. "I was so scared, Steve. I thought I was gonna die. Thought no-one would ever find me that you'd never find me." A sob escaped him, then another, and he turned his head away, swiping away his tears in embarrassment, thoroughly ashamed of his own weakness.
Mark felt every iota of Jesse's pain and terror. He had lived it with him through the nightmare the younger doctor had suffered shortly after his tortured confession to the older man not a few hours earlier. He had been dozing on the chair at Jesse's bedside when he had heard the small mewls of protest tear themselves out of the younger man. He had started thrashing weakly, curling himself up into a fetal position the one he had adopted during his captivity in order to try to avoid the blows and kicks. It hadn't worked then, it had obviously not worked whilst he was reliving it. It had taken Mark some considerable time to get through to him, to convince him that he was safe, in the hospital and that he was not alone.
Jesse had looked so mortified at the knowledge that his mentor and friend the man he respected above all others had borne witness to his torment. He had apologised over and over, despite Mark's protests and had only stopped when he had drifted into a restless sleep once again.
Then he had started with a fever and lower back pain. Mark knew that the latter was probably masking any residual pain from the violation of his rectum and couldn't help being grateful for small mercies. He had done a urinalysis and in the meantime increased the dosage of Jesse's IV antibiotics which he had been placed on in order to combat the infection that had been raging through his body due to the untreated external wounds. If it was pyelonephritis, then the antibiotics he was being given should contain it. If it was something else
All they could do was wait till the results came through. The lab was backed up and they had promised they would try to rush it through but had other tests to run on other patients.
"Jesse, I wasn't gonna stop till I found you," Steve was saying now, his voice gentle, one hand stroking the blond head that was still turned away, avoiding his gaze. His words inadvertently echoed those of his father from the previous day and Mark smiled, sadly.
"I I know," sniffed Jesse. He shifted uncomfortably, moving away from his friend slightly. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he managed to compose himself and half turned to face Steve again. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"You've been through a horrendous ordeal, Jesse," Mark said, softly, giving him a reassuring smile. "You're bound to be feeling the after-effects. Plus you're still not entirely well. Give it time."
The younger doctor nodded miserably. "I wish I could tell you more, Steve," he said, his voice low and sombre. "I just didn't see them."
"Is there anything you remember about them, Jess?" Steve kept his tone deliberately even, hoping that if he remained calm, it would help to soothe his friend too. "Voices, build, anything?"
The young doctor closed his eyes, trying to picture his captors without initiating another flashback. "I they were all really big," he murmured. "'Bout six foot, maybe more. Muscular, too and and I think one of them came from the South he had a distinct twang to his voice."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"Um the one who who hit me most he had on a ring. I don't know what it was but it felt thick and I think it had some kind of pattern on it."
"D'you know what it was?" Steve questioned.
He shook his head. "No. I never saw it. No wait, I remember once, when one of the others was holding me down and he drew back his fist it glinted in the light coming from the doorway. It was there was some kind of star design or maybe a sun? Something like that."
It was something. Not much but anything was better than nothing. "If I got a police sketch artist in here do you think you could give him a description to work with?" asked Steve.
Jesse nodded, opening his eyes again. His friend was smiling down at him. "I'm sorry, Steve," he apologised. "I wish I could remember more."
"Hey, don't sweat it, pal." The older man's voice was soothing. "You did just fine. We have a description to work off."
"D'you d'you think you'll be able to catch them?"
The question nearly broke Steve's heart. Jesse was terrified and trying so hard not to show it. He wished he could have come here with the news that they already had the men who had done this to him in custody. His friend was having to walk a difficult enough road to traverse it with the added knowledge that the men who had captured him were still out there somewhere was only placing extra strain on his already fragile mental state. "We'll get `em, Jess," he said. It was no lie. He would leave no stone unturned in his quest to find whoever had done this to the younger man. He wanted nothing more than to have Jesse feel safe again to have restored to him his vibrant, impish friend instead of this crushed and fractured soul, who was trying so hard to be brave against all the odds.
"Okay," said Jesse, in the smallest of voices.
