Scars 3

"You been here all night?"
Steve glanced up at Cheryl's question. She was eyeing him speculatively from across the desk, her brow furrowed into a tiny frown.
He dredged up a tired smile for her benefit. "Yeah," he said. "I was just going over the evidence."
"The SUV?" she queried. "I thought we established that had been stolen?"
Steve shook his head. "No," he replied. "The guy we spoke to claimed it had been stolen. There's a difference."
She shrugged. "Okay. Did Forensics get anything from the house?"
"I just heard back from them. They ran everything they picked up there. Nothing. No prints, no DNA. Nada."
He sounded frustrated, and with good reason. They were coming up empty at every turn and he was desperate to solve this case. Whilst it remained open and the bad guys remained at large, Jesse was still in danger. Plus whoever had had him had hurt him badly. Steve wasn't going to forget that little detail. There would be hell to pay when they found the perpetrators.
Sinking into the chair opposite him, she placed the two cups of coffee she had been carrying down on the desk, pushing one of them toward him. He took it with a grateful half-smile and wrapped his hands around the insulated plastic, feeling the heat seep into him, warming him from the outside in.
"What about the attorney?" she reminded him.
"Gerard Devereaux," he stated, flatly. "Yeah, what about him? How does our missing witness afford or even know a high priced attorney like him?"
"What have you found out?" she queried, knowing without asking that he had been delving into Mr Devereaux's clientele base whilst normal people were sleeping.
"I've been learning a lot about him over the past few hours," he said, confirming her suspicions.
"And?"
"And his clients range from the extremely wealthy to the obscenely wealthy," he replied.
"From individuals to multinational corporations, I see," she mused, glancing through the list he had been compiling.
"Any one of those people has the means to pull something like this off," Steve said.
"Yeah," she agreed. "Now all we have to do is figure out which one."
"Well, we can start with the owner of the car the one who claimed it had been stolen."
"That was a company car, wasn't it?"
"It was."
"And the house? Who did that turn out to belong to?"
"I did a little digging on that, too," he said. His smile was back, and it was widening. "It was leased out."
"I know. We found that out after we'd got Jesse out."
"Ah, but what we didn't find out was who originally owned it," came the glib retort. "The leasing company let me look at their files. It seems that at one time it was owned by this company." He passed a sheet of paper to her.
Her eyes widened. "That's the company who leased the car."
"Yes, it is," he said. He was positively glowing with triumph. "And guess what?"
"Gerard Devereaux just happens to do work for the same people?" she guessed.
"You got it."
"Great! So, when we going to see them?"
"I was just waiting for you to come in."
"Right," she said, dryly. "Plus there's no-one there before 8:00 o'clock."
"There is that."
"So, what are we waiting for?" she demanded, rising to her feet. "Let's go!"

Their visit to the company headquarters proved a somewhat frustrating affair. They were met by a smartly-dressed and somewhat officious woman from Customer Relations, who politely informed them that they knew nothing of either the car, or the house; that the car was available for employees and the house was just another source of revenue for them and although they owned it and let it through the leasing company, they were not responsible for anything that occurred in it.
She refused to be drawn on the fact that Gerard Devereaux, who had turned up at the precinct to act on behalf of one of the people responsible for the kidnap worked for them. "It's entirely Mr Devereaux's business whom he represents," she told them, imperiously. "And although he may represent some of our interests, he is not our sole representation and he has a large client base."
That seemed to be the end temporarily to that.
But there were far too many coincidences for Steve to allow the matter to rest. That the same company owned house and car and Gerard Devereaux should involve himself with someone who was nothing more than a thug only indicated that these people were involved in Jesse's kidnap and torture up to their necks. All he and Cheryl had to do was prove it. And find the person or persons who had instigated it.
All they had to do.
Yeah right.