It hurt both Sloans to see the broken young man to which their friend had been reduced. He was striving so hard not to dwell on his imprisonment and the torment he had suffered, but it continued to prey on his mind regardless. Every stab of pain from his injuries reminded him of the five wretched days he had spent in captivity, five days during which he had gradually lost all hope of ever seeing his friends again, despite his assertion to Mark that he had known they would come for him.
Whilst that had been true enough, toward the end, he had become convinced that by the time they found him it would be far, far too late. His boundless energy and seemingly endless optimism had been ripped out of him by the endless beatings and the vindictive laughter that had accompanied them.
He might be safe now from harm, but it would take him a long time to accept and recover his former equilibrium.
If he ever did.

Jesse's eyelids were drooping by the time they had finished the questioning session. Mark, noting this, gestured to his son to put an end to his visit. Reluctantly because he didn't want to leave him now that he had see him, Steve complied. Laying a gentle hand on the bruised shoulder, careful not to touch any of the abused skin, he whispered a fond `goodnight' to the younger man.
Jesse grinned dopily up at him, then his eyes fluttered closed and he drifted away.

"He seems so fragile, Dad," Steve commented, despondently, as they exited the room and the older man closed the door.
"I know," he replied, his voice equally sombre. "He's been through a terrible ordeal, Steve and he's also very sick right now."
"But the antibiotics you're giving him are helping him, right?"
"They should be. But I need the results of the tests to ascertain that it is a kidney infection and that we're giving him the correct dosage."
Steve's eyes strayed toward the diminutive form. He looked so small and lost amidst the IV's and lines that were replenishing blood and fluids and monitoring his condition. "I just hope there's someone to hold me back when I catch `em," he growled. "Because seeing what they've done to him, hearing from Jesse the pleasure they took in it They're sick, Dad. Sick and sadistic."
"You won't get any argument from me," declared Mark, grimly. "Are you going back to the precinct now?"
"No." Steve shook his head. "I'm heading home to get some sleep if that's possible, whilst those bastards are still out there."
"Well, you need it, son," said Mark, laying a fatherly hand of concern on the broad shoulder. "You've been working practically non stop since this whole thing began. You won't do Jesse any good if you collapse."
The words were an echo to the ones Amanda had used on him hours earlier, but if he recognised the irony in them he didn't let it show on his face. He wasn't about to admit to Steve that he couldn't take his own advice.
"Yeah." Steve yawned thereby substantiating Mark's words. "Okay, I'll see you later at home?"
The older man nodded. Of course he had no intention of leaving Jesse. Not whilst the young man needed him so badly. He had let him down once when he had allowed him to be captured. He wasn't about to compound that error by leaving him alone again.

"Mark Sloan, go home!"
Mark nearly leapt out of his skin at the sudden command. He had been dozing on the chair next to Jesse's bed the nurses had started nicknaming it `Doc Sloan's seat' and hadn't heard anyone come in.
Amanda was standing in the doorway, arms folded, scowling in his direction. He was very fond of Amanda. She was practically a surrogate daughter. And she was very even-tempered most of the time. But she had a hell of a temper when roused.
And she was very roused right now.
She was even tapping her foot impatiently on the floor.
He had witnessed `hurricane Amanda' on a few previous occasions.
She was very scary.
He had learned over the years that the wisest thing to do when Amanda Bentley was on the warpath was to stay the hell out of her way.
Preferably in on another floor
in another building.
In another city, if necessary.
That way you avoided the fallout when she started in on the person responsible for her bad mood.
Unfortunately this time she was unleashing all her not incomparable wrath in his direction.
He cringed.
"Uh hello, Amanda," he said, smiling weakly, leaning back as she started to advance toward him.
"'Hello?' she echoed, nastily. "Hello? That's all you can say?"
His smile wavered. She was getting closer and, whilst he had never actually witnessed nor even heard of Amanda hitting someone, her thunderous expression did not bode well for his continued physical well-being. "How are you doing, honey?" he tried.
Her scowl darkened into a glower. She was truly magnificent in full warpath mode. She was also pretty terrifying. Mark would much rather face a hoard of ruthless murderers than Amanda in her present mood. "Go home!" she ordered him, again. "You collapsed not a few hours ago. You haven't rested properly for the last five days and yet you told Steve that he should get some sleep. You have some nerve, mister!"