Steve arrived home from work late that night to discover he and his father had a houseguest.
"Jesse!" he exclaimed, delightedly, as he bounded up the stairs to the main room to find the younger man sprawled on the large couch.
Jesse smiled a greeting and raised his hand in response. He looked tired, Steve noted and he was still very pale beneath the spectacular bruising on his face. Still, it was good to see him out of the hospital environment and looking like he was on the road to recovery.
"Hey, Steve," he said casually, as the older man threw himself onto the couch next to him. "You're late. No luck on the case?"
The detective cursed silently. His friend was far too perceptive. It was a trait he shared with Steve's father. He felt guilt swamp him at his failure to locate the men who had grabbed the younger man the men who had caused him so much suffering. "We're getting there," he hedged, with a false smile.
Jesse nodded. "Uh-huh" he said. He didn't sound at all convinced.
"So, first day out?" The detective tried for small talk if it got them away from the subject of the investigation he would be grateful.
"Yeah. So what have you come up with? Anything at all?"
Damn! That was something else Jesse and his dad had in common. Persistence. He glanced around, searching for a distraction, but he could feel Jesse's keen gaze boring into him. When his friend wanted to know something he was like a dog worrying a bone. Nothing and no-one was going to stop him. Besides, this was personal. This had happened to him. There was no way he was going to leave this alone. "We might have something," he responded, warily, unsure how much to reveal to the younger man. Stubborn Jesse may be, but he was also only just out of hospital and he was still terribly fragile. His dad had told him that his young friend was still suffering from nightmares about his captivity. The last thing Steve wanted to do was dredge up memories best left alone.
Jesse looked disappointed. "Oh," he said. Then, "Anything you want to share?"
"Not right now, Jess," he said. "We're still checking into the facts."
"Facts? You have facts?"
Steve desperately wanted to go back in time to where this conversation had started and try again. Or, even better, go back in time and decide to come home later when Jesse had gone to bed. Anything to avoid this confrontation and a discussion of something he didn't want to talk about with the person it had happened to. Not when he couldn't tell him that they had solid leads; that they were closing in on the bad guys; that Jess could stop looking over his shoulder and start feeling safe again. He sighed, deeply.
"You don't wanna tell me, right?" came the plaintive question.
He faced his friend. The younger man looked so woebegone that it was all Steve could do not to tell him everything right there and then. But to do so would be admitting his own failure as a cop, as a friend, as his protector. "Jess, it's not that I don't want to tell you," he began.
"But you don't wanna upset me, is that right, Steve?" interjected Jesse, fractiously. His sigh echoed the older man's, but seemed to come from an even deeper place. "I can take whatever you tell me. I'm not gonna break, you know. Don't start treating me like I'm china or something. I couldn't take that. Not now."
The detective had to swallow the lump that this admission brought to his throat. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on one bare arm. The blue t-shirt Jesse was wearing brought out the colour in his eyes. Unfortunately, it also complemented the colour of the contusions on his fair skin. "I'm not doing that, Jess," he said, in a low, strained voice. "I just I don't know what to tell you, other than that I'm failing you."
That elicited an immediate response. Jesse jerked backward, shrugging off the hand so delicately resting on his arm, his eyes blazing with anger. "Don't say that!" he rasped. "Don't ever say that! You haven't failed me, Steve! You never have! I I couldn't ask for better friends than you, Mark or Amanda and I I won't have you saying stuff like that about yourself!"
"Whoa!" Steve held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm sorry, Jesse. I was just "
"Yeah, I know what you were doing." Jesse took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he found his friend regarding him with an expression of mingled concern and wariness. "I'm sorry, but you all of you, have got to stop accepting the responsibility for all of this. It wasn't your fault. It just happened. I can't I can't deal with your guilt as well as everything else. I'm sorry that didn't come out right, I mean "
"It's okay, Jesse." Steve reached out, relieved when the touch of his hand on the younger man's shoulder wasn't rejected. Indeed, it elicited a shy smile. "I understand what you mean. It's just what happened to you made us all feel you know."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," came the heartfelt response. Jesse shook his head and laughed bleakly. "I guess we're all gonna have to learn to deal with all this. It's not gonna go away any time soon. But just don't walk on eggshells around me, okay, Steve? That just makes things worse."
"Okay," agreed the detective, thankful that he didn't have to put into words the way he had felt when his best friend had disappeared and he hadn't even known if he were dead or alive. This had been the second occasion and it hadn't got any easier. Instead, it had been even harder. Not that he could explain any of this not to Jesse. He wasn't very good at verbalising his feelings about his friend especially not to Jesse himself. Luckily for him, the younger man seemed to understand without the need for melodramatic declarations. It was what made their friendship so comfortable and so invaluable to both of them. "So," he went on. "Where's dad?"
Jesse eyed him a moment more, then, seemingly satisfied with what he found, relaxed back into the cushions. "He's making some telephone calls," he said. "I think he's in investigating mode, too."
"My father is always in investigative mode," said Steve, dryly. "I sometimes wonder who's the cop in this family."
"Hey, don't knock it." Jesse grinned at him, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "Look at all the bad guys he's helped put away! He makes you look good!"
"Oh, you're saying I can't do it on my own?" Steve challenged, throwing his friend a mock glare. It did little to faze the young doctor, however.
"Well, face it, Steve, you need the help!" he retorted, moving further back on the couch as he spoke, well out of the way of any retaliatory gesture.
"Why, you I should "
"Now, now, boys," interjected a new voice. "Steve, Jesse is smaller than you. Pick on someone your own size."
"Yeah!" Jesse stuck out his tongue at the older man. "What Mark said hey, hang on `smaller than him? M-a-r-k!"
The pathetic whine only earned him a chuckle from the older doctor, plus a patronising pat on the head, which Mark knew very well was something that irritated the heck out of him. "I only speak the truth," he stated. "Now, I'm going to make us all dinner."
Jesse glared at his mentor as the other man walked away, then transferred it to Steve when the detective sniggered. "Oh yeah?" he challenged. "Well, at least I manage to date women who don't wind up trying to kill me!"

The setting sun was partially concealed behind lightly drifting clouds, painting vivid hues of pink and orange in their gentle folds as Mark joined Steve on the deck.
"He asleep?" the detective asked in a hushed voice.
Mark smiled. "Yes," he responded. "And there's no need to whisper, Steve. Even if the bedroom wasn't at the back of the house, I doubt even an earthquake would wake him right now."
Jesse had been struggling valiantly all night to keep his eyes open, eager to be with his friends and enjoy some normalcy after the strain of the past week or so. But his body's needs had eventually got the better of him. His eyes had drifted shut several times during dinner and he had started yawning widely even as he slumped further in the couch afterward, nestling into the soft cushions, seeking the comfort they provided.
Eventually, Mark had persuaded him to go to bed, although there had been the inevitable battle first. Jesse had been all set to rest where he was, but his mentor vetoed that idea, telling him in no uncertain terms that he needed sleep and for that, he should be in a proper bed. The older man's voice had contained an authoritarian note which Jesse had dared not refuse and he had reluctantly, and with bad grace, made his way up the stairs, the slight stagger at the top of them mute testament to his exhaustion.
Mark had let him have a few minutes before checking up on him. He had peeked through the door of the bedroom to find the young man sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, one hand tucked beneath his half-turned head. He was snoring gently, looking totally at peace. He had tiptoed across the room, removed his friend's shoes and carefully manoeuvred the sheets down beneath the slumbering form so that he could tuck him in. Then he had stood for a moment or two, watching him with fond indulgence as he murmured something under his breath, rolled over and buried his head in the pillows.
"Aw, isn't he cute?" Amanda's words when he had drugged Jesse once in order to force him to get some sleep after a 46 hour shift had drifted into his mind. `Yes, very sweet' had been his amused response. Shaking his head with an indulgent smile he had then left his young protégé to enjoy his rest.
"I'm beginning to wonder if we'll ever find who was responsible for kidnapping him, Dad." Steve sounded depressed, as Mark came out of his self-imposed reverie.
"We'll find them, son, don't worry." The older man's attempt to sound reassuring fell on deaf ears. Steve wasn't about to be mollified. His guilt at what Jesse had endured hadn't been appeased by his young friend's angry remonstration. It had only been temporarily damped down. Now it was back, with a vengeance.
"They hurt him, dad," he snarled, unconsciously clenching his fists where they rested on the railing that ran around the deck. "And not only that. They they "
"I know." Mark squeezed his son's shoulder comfortingly, halting the words that were about to spew forth. Jesse might not be able to hear their conversation, but that didn't mean he was going to take any chances. "Believe me, Steve, I want them just as badly as you do. I don't know how long it's going to take for him to fully recover from this. But," he added, with a brief smile, recalling the laughter they had shared over dinner, the way Jesse's eyes had sparkled with amusement, banishing for that moment the shadows that now resided there. "He will recover. He is recovering. One day this will all be a distant memory for us."
"I hope you're right, Dad," Steve murmured. "I just it just kills me that we can't tie anyone to this."
"Well, what have you discovered so far?"
The detective smiled, fondly. He had wondered how long it would take for the older man to ask that question; to get involved in the investigation. He had been practically counting off the minutes on his own internal stopwatch. His dad had not disappointed him.
"Well," he said, seating himself on one of the chairs and watching his father take the chair opposite him. "We found out that the house, the car and the attorney, Devereaux, are all tied to one company Marshall Enterprises. The representative we met there dismissed the connections. She maintained that the car and house were merely owned by the company. They had no control over who leased them. And Devereaux did work for a lot of major companies and he wasn't their primary legal eagle. But it's too many coincidences for me to be comfortable dismissing."
Mark nodded, sombrely. "You're right," he mused. "And I'm sure they have some kind of monitoring system over those who are allowed to lease a large house like that. It must be someone pretty high up the company tree. It's not something your normal, average, everyday employee could afford. Not in that neighbourhood."
"Right."
"So, do you want me to see what I can find out?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers, a sly grin on his face.
Steve snorted. "You're asking me? You don't normally bother!"
"Well, I aim to be polite!"
"Hmm." Steve sounded dubious. "So what do you intend to do?"
"Well, let me speak to a friend of mine. He does a bit of business with Marshall Enterprises. He's been to some of the corporate parties. I did a gall bladder operation on him a few years ago, and have been taking care of his health ever since. He owes me."
The younger Sloan shook his head disbelievingly. "Is there anyone in L.A. you don't know and who doesn't owe you?" he demanded.
Mark appeared to give that a great deal of thought. "I suppose so," he replied, eventually. "But I have yet to meet them!"

Jesse awoke with a start, stifling the scream he had been about to let rip. His arms were wrapped around his body, fists clenched and tears were rolling down his cheeks. Straightening out from the fetal position he had adopted, he stared around the room, trying to slow his ragged breathing and his frantic heart rate. The familiar outline of Mark's guest room slowly took shape. The floor length curtains were billowing slightly in the soft breeze coming through the semi-open window, the air holding a tang of the saltiness of the nearby ocean.
He was safe.
He was home.
Well, sort of.
He was at the beach house, at least.
Sitting up in bed, he pulled the covers aside and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, letting his feet sink into the plush rug at the side of the bed. It felt wonderful. Soft, warm, comforting.
Stumbling into the en suite, he shakily reached for a glass, and turned on the tap, allowing the running water to soothe his nerves. It was one of the things he had not been allowed to do or have access to during his captivity.
Water.
Blessed, cool, refreshing water.
He gulped the liquid down swiftly, not even pausing for breath as it slid easily down his parched throat.
Placing the glass on the shelf, he rested his hands on the basin, trying to regain his composure.
Thank god Mark and Steve hadn't heard him.
Then he heard the creak of a floorboard outside the bedroom and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
He didn't even realise he had started to shake uncontrollably until he let go the basin and tried to walk to the door.
That was when his legs almost buckled beneath him.
"Jesse?" came the soft voice. "Jess, are you okay?"
Jesse was unaware of the strangled cry that escaped him, prompting someone to come to his help, until he felt strong arms wrap themselves around him, steadying him as he gasped for breath once more, striving desperately to hold on to his dinner as nausea churned in his stomach.
"It's okay, Jesse," came the soothing baritone of his mentor. "Let's just get you back to bed, shall we?"
He could do nothing else but obey as he was guided gently out of the bathroom and across thick carpet. Then he was pushed gently back onto the soft mattress and a cool hand wafted across his forehead.
"Well, you don't have a fever," Mark said, matter of factly. "It was another nightmare. But you're all right now."
`Another nightmare. I'm all right now right,' he mused, silently. He didn't feel much up to speaking at that moment. He just wished the queasiness and the dizziness would go away. He was still trembling, but that had eased off a little at Mark's warm touch.
"Do you want something to drink?" asked Mark.
He shook his head once and didn't repeat the movement. It just made the wooziness worse. Everything was spinning the room, the furniture, Mark
`Oh god '
An arm slid around his shoulder, easing him slightly off the bed. He wanted to object as the room whirled even more nauseatingly around him, but he didn't have the strength. Something cool touched his lips and he opened his mouth. As the cold liquid once again hit the back of his throat he relaxed into the embrace and his head flopped sideways onto the warm chest.
Mark removed the glass as Jesse fell against him. Fortunately, the younger man had managed to drain most of the water so it didn't spill all over him as the container almost slipped from his hand.
He had seen the aftermath of his friend's nightmares in the hospital but they had never been this bad. He was practically catatonic, mumbling incoherently to himself and breathing heavily.
Placing the glass on the table, he wound his other arm around Jesse's slender form, pulling him closer, whispering soothing, nonsensical words which he hoped his friend would hear.
After several moments, Jesse's breathing evened out and his mutterings ceased. Cautiously, Mark eased him back, finding that his friend had fallen asleep in his embrace.
He remained at Jesse's side for some considerable time after, contemplating the nightmare that had prompted such an extreme reaction and coming to a terrible conclusion.
He had somehow remembered the rape.
Covering his face with his hands, Mark tried to stop himself shaking at the realisation. He had so hoped that they might be lucky. That Jesse would not recall the incident; that he had been unconscious or otherwise unaware at the time. It seemed that they were not going to be so fortunate.
Somehow the details were emerging in his subconscious and it was only a matter of time before he recalled them with clarity during his waking moments.
Even if he didn't they couldn't allow these nightmares to continue. Jesse had been panic-stricken, so terrified that he had had difficulty in breathing and he had all but fainted from fright. If there were to be repeat episodes and Mark had no doubt that there would be. It was practically inevitable now that his mind had started remembering then his health would deteriorate, and his emotional state right alongside.
He was loathe to suggest a counsellor. The last time he had done so, Jesse had all but accused him of betraying their friendship and had stormed off. Then again, he had been under the influence of a very powerful hallucinogenic drug at the time and hadn't been acting entirely in his right mind.
There were so many correlations with the last time his young friend had disappeared. This was just one more.
Perhaps Jesse would be more conducive to the idea this time. After all, he wasn't unknowingly being drugged and this time he hadn't claimed to have been taken by aliens so wouldn't be on the defensive.
Then again, there hadn't been any reports of flying swine recently .