He wanted to retort that he used to have a nerve but she had pretty much scared it out of him but he decided the wisest thing to do was to keep his counsel. He didn't want to antagonise her any further if that were even possible!
"Jesse " he said, feebly.
"Jesse is asleep," she pointed out, sharply. "Which is what you should be. At home. In bed. Not on a chair which most people can't even sit in comfortably for an hour, let alone get anything that resembles sleep in it!"
"But I " he protested.
"Not another word!" she interjected, harshly. "Go home! Now!"
Meekly, Mark rose to his feet. He groaned involuntarily as he did so, putting a hand to his spine. She was right. Those chairs were not designed for comfort. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure what they had been designed for unless it was to deter visitors. Which seemed to negate their very purpose, really.
He realised his mind was wandering and he also realised there was a firm hand on his arm, practically dragging him to the door. He turned to plead with his friend, saw the fire flashing in her eyes and decided it wasn't worth the effort. Amanda was upset with him rightly so, probably. He had scared her to death earlier and she had enough to contend with right now as did they all.
"I don't want to leave Jesse "
"I'll be here." Her tone had softened considerably and she even smiled at him. "Mark, please. Go home, get some sleep in your own bed. I'll sit with Jesse."
"What about CJ and Dion?"
"My Mom's looking after them for the night," she told him. "Besides, it's my turn. He's not your exclusive domain, you know."
She had a point. He had been monopolising Jesse. It was just they had come so close to losing him. He had spent the last five days in a kind of limbo, convinced that he would never see the youngest member of his family again. It had become impossible for him to stray far from the other man's side, terrified that at any moment, he would wake up and find this was all a dream. So long as he had the living, breathing form somewhere close by, so that when he opened his eyes after falling asleep at the bedside, Jesse was there, he could allay those fears.
And now Amanda was forcing him to do the very thing he had promised himself he would not do.
But she was right, he grudgingly conceded. He was beyond tired. Beyond exhausted. He had a feeling that when he crawled into bed, finally, and his head hit the pillow, he might just sleep for a week.
"You'll you'll call me if ?"
"If I need you, I'll call you," she said, ambiguously. "Go home, Mark. Get some rest. Come back in the morning."
"What if he needs anything?"
"Then I'll be here. And you're not the only doctor in this hospital, Mark Sloan."
`No', he agreed, silently. `Just the doctor who loves that boy like a son.' "All right," he said, aloud. "I'll see you tomorrow, Amanda."
"Goodnight, Mark," she said, softly, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Sleep tight."
Then she closed the door behind him and he was effectively dismissed.
He stood for a long moment, observing as she took the chair he had so recently vacated and smiled at his young protégé.
A wave of completely irrational jealousy swept over him and he decided he had better leave now before his emotions spiralled completely out of control.

"I thought you'd never convince him to leave!"
The rough whisper almost startled Amanda out of the chair. She stared down at the bed. Jesse was awake and peering at her, blue eyes twinkling in the dim glow from the bedside lamp.
"You should be asleep, mister!" she scolded him, although her gentle smile belied the sharp tone. She reached out a hand and ran her fingers through the soft blond hair. "How much did you hear?"
"All of it." He grinned at her drowsily. "You're quite scary when you get goin', `Manda."
"Yes, well, don't tempt me, Jesse Travis," she said, reprovingly. "You need to sleep, too, you know."
"Been sleeping. Bored."
She rolled her eyes in exasperation as the little pout and the innocent doe-eyed look came into play. Boy, he was good! "I tell you what," she said. "Why don't I tell you all the gossip you've missed?"
"I'd like that," he said, blinking ingenuously at her. "You staying all night?"
"I promised, didn't I?"
"Yes, yes you did." A hand escaped from beneath the sheets, groping for hers. She smiled as she clasped it firmly. "Thanks," he whispered. "Didn't wanna be alone."
The confession pierced her heart. He seemed brittle and frail, as though he would shatter into a million pieces at any moment. She leaned down to kiss his forehead. "You're not alone, sweetheart," she said, shakily. "You're never alone. You'll always have us."
That elicited a small smile, then he closed his eyes, murmuring "Thanks."