Mark neglected to inform Steve of their young friend's nightmare, nor of his own conclusions. His son had more than enough on his mind. He didn't need any more. He still saw Jesse's kidnap and subsequent suffering as being his fault. To burden him further would be very unfair.
So the detective drove to the precinct the following morning completely oblivious to everything that had occurred during the night.
Mark, meanwhile, telephoned his friend and asked to see him. The sooner they cleared this up and the people involved were arrested, the sooner Jesse could recover. Part of his problem, Mark knew, stemmed from the fact that he was still under threat from the thugs who had grabbed him the first time. The fact that they were being kept under police surveillance didn't help. In fact, it was probably making Jesse feel more confined.
He had finished on the phone and was preparing breakfast when a tousle-haired figure wrapped in a blanket appeared at the door. Mark grinned at the sight of his young friend, who looked all of about 5 years old. Large blue eyes blinked sleepily back at him.
"Morning, Jesse," he greeted him, airily. "Breakfast?"
He received an inaudible mumble that may have been `Morning, Mark, yes please.' Equally, it could just as easily have been `what the hell are you talking about?' He took it to mean the former and returned to his cooking, watching out of the corner of his eye as Jesse took a seat at the counter, squinting through the window at the beach beyond.
"We could go for a walk on the beach later if you're up to it," he suggested, throwing a couple of eggs onto the griddle.
Jesse's gaze tracked back to him and he smiled lopsidedly. "'Kay,' he agreed, easily.
The older man shook his head fondly. Silence fell for a few minutes, except for the sizzling of the oil as it cooked the sausages and eggs.
"Mark? Did I have a nightmare last night?"
The tentative question prompted a slight slip of the spatula and Mark strove to keep his composure as he turned around to face the younger man.
"You don't remember?" he enquired.
The blond head shook vigorously, and the floppy fringe fell over the younger man's eyes. Irritably, he brushed it back. "I vaguely remember you being there at some stage did I dream that?"
Mark wanted to tell him `yes.' He wanted to deny all knowledge of any nightmare if it meant they wouldn't have to talk about it. But not talking about it didn't mean it would go away. It might even make things considerably worse. "No, Jesse," he said. "No, you didn't dream that. I was there with you last night and you had another nightmare. You don't remember it?"
It was a question he hadn't wanted to ask - perhaps because he didn't particularly want to know the answer. But they had to face it some time. It might as well be now.
Jesse frowned. "No," he replied, pensively. "I just I remember you, but I thought I'd been dreaming you were there."
"You don't remember the nightmare at all?" pressed the older man.
"No. Should I?"
Mark didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He settled, for the time being, on the former. He didn't want to force Jesse to remember something so heinous not right now. It wasn't his call to make and he didn't feel comfortable doing so. But eventually, sooner rather than later, he would have to do something. He would make a call to one of the rape counsellors at Community General later. Perhaps they could suggest the best course of action to take.
"Probably not," he said, eventually, aware that his young friend was still waiting for an answer to his question. "You want some toast?"
A shy grin lit up the wan face. "Yes, please."

Whilst they ate, Mark studied his friend covertly. Jesse was still wrapped in his blanket, as though he were cold or possibly he was subconsciously using it as a shield, warding off harm. There were dark circles under his eyes, evidence of his disturbed nights, but he didn't seem overly troubled by them right now at least outwardly. Some fresh air might do him good. Lord knew, he had been cooped up enough of late, first in that windowless, airless box of a room and then at the hospital. He needed his freedom - or at least a simile thereof.
The older man was very much aware of the guard stationed outside the house. Two cops had been assigned to keep an eye on them, to ensure that Jesse was kept as safe as was humanly possible. Mark didn't like to contemplate the thought of what might happen if the men who had captured Jesse showed up, determined to take him back. All he knew for sure was that he would do everything in his power not to let that happen.

The beach was practically deserted as they started to stroll over the dunes near the house, shadowed by their two sentries. Jesse had showered and changed into his favourite light checked shirt and shorts. The garments hung off his much-diminished frame. Mark reflected silently that at least the young doctor was eating. He wasn't entirely sure what he would have done otherwise. He had been practically half-starved by the time they had found him and it had taken his stomach a while to get accustomed to food again. His appetite was nowhere near normal, but that was to be expected. It was just hard watching him struggle with a plateful of food he would previously have wolfed down in seconds, only to come back for more. Jesse had tried so hard to finish his breakfast but it had been an effort and Mark had come to regret preparing such a huge feast, especially when his young friend had looked up at him from under those long eyelashes and timidly informed him that he couldn't eat another morsel.
Mark had rushed to reassure him that it was perfectly understandable and suggested he get showered so they could take that walk on the beach. After Jesse had padded out of the kitchen to do just that, the older man had braced himself at the kitchen sink, wrestling with the emotions the incident had unwittingly provoked.
He had been all smiles by the time Jesse returned. He had no intention of letting Jesse see just how much all of this was upsetting him. It was hardly his fault and he had enough demons to wrestle. He would only blame himself for his friends' distress it was the way he was.

They walked slowly through the powdery golden sand, enjoying the heat of the sun on their backs. The ocean was tranquil and serene, rising and falling in gentle undulations, reflecting the blue of the lapis lazuli sky, across which streaked long, thin, dissipating vapour clouds of milky-white,
"It's beautiful here," mused Jesse, softly, as he glanced out to sea, mesmerised by the ebb and flow of the waves, as they shimmered with the iridescence of the early morning sunlight.
"Yes, it is," agreed Mark. "It's one of the reasons I bought the beach house."
"To see all this " Jesse waved an expansive hand, taking in the beach, the ocean and their surroundings. "It makes you feel good to be alive."
Mark smiled. "I know." He inhaled deeply of the sea air. "It's an affirmation of life all of this. The sea, the beach, the people there's nothing better than watching the sun rise or set over the ocean. It can't truly be captured in photographs or paintings. It's always beautiful, but always different. The colours are truly amazing."
"I thought I'd never see this again."
The confession, in the faintest of voices, brought a lump to the older man's throat. He didn't quite know how to respond to it. `We didn't think we'd see you again, Jess,' he said, silently. "Well, you did. You are," he said aloud, at length. "You're here, now, and you're safe, Jesse."
Jesse turned from his examination of the ocean to look up at his mentor with anxious eyes. "Am I?" he queried, unsteadily. "Mark, I'm not dumb. I know those guys are still after me. I know why there are two cops tailing us wherever we go. They're trying to prevent that from happening. But we both know that these people are ruthless and if they really want me, then they're not gonna let those guys stand in my way. I I'm scared, Mark. I'm really scared. I can't go through that again. But I I don't want anything to happen to anyone else on my behalf either. Not those cops, and certainly not you. And whilst I'm staying at the beach house, you and Steve are in danger too."
Mark halted, forcing Jesse to do the same. Placing his hands upon those slender shoulders, he locked gazes with his young friend. "Jesse, I want you to listen to me," he said. "Until this is all over, you are staying with me and Steve. I don't want any arguments. Yes, you're still in danger and yes, there is a chance, a remote chance, that whoever kidnapped you the first time will try again. But if they do, then we will be here to protect you - regardless of any danger in which that places us. You would do the same for Steve or Amanda or myself - in a heartbeat. It's what friendship is all about. It's what family is all about. Protecting each other, caring about each other and putting the lives of those you care about ahead of your own. We care about you, son. And whatever you try to do to talk us out of it, we are going to make sure you are safe. And you don't have any choice in the matter."
The young doctor opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, closed it again, then tried once more. Nothing emerged. He really had no idea how to respond to such a declaration. He knew that if he tried, his mentor would just use `that look' on him and he didn't particularly want to be subjected to it right now. Sighing deeply, he hung his head, staring down at the sand as though it might offer up an answer. It didn't. It just sat there, sparkling in the rising sun.
"Jesse?"
Mark's anxious query prompted Jesse to glance up again. The older man was smiling but he couldn't hide his concern.
"I'm okay, Mark," he said, softly. "Really. It's just I hate the thought of you guys being in danger because of me. It kills me, you know? I just I just don't feel up to arguing about it right now."
An arm was slung around his shoulders and, startled, he could do little else but lean into the hug. "It's all right, Jesse," said the older man, warmly, letting him go after steadying him as he wavered slightly. "I can't pretend to understand how you're feeling or what you've gone through but you need your friends right now and we want to be there for you. You would do the same if the position was reversed. I wish you could be free to live your life normally again, but right now, that isn't possible. So, for now, why don't we make the best of it?"
A half-smile appeared. "Okay," he acquiesced, grudgingly. "I guess."
"Good man."