"I can't believe he got out on bail!"
Steve was fuming. He and Cheryl had just left the arraignment of the guy they had caught at the house where Jesse had been found. Despite the overwhelming evidence that he was somehow involved in the kidnapping and brutal treatment of the younger man, he had been released on bail.
"He has a good attorney," Cheryl pointed out.
"No kidding!" he retorted, acerbically.
She chose to ignore the fact that he was taking out his frustration on the wrong person. He had been under an enormous amount of strain during Jesse's disappearance, and it hadn't lessened any since his rescue, especially in light of the injuries the younger man had sustained. She would allow him to get away with it for now, but the time would come, she knew, when she would have to slap him down for his own good. She almost looked forward to that moment as he started ranting again.
"That slimeball should have been locked up! They should have thrown away the key! Why the hell they let him go is beyond me. Don't they know he's gonna run? They'll never see him again. We'll never see him again. And we've lost our best chance of finding the rest of his little gang!"
Cheryl wanted to point out that she knew all this; that he was, in fact, preaching to the choir on this one; that she felt the same. But she didn't. "We can always tail him," she suggested, slyly.
He looked at her. "And risk him reporting us for police harassment?" he asked, with a sardonic smile.
She shrugged carelessly. "He doesn't have to know we're tailing him," she said. "After all, we're accomplished officers, Steve. We know what we're doing. He doesn't strike me as the overly intelligent sort."
"Intelligent enough to hire one of the best attorneys in the state," muttered Steve sulkily. "And that's another thing how the hell does he manage to afford the guy? And how does he know to hire him?"
His partner sighed melodramatically. "Steve, Steve, you're asking me like I know all the answers. I am not the oracle of all knowledge. I am on your side in this, you know?"
"Yeah, I know. Sorry."
"That's okay." She patted his arm reassuringly, to show there were no hard feelings. "So, we tailing him or what?"
"Oh yeah," came the reply. "I already had it in mind when they freed him."
"So how come you didn't suggest it?" she enquired, as they reached their car.
He grinned at her from over the roof of the vehicle. "I just figured I should let you have a good idea once in a while," he retorted.
"Watch it, Sloan," she muttered, opening her door and sliding in. "Treading on thin ground here."
"Ah, you love me, really."
"Wouldn't be too sure of that!"

Night fell, her long ebony wings stretching inexorably across the lambent sky, lengthening and deepening the shadows until they fused together to create a whole.
The office development was shrouded in darkness, the one source of illumination the site office, from whence light flickered between the slats of the window blinds.
Three men waited silently inside. One was chain-smoking, evidence of his habit the steadily overflowing astray on the desk.
"He's here," said one of the others, a big, burly man with bulging muscles, whose body mass cut an imposing figure and wouldn't have seemed out of place as a defensive end in a football stadium.
Another man entered the office. Slighter built but by no means puny, he regarded the others warily. "Guys," he greeted them. "So, why are we meeting here?"
The big man signalled to the one behind him, who stubbed out his cigarette and reached into his jacket pocket. Drawing forth an envelope, he handed it silently to his companion.
"They wanted to thank you," the mammoth said in his Texan drawl, proffering the envelope to the newcomer. The large ring he sported on his index finger glinted in the moonlight. "For not talking."
Cautiously, the other man reached out to take it and, upon peering inside, found a wad of one hundred dollar bills. "Sweet," he said, with a grin.
The big man smiled too, slinging a companiable arm around him. "We got come celebratin' to do," he announced and motioned to his two friends as they exited the office.
The slow grind of a large cement mixer was the only sound in the otherwise still of the night. The man with the envelope was occupied counting his money. Suddenly, his friend drew them to a halt and stepped away from him. He glanced up questioningly. "What ?"
He never got to complete his sentence. Even as the words started to emerge, the bullet left the chamber of the gun one of the other men had placed at his temple.
It tore through flesh and bone, penetrating his brain and killing him instantly. There was no time even for a look of surprise to filter across his face as he slowly pitched forward to land face first in the sand, a pool of blood oozing into the earth beneath him.
Immediately, a slurry of concrete poured down the chute above the area, filling the square, completely obliterating the body. Within minutes, it was as though nothing had ever happened.
A one hundred dollar bill, stained with gore, fluttered through the air, coming to rest in the soft cement, silent testament to the murder.
"They also said `goodbye'," mocked the big guy, as he turned away, signalling his two companions to follow him.

They had, of course, figured out that he was being tailed; that the cops had him under surveillance. They had telephoned him at home, directing him to use a circular route to get to the site, taking every back alley and side street in an effort to lose the car following him.
The ruse had been successful. A strategically placed garbage truck had then backed out and blocked their pursuit, effectively concealing the direction in which their quarry was headed. By the time it had moved out of the way, amidst much cursing from Steve, he had gone.
Now he was an integral part of the foundations for the foyer of the new office.
No-one would ever find his remains and, even if, by some miracle, some time in the distant future, they did so, it would be far too late. Everyone connected with the murder and the reasons for it would be long gone. There would be no arrests made; just the mystery of a buried skeleton to solve.

Mark received the news that the man who had been found at the scene, whose testimony even though made under duress had led them to Jesse's whereabouts had disappeared with a feeling of deep foreboding.
He had a pretty good idea what had happened. He knew they would never find him. He was long gone; killed by the people with whom he had been working, who undoubtedly perceived him as a weak link in their organisation. He had probably been dumped at sea somewhere or, more likely, buried under concrete.
The people who had taken Jesse; who had killed their own man were not only cold and cruel, they were utterly ruthless. They would obviously stop at nothing to achieve their ends.
And that meant that Jesse was in more danger than ever.
If they managed to gain access to the hospital
It would be pretty easy for these people to take out the guard and whisk Jesse away. They would never see him again. This time there would be no reprieve, no last minute rescue. This time he would be killed.
And it wouldn't be a merciful death.
They would ensure that he suffered before he died.
Mark felt sick with fear and revulsion.
He didn't reveal either his feelings or his conclusions to his young friend, however. Jesse had quite enough to cope with as it was.

He was getting better. Slowly. His condition had improved dramatically since the night they had found him. Once fluids and nutrients had been restored to his body, and the antibiotics had finally started working to eradicate the infection in his kidneys, he perked up considerably.
There were still nightmares.
He suffered from at least one every night.
They left him feeling exposed and vulnerable and he clung ever more ferociously to his friends not even realising he was doing it.
The one memory they had been dreading did not return to haunt him. It seemed that he may actually have no recollection of that particular assault. Any lingering pain from it had long since gone and so he had never had to equate it with any kind of attack.
Jesse was far from stupid. He would have figured out what had happened even if he hadn't remembered it. That would have sent him plummeting into a spiral of despair from which they may never have saved him.
The guard on his door had been doubled. Steve had insisted on it. Mark had been relieved and worried in equal amounts. Relieved because with two guards there, anyone wishing to harm his young friend would find it very difficult to gain access to him. Worried, because it meant that Jesse was in more danger than ever.
He entered the room. Jesse was leaning against the pillows, gazing absently out of the window. Mark studied him before speaking. He seemed lost in thought or possibly reflection. It seemed so totally out of character for the younger man, whose natural effervescence had always been such a major facet of his character. His inquisitive nature had led him into some dangerous situations in the past, but he had always managed to get out of them with his high spirits undaunted. This time, though
But this time had been vastly different to the other times.
Sure, he had been badly beaten before or at least that's what they assumed had happened to him whilst he had been a `guest' of Paris Pharmaceuticals. As he hadn't been able to remember and no-one had been talking afterward, they had never actually discovered what had happened to him during his five missing days.
It had taken him a while to get over that.
But he had.
And with considerably less introspection than he was exhibiting on this occasion.
Then again, he didn't have any recollections to fall back on that time just the sheer frustration of losing five days. Five days he would never get back, as he had pointedly told Mark when the older man had gone over to see him after he had signed himself out AMA from the hospital.
And now here was the consequence of another five days.
Unfortunately, he was able to recall quite clearly the majority of it.
Mark could only thank providence that he didn't have every recollection. He still lived in fear of that one returning as a nightmare. He didn't even want to think about what it would do to Jesse if he ever found out about it.