Steve and Cheryl spent another fruitless day. By the end of it, the younger Sloan was about ready to kill someone preferably those who had treated his friend so abominably. Unfortunately, their quarry remained as elusive as ever. The painstaking process of going over evidence thus far gathered, plus any information they could scrounge about Marshall Enterprises ate up the hours with alarming ease and before they knew it, it was early evening.
Steve called his father from the precinct to tell him he would be late and not to wait on dinner for him, only to discover that the older man had managed to speak to his friend who had a contact in the company and that he had already given him some information.
"I don't know how you do it," he grumbled, good-naturedly. "It takes me hours just to go through one file and you come up with a huge clue in an hour!"
"Well, that's because it's not what you know, son, it's who you know," came the smug response.
"Yeah, yeah," mumbled the detective snarkily. "Gloat, why don't you? Okay, I'll be home for dinner after all. I want to know what you have."
"Good. It's Lebanese night tonight."
Steve tried to picture the exotic dishes his father would be serving up Probably something with eyes, or wings or innards that actually looked like what they were all under the guise of haute cuisine. "Oh god," he groaned.
He replaced the receiver whilst his father was still chuckling at the other end of the line.

"So, what have you found out?" Steve demanded without preamble as he strode into the living room, shrugging off his jacket as he did so and flinging it on the sofa.
Mark turned from the fireplace, where he had been reading a battered file, to eye his offspring with thinly veiled amusement. "In a rush, are we, son?" he teased him.
Steve smiled sardonically. "No," he replied. "What gives you that idea?"
The older man's eyes slid from him to the carelessly discarded jacket and then back to Steve again.
The detective shrugged, nonchalantly. "Okay, so maybe I'm a little impatient," he admitted. "So, you gonna tell me what you've found out?"
"Well apparently, my friend's daughter's friend works for Marshall Enterprise's accountant," Mark said. "She mentioned to my friend's daughter a week or so ago that she thought there was something strange going on."
"And?" prompted Steve.
"And she's going to do a little investigating for us."
"That's it?" demanded Steve. "That's all we have? Wait a minute ." He trailed off as the implications of what his father had just told him sank in. "These are ruthless people we're dealing with here, dad. I'm not comfortable with the idea of this woman nosing around. She could get hurt."
"That's what I said," replied Mark. "But she's already been `nosing around' as you so quaintly put it. I don't know her reasons perhaps she sees herself as an amateur detective or she could just be nosy. My friend's daughter has tried to dissuade her, but she's bound and determined to find out what's going on so I've asked if she can bring anything she finds to me and then perhaps, between us, we can make sure nothing happens to her."
Steve bit his lip. "I don't like this, dad," he said, darkly. "What if someone was to come along and catch her? You know what they'll do to her if that happens."
"I know, Steve, but what can we do? If her best friend can't persuade her otherwise "
Rubbing his hands over his face, Steve sighed deeply. "Okay," he said. "I guess we hope and pray that nothing goes wrong."
"And what progress have you made?"
"None!" He threw himself onto the couch, leaning his head back and closing his eyes briefly. "Well, a little, maybe. We've been trying to get hold of Mr Devereaux. We have some questions for him such as why did he get to represent a low life when he usually only works for the big money? I wanna know who hired him. But he's out of town. We're gonna have to wait till he gets back."
"Anything else?"
"Not much. We've put in a request for a warrant for the bank records of Marshall Enterprises. Captain Newman knows a judge who might be sympathetic to our cause. Problem is this company sponsors a lot of charities, including donating a huge amount to the Police fund. The Commissioner is a friend of one of the guys at the top it's not going to be easy to paint them as the bad guys."
"But they are," concluded Mark.
"Yeah."
"Hey Steve."
The detective's head shot up at the new voice and he dredged up a warm smile for his friend, who was standing at the door, regarding him with a wary smile. "Hey, Jess," he greeted him. "How're you doing?"
"Okay," replied the younger man as he entered the room, coming to sit beside the older man on the couch. He glanced first toward Steve then up at Mark and frowned. "You were talking about the case, weren't you?" he demanded.
"Uh what makes you think that?" queried Steve evasively.
Jesse rolled his eyes heavenward. "Steve, I wasn't born yesterday. I could hear the two of you. Besides, isn't that what you guys do? Isn't that what we do? When did the two of you decide to leave me out of this, anyway?"
"We didn't decide to do that, Jess," said Mark, gently, seating himself at the other side of their young friend. "It's just that "
"It's just that you don't think I'm strong enough, is that it, Mark?" There was a distinct edge to Jesse's voice. "Well, I'm fine. I'm just fine. I don't want you guys to treat me differently than before the before. I just I wanna be involved. If you leave me out it just makes things worse. It makes me feel like you don't trust me not to I don't know, not to fall apart or something."
That was the very thing they were afraid of, but they could hardly admit it not when Jesse's emotional state was so unstable. The one thing he hated was to be patronised and that was what they were doing by not sharing with him the details of the investigation into his own kidnapping. Perhaps he needed to be involved. Perhaps it would help chase the demons away especially if they caught the people responsible.
"I'm sorry, Jess," Mark apologised. "Forgive us, please? It's just that we care about you and we were trying to protect you."
"I know that, Mark," Jesse said, heavily. "And it's not that I don't appreciate it, cos I do. But you have to stop trying to shield me from everything like I'm not going to be able to cope if you don't. Yeah, I was beaten up and it hurt and I was scared, but it's over now and if you don't stop treating me like I'm gonna break then it's never gonna be over. It's just gonna keep reminding me."
Steve suddenly smiled. The exasperation in his friend's voice was so like the Jesse of old that it warmed his heart. He lightly clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "We're sorry, Jess," he said, adding his own apology to that of his father's. "We won't do it any more. Okay?"
Jesse smiled tentatively. "Okay," he said. "So, you two gonna share, or do I have to get out the whips and irons?"
Mark winced at the reference to torture. Fortunately, Jesse's back was to him so he didn't see it. Still, if the younger man could make jokes about it But regardless of what Jesse said and no matter how comfortable he seemed with all of this, Mark knew that his ordeal wasn't over. He was learning to deal with the memories by making smart aleck comments about them, but there was still one deep-seated memory sitting there, waiting to emerge.
And Mark didn't relish the moment it finally found its way out.