Jesse and `brooding' didn't really go together.
But they appeared to be getting very well acquainted.
His young friend hadn't even heard the door open.
"Hey, Jess," he said, quietly.
Jesse turned, his mouth turned up into a sad little half-smile. "Hey, Mark," he said, his voice equally soft.
The older man walked across to his bed, picked up the chart from the bottom and perused it. "Looks like we'll be letting you out of here soon," he said, conversationally.
"Right. I mean, that's good." Jesse was trying to sound enthusiastic. Unfortunately, his attempt was failing miserably. "I'm sorry, Mark," he apologised. "I guess I'm not good company right now."
"What is it, Jess?" asked Mark, perching on the bed and studying him, anxiously.
The blue eyes met his gaze head on. "I dunno, really," he admitted. "I just I was sitting here thinking "
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Mark advised him with a smile. "You're still suffering the after-effects of a concussion."
"Ha ha," came the dry retort.
"So, what were you thinking?"
Jesse sighed deeply, his eyes sliding away from Mark's face to focus on the window again the one he had been so intent on only moment earlier. "I just Mark, I don't understand why this happened to me. I mean, I don't know what they wanted. What I could have that they found so important that they nearly killed me." His voice subsided to a stricken whisper. "What could be more important than life? What could be more important than my life, Mark?"
Mark's heart went out to his young friend. "I don't know, Jesse," he said, gently. "But you know, yourself, that some people just don't care about other's lives; not even their own. Jess, whatever they're looking for it must be something that's come into your possession recently. Have you been anywhere, met anyone who could possibly have given you something perhaps to hold onto for them, or as a gift?"
The young man shook his head. "No," he replied, miserably. "No, I haven't. At least I don't think so. I " his voice tailed off as a thoughtful expression crossed his face.
"What?" Mark prompted.
"I um Mark, I "
"What is it, Jesse?" asked the older man. "You can tell me. You can trust me, you know."
"Oh, I know that," came the immediate response. The words warmed Mark's heart, as did the utter conviction with which they were delivered.
"Well then?"
Jesse averted his eyes, gazing down at the sheet as though he had found something of unique interest down there. "Um I haven't been exactly truthful about where I've been lately," he confessed timidly. "Or what I've been doing."
A host of possibilities ran through Mark's mind, each one instantly dismissed. This was Jesse. What could he possibly have to reveal that would be bad? "And where have you been, Jess?" he queried, kindly. "And what have you been doing that warrants such nervousness? Hmm?"
"Um well, you remember those homeless people?"
Mark frowned. He did indeed. A few years before they had investigated the murders of several vagrants. They had been preyed on by a medic who had been involved in a scam to remove their livers and sell them to an overseas clinic with a wealthy clientele. He recalled Jesse being utterly appalled at the way the homeless had been forced to live. He had been as dismayed himself and had done his utmost to help them since keeping that a secret from both the hospital and everyone around him. "Yes?" he said. "So?"
"So I've been trying to help them," admitted Jesse, shyly. "I I've been going down there twice a week, when you guys thought I was surfing and I've been taking some medical supplies with me. I'm sorry."
Mark swallowed hard. `Sorry'? He was sorry? Jesse was apologising for being the compassionate, warm, special human being that had endeared him so completely to those who loved him? The older man smiled, covering one slender hand with his own. "Jesse," he said, softly. "Whilst I don't condone um .. `liberating supplies', I can't fault you for what you've been doing. And I won't. Jess. Jess, look at me."
The young man complied albeit reluctantly. He had been so sure he would see censure in the eyes of the man he admired and respected most in the world that he was a little taken aback to find a warm smile and affection blazing out from those pale blue eyes. "M Mark?"
"Jesse, what you've been doing is a wonderful, kind thing "
"No, no, it's not," Jesse interjected, shaking his head. "Anyone would have done the same."
The older doctor laughed. "And that's why you are the person you are, my friend," he said, fondly. "You like to believe the best in people not all the time, I grant you. You can be as cynical as the rest of us when the mood suits you. But don't belittle your achievements, Jess. Nor your nature. You are a warm, kind human being who truly cares about others. Not everyone would have done what you did. It would have been just as easy to leave those people behind, to forget about them and go back to your safe little world well, maybe not so safe," he amended with a wide grin. "Considering the lives we lead and the trouble we tend to land ourselves in with our investigations. But you didn't. You saw something that needed doing and you did it. And you kept it secret because you didn't think you were doing anything special. Did you really think we'd fault you for it?"
"No," came the grudging response. "No, I just I didn't wanna make a big deal out of it. And well, it was something I wanted to do alone. I didn't want everyone to know."
"Well, I'm the only one who does know," Mark reassured him, deciding not to enlighten him on his own moonlighting just yet. "Although I think we should tell Steve. It may have some bearing on why you were kidnapped and what those men wanted."
"But what?" demanded Jesse, in frustration. "I mean, those people don't have anything to give! I wouldn't accept anything from them anyway they need everything they have. I don't want to take anything. I just I just wanted to help."
"I know you did, Jess. And I commend you for it. Mind you, from now on, I think we can do a bit better than just `liberating' supplies. Maybe we can set something up so that you can have access to them."
"I didn't take much," mumbled the younger man, shamefacedly. "Just a couple of bandages and some cream. I didn't take any drugs. I wouldn't."
"Well, those people probably need more than that but they're probably very grateful for anything you've managed to do for them," mused Mark. "Tell me, how long have you been going down there? Not since that first time?" A slight nod. "You have? And you've managed to keep it a secret for so long? You've managed to do that and all your work here and look after BBQ Bob's and help on our investigations when have you found the time to sleep?"
That earned him a small smile. "Oh you know, in-between shifts, in the on-call room, in the kitchen at `Bob's "
The older man couldn't help laughing. "Jesse "
It was the affectionate, exasperated tone reserved especially for when Jesse was doing something he shouldn't yet they didn't have the heart to chastise him for it. It always made him feel about 10 years old. Surprisingly, this time, he didn't resent it. It just made him feel warm inside. The smile deepened and he gazed up at his mentor guilelessly. "What? I sleep!"
It sounded defensive, but it wasn't. The young doctor hadn't quantified it with phrases such as `I'm always here on time, aren't I?' or `Have you ever found my work to be substandard?'
"Hmmm," murmured Mark, dubiously. "Not a lot, I'll bet."
A tiny frown worried its way onto the smooth forehead. "You're not gonna stop me, are you, Mark?"
That produced a snort. "Stop you?" echoed the older man, scornfully. "I'd like to see anyone try!"
That satisfied Jesse. He was still frowning though.
"What?" challenged Mark. "What's wrong?"
"Those people they rely on me," came the response. "I I haven't been there in over two weeks."
"Well, that's hardly your fault. You were missing for nearly a week of that," Mark pointed out.
"I know. Still "
"Once you're well, and it's safe for you to do so, you can resume your duties down there, Jesse." Mark's voice was stern and authoritarian. It was his `don't even think about arguing with me' tone.
So wisely, Jesse didn't. "So, when am I gonna get released?" he asked, instead.
Mark might have known. If his protégé couldn't acquire something the direct way, then he went the indirect or sneaky way about it. That question was loaded. What it actually meant was `When can I get out of here and go back to what I was doing before?' Totally ignoring the fact that he wouldn't be safe until whoever had kidnapped him in the first place was apprehended. Mark very much doubted whether he would want to take a police escort with him when he went back to see the people he had been caring for. And he seriously doubted if they would appreciate seeing the cops even if they were just protecting Jesse from coming to any more harm. He narrowed his eyes as he gazed at his friend. "I was thinking later on today or early tomorrow," he replied. "But you're coming home with me and I'm going to take some time off to look after you."
Jesse pouted. "But why?" he whined. "There's nothing much wrong with me except a few cuts and bruises. I'm perfectly capable of going home and looking after myself!"
"And making quick your escape from whoever's assigned to protect you," mused Mark, silently. "You're coming to stay at the beach house, Jesse," he said, firmly. "Otherwise I'm simply not going to release you."
"I could sign myself out," pointed out the younger man, rebelliously. Mark scowled at him and he laughed, nervously. "On the other hand, the beach house sounds perfect," he said, feigning a brightness he didn't feel. "When do we leave?"

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