The three men sat discussing the case until well into the evening, Jesse adding his voice of concern to Steve's. He didn't like the fact that a young woman was putting her life at risk to help him. It made him feel very uncomfortable.
"What if something goes wrong and she gets hurt?" he asked of the two other men. "I couldn't live with myself if hat happened."
Steve and Mark exchanged glances over the younger man's head. "Jesse, it's not like we can do anything about it," pointed out Mark, patiently. "I don't like it either but she was already snooping around isn't it better that she's doing it for us and if she comes up with something, we can help her get away from them."
"I guess so," he agreed, grudgingly. "But it just doesn't feel right, you know? We should be over there, snooping around, going through locked filing cabinets, hacking into computers "
"And anything we found would be inadmissible in court," Steve reminded him, pointedly. "We can't just go over there and look round without a court order, Jesse!"
The younger man scowled at him. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Everything has to be in plain sight. The law."
The detective hid a grin at the heavy sarcasm lacing his friend's voice, recalling the occasion when they had gone over to the apartment of a young woman who had died inexplicably after plastic surgery. Jesse had complained vehemently at the time about not being able to open her letters or listen to her answer machine. `Oh yeah, the law," he had said, "Very complex. I forgot. Well, what if someone not a cop, maybe oh, a doctor, were to accidentally ' whereupon he had `accidentally' knocked his hand against the `play messages' button and, even though Steve had threatened to strangle him, they had listened to what was on it.
"Yes, Jess," he said, now, very dryly. "The law. Complex, remember?"
That earned him a grin as Jesse also remembered the incident. "Hey, I wonder if they have any answering machines at Marshall Enterprises?" he mused.

Hours later, after valuable input from his father and Jesse, Steve felt a little better about the case. It wasn't going to be solved overnight, but they had a fair shot at it now. If only the nosy assistant came through with the information

Jesse lay curled up in a fetal position, rigid with fear, his eyes tightly closed. He was trembling violently.
Distorted voices echoed around him, ridiculing him, whispering vile words that he couldn't understand. Ghostly hands reached for him, scraping over exposed flesh, pausing to inflict pain and then moving on, reaching further and further
He shifted involuntarily, paying for the movement with a brutal blow which almost rendered him unconscious. He bit his lip against the cry that tried to escape, knowing that it would only serve to further encourage his tormenters. They wanted to hurt him. Wanted him to break.
But he wouldn't.
Mocking laughter rang out; somewhere a door slammed. Footsteps receded then faded away entirely.
He was alone.
He started to relax.
Hot, fetid breath wafted over him.
No!
He curled even tighter, felt the soft touch on his thigh.
Panic-stricken, he found that he was incapable of moving and his eyes flew open.
No!
The touch grew bolder.
Foul obscenities spewed forth from the distorted figure.
His head was rocked back by the fierce blow.
Dizzy and sick, blood dripping from his mouth, he could only lay there
NO!!!

Gasping for breath, he shot upwards in bed, completely oblivious to the tears streaming down his cheeks and the half sobs which were escaping from his throat, knowing only that he had to get away. Scrambling out from under the duvet, he scurried across the room, his trembling fingers fumbling with the door handle until finally, blessedly, the door swung open and he was free.
NO!
The remnants of his nightmare pursued him as he sought out an escape route, hurtling mindlessly down the hall. He could still taste the filthy cloth with which they had gagged him, could still feel their hands, travelling over his mutilated flesh, their intimate touches defiling him.
He had to get away!
He was so focused on his objective that he didn't see the dark shape emerge from one of the rooms in front of him, didn't hear the bewildered "Jesse?" and only became aware of the presence of someone else when he collided with them and the two of them fell to the floor.
The effect was instantaneous.
He screamed.
He fought maniacally, his arms flailing wildly as he strove to fight off his assailant. He couldn't stop screaming. Terror filled his heart, and he fought for breath as panic threatened to overwhelm him. He landed a blow and tried to scramble away, but he was held fast.
He was becoming hysterical. He couldn't get away; couldn't fight hard enough; he was lost. He was lost. He was lost
He pleaded breathlessly for mercy, begged them not to hurt him, implored them to let him go.
Please.
It was to no avail.
He knew they were going to kill him.
He would end his days here, broken and abased.
Mark and Steve and Amanda would be so ashamed of him for letting them use him this way.
They would be so ashamed of the craven coward that he had become.
He started to cry.
Soon he was sobbing inconsolably.
He stopped fighting.
Strong, muscular arms encircled him.
Low voices started to converse in urgent tones.
He sank into the embrace in which he had been enveloped.
He could hear the strong heartbeat.
A familiar scent assaulted his nostrils.
He was suddenly terribly confused.
"M Mark?"

Steve exchanged glances with his father as Jesse uttered the older man's name in a strangled voice. The older man had rushed out of his room in response to his young friend's cry of pure terror, just in time to witness his flight down the corridor. He had stood at his door for a long moment, completely at a loss about what to do, until the decision had been taken away from him when Jesse ran straight into him. They had both fallen to the floor, and that had only seemed to increase Jesse's fear. Then had come the younger man's frenzied fight to free himself, not realising that in his agitation, he was mostly struggling against his own inability to right himself.
Steve had appeared on the scene seconds later, awoken by the commotion. He had reached for Jesse, but had been stopped by one gesture from his father. Jesse was fast becoming hysterical and if anyone so much as touched him, he would lash out as Mark had learned to his cost when he had inadvertently laid a hand on his arm. The older man was now suffering from an aching jaw. He had no doubt that it would sport a spectacular bruise in the morning.
The screaming had died away, to be replaced by mindless whimpers as Jesse ran out of breath and energy. The shuddering entreaties that had followed had torn open the hearts of both Sloans. Then Jesse had started to cry, collapsing onto Mark's chest like a broken toy.
The older man had had no compunction this time about enfolding Jesse in his arms, holding him tightly as the younger man sobbed despairingly.
And now
"Yes, Jesse," he said, shakily. "Yes, it's me."
The sobbing stopped, sucked back into the slender frame so suddenly that for a moment, Mark was convinced Jesse had actually stopped breathing. "Jesse?" he demanded, fearfully.
The younger man drew back, staring at Mark with an utterly bewildered expression on his tear-streaked face. "M Mark?" he squeaked. "I don't under I don't understand what ?"
Mark realised what had happened. Jesse's nightmare visions had retreated, leaving no evidence of their presence, except the residual fear that was even now leaving the brimming blue eyes. "It's all right, Jesse," he soothed, nodding approvingly as Steve placed a gentle hand on the blond head and stroked it gently. "It's all right, son. You had another nightmare."
"I I did?" Jesse hitched in a breath as he realised that he was practically sitting in his mentor's lap and his cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "Oh! Oh I'm sorry. I "
Steve's hands slid under his arms and he was helped to his feet even as he struggled to rise on his own. His legs wouldn't support him and he clung onto the detective's muscular arm for a moment or two whilst he regained his balance.
"Th thanks, Steve," he murmured, lowering his head to seek out a spot on the hallway floor, unable to face the other two men. "I I think I'll go back to bed now. I I'm really sorry."
Mark rose stiffly from his position on the floor and ambled the few steps to where Jesse now stood, supported by the younger Sloan. Placing a gentle hand on his chin, he forced Jesse to look up at him. "It's all right, Jess," he said, reassuringly. "It was a nightmare. You're not to blame."
"But I I "
Mark bit his lip. He didn't want to ask the next question, but he had to know "Jesse? Do you remember it?"
The young doctor frowned. "The nightmare?"
"Yes."
A shudder ran the length of the diminutive frame. "I not much. Just just glimpses, fragments really. I remember someone laughing it was horrible. And I remember .. I remember pain they hit me. But the rest it's all just vague images, feelings that I can't describe and don't understand I " He looked helplessly at Mark, a fresh tear rolling down the pale cheek. "Mark? What's wrong with me? What what happened to me that I can't remember?"
The older doctor sucked in a breath. The open honest face was yearning for an answer he couldn't possibly give. Didn't want to give. He strove for words lies that would avert the situation, postpone the inevitable, only to find that he didn't have to, as Jesse suddenly drooped in Steve's arms.
"S sorry," he managed as they steered him back into his bedroom, Mark leaving them temporarily as he dealt with the wreckage of the bedclothes. The duvet was strewn across the floor, the pillows drenched in sweat. He made short work of changing the bedding as Steve guided his young friend to the nearby armchair, seating him in it carefully and then watching over him even as Jesse blinked drowsily up at him.
"You'll be just fine, Jess," he soothed, knowing it to be a lie and not caring. At this point he would have given anything for it to be true. "It's okay."
Jesse grinned crookedly. "Won' say that in the mornin' when you're yawnin' over the desk at Cheryl," he mumbled.
"Aw, Cheryl doesn't mind," said the other man, airily. "She thinks I'm pretty cute when I yawn."
One eye opened up to stare disbelievingly at him, but before they could engage in further, sleep-driven banter, Mark was beside them, helping to get Jesse to his feet once more. The younger man tottered over to the bed safe in the arms of his friends and even as they eased him onto the mattress, his breathing evened out and he was once again asleep.

"What the hell was that?" demanded Steve sotto voce as he watched his friend snuggle down beneath the duvet.
Mark held a finger to his lips and led his son across to the door, where they could converse without risking waking Jesse. "I believe that was a memory of the rape," he said, wincing even as the word left his lips.
Steve winced. "Oh god. You mean he remembers?"
"I'm afraid so. Or at least, his subconscious does for now."
"He's had this before?"
Mark smiled humourlessly at the suspicion in his son's voice. "Once a couple of nights ago. The nightmares at the hospital were a little less vague. He remembered the details of those with more clarity. He told me about them."
"Then why doesn't he remember the details of this one?" Steve's eyes strayed toward the sleeping figure even as he spoke, his throat tightening at the thought that his friend might actually have been aware of the assault. "Not that I want him to," he added, miserably.
Mark frowned, following his son's gaze. "I'm not sure if he was actually cognizent of it, Steve," he explained. "He was feverish when we found him, remember and if the attack happened whilst he was running such a high fever then it's possible he only remembers the feelings it invoked."
"But he could well be burying the memory, couldn't he?" Steve was far from stupid. He had also been around doctors all his life, some of them psychiatrists with whom they had dealt in various cases or friends of his father. He had picked up a few things.
"I'm afraid so, yes," confirmed the older man, sadly. "We have to be prepared for the fact that he may well have been fully conscious at the time, completely aware and he couldn't deal with the fact so he has `selective' amnesia."
"And it's coming out in nightmare form."
"Yes."
Steve wiped his hands over his face, anguish welling within him at the prospect that his best friend may still have to endure the trauma of remembering an act so heinous, so traumatic, so vile. "Jesus, dad "
"I know, Steve, I know," murmured Mark, laying a sympathetic hand on the younger Sloan's shoulder. "All we can do is be here for him if and when it finally hits him."
"Why Jesse?" came the stricken demand. "Why him? What the hell has he ever done wrong for them to do this to him?"
"Steve "
"I'm gonna kill them, dad." It was a familiar refrain one that Steve had used often since the whole thing had begun, but never had his voice been so filled with rage and despair. His fists were clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms so hard that they were drawing blood. "I swear, I'm gonna kill them."
Mark really couldn't respond except to squeeze the broad shoulder supportively. He felt much the same and the fury that welled within him when he considered what had been done to their young friend scared him. He wasn't accustomed to feeling that way. He was calm, measured, controlled. Except when harm befell a member of his family "We just have to be there for him," he reiterated, softly. "That's all we can do for now."

Jesse awoke again a few hours later, after an untroubled sleep, feeling distinctly queasy. The nightmare which had taunted him earlier had left him with the vaguest of impressions cruel laughter, indistinct words, a menacing presence that bespoke of something awful His skin crawled, but he couldn't understand why.
Prising his eyelids open, he blinked sleepily, then his bleary-eyed gaze fell upon the figure sprawled in the armchair which had been moved into position at his bedside. Covered by a travel rug, the gentle snores attested to the fact that the other man was fast asleep.
The smile that the sight prompted quickly faded as a combination of guilt and embarrassment flooded through Jesse. Although he had no tangible memories of his nightmare he did recall the moment when he had become aware that he was curled up on Mark's lap, practically hysterical.
He couldn't recall ever breaking down like that even when he was young. Sure, he had cried in Mark's arms earlier, at the hospital, but that had been reaction from his captivity and overwhelming relief at being safe. He had been mortified later but Mark had assured him that it was only natural and that he would have been worried if he hadn't cried. That had made him feel a little better but he had striven ever since to keep a firm hold on his wayward emotions, failing dismally during Steve's initial visit, of course. It discomfited him to think that his friends had to bear witness to his weakness especially when he had tried so hard to be strong during his captivity.
Now now he just felt horrified by his behaviour during the night. He didn't know how he was ever going to face his friends again.

He shifted in bed, preparing to throw back the duvet so he could go to the bathroom for a drink of water maybe that would help settle his stomach but the slight noise disturbed Mark.
"Wh what?" he gasped, shooting up in the chair, staring around him in wide-eyed bewilderment.
Jesse was frozen to the spot as Mark's eyes tracked back to him and the older man smiled warmly at him. "Jesse!" he exclaimed. "How are you feeling?"
"Um " Jesse averted his gaze, looking anywhere but at his mentor. "I okay, I guess."
"Just `okay'?" prompted Mark. "Jesse?"
Twisting his hands in the sheet, Jesse bit his lip. "I'm I'm really sorry about this morning," he said, in a small voice. "I I don't know what happened."
"You had a nightmare," said Mark, reaching out to cup the younger man's chin, forcing Jesse to look up at him. "It's all right, Jesse. I've told you before . What?" he queried as an expression of utter horror swept across his friend's mobile features.
"You that bruise!" gasped Jesse. "Oh my god I didn't that wasn't I didn't do that, did I?"
"Jesse "
"I did!" Jesse twisted out of Mark's grasp, scampering backward on the bed to stare at him. Dismayed at his reaction, Mark reached out for him again but his friend evaded him. "Mark god, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"Jesse "
"I'm sorry. Please .. please forgive me. I didn't mean to I would never I can't believe I "
"Jesse, stop!" pleaded Mark as the younger man covered his face with his hands, words of remorse pouring out of him. "Jesse it's all right. It wasn't your fault."
"W wasn't my fault?" Jesse echoed, incredulously, finally meeting his eyes over the tips of his fingers. "How can you say that, Mark!?"
"Because it's true."
"No, I you can't this is "
"Jesse, it was an accident," Mark said, firmly. "It was just an accident. If I thought for one minute that you had done this on purpose well, I would have had Steve beat you up."
"St Steve?" echoed Jesse, bemusedly. "B beat me up?"
The older man shrugged, the beginnings of a smile lighting his face. "Well, he's younger than I am," he said. "He works out."
"I I " Jesse regarded the other man in open astonishment for a full moment before bursting into laughter. He couldn't decide what was more absurd. The thought of Mark asking Steve to protect him or the thought of Mark asking Steve to protect him from him. "He's bigger than me!" he protested, feebly.
Mark grinned. "Yes, he is. But then, a lot of people are."
"Hey!"
"Well, it's true."
"That doesn't mean you have to point it out!"
"Oh, I don't know. I think it's only fair that I pay you back for that blow to my ego. It's a long time since anyone got in a sucker punch. Nice aim!"
Jesse lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, contritely. "You know I didn't mean to "
"Yes, I do. And I think we've just about exhausted the subject now. Don't you?"
"Yeah, you're right," the younger man conceded. "It's just "
"Just what?"
"I feel so bad, y'know? I mean, you're kind enough to let me stay at your house and then all I do is wake you up with nightmares and hit you. I just it's just doesn't seem fair."
Mark shook his head in exasperation. "First of all, Jesse, kindness had nothing to do with it. We wanted you here. Secondly well, I'm afraid there's nothing about any of this that's fair." He squeezed the younger man's shoulder. "But we'll get through all of this the way we always do together."
That elicited a shy smile. After everything the disturbed nights, the punch to the jaw, however accidental and the residual emotional trauma he seemed to be suffering that Mark still wanted to know him was a miracle. That he still wanted him in his house well, that spoke of true friendship. "Thanks, Mark," he said, earnestly.
"Don't mention it, Jesse. It`s entirely my pleasure."

Hours later, dinner was underway yet another culinary feast according to Mark, although Steve was heard to mutter that it was a meal to be endured when the telephone rang.
Wiping his mouth with his napkin, Mark rose to answer it.
Whilst he was away from the table, Steve took the opportunity to examine what was on his plate. "What is this?" he demanded, moving aside an unrecognisable vegetable with his fork."
"It's Octopus, shrimp, squid and fish," Jesse told him, shovelling yet another forkful in his mouth and chewing it delightedly. "Why?"
The detective stared at him with his mouth hanging open. "It's what?"
"Octopus, shrimp, squid and fish." The younger man reiterated. "What? What is it?"
Steve grimaced, pushing away his plate with his fingertips. He looked distinctly green. "I uh octopus?" he virtually squeaked.
"Yeah." Jesse spoke around another mouthful, clearly enjoying the meal. "What, you don't like it?"
"Uh I think I'll go see if we have any burgers in the freezer," said Steve, rising from his chair, eyeing his plate with distaste. "You want some?"
"Burgers?" Jesse regarded him with the air of someone who clearly thought he had gone out of his mind. "You want burgers? Steve, where's your sense of adventure? Your sense of spontenaeity?"
"I don't want spontenaeity in my food," Steve grumbled. "I just want something plain and simple to eat."
"You have no soul," sighed Jesse, melodramatically.
"Yeah? Well, say that later when you two have food poisoning!"
"Who's got food poisoning?" demanded Mark as he returned to the table in time to hear Steve's last remark.
"Uh, no-one dad," Steve replied, a little flustered at being caught out by his father. He ignored the sniggering friend beside him and doing his best to retain his dignity, strode toward the kitchen. "I er it's a little rich," he said, gesturing to his meal, which had barely been touched. "I I'll just go see if there's something else."
Mark heaved a heavy sigh. "You know, sometimes I wonder if we took in a foundling," he remarked, secretly pleased to see the sparkle of amusement in Jesse's azure eyes. "That was my friend, by the way. His daughter's friend is on her way over with some files. Now maybe we can get somewhere."

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