Mark studied his accumulation of household paraphernalia and tried to equate them with the purpose-made equipment he was going to emulate. He couldn't remember who had been the first to perform intubation - Jesse would probably know, he thought, and fondly added to himself, the boy reads enough articles to recite the history of medicine - and wondered what items they had cobbled together to achieve it. These days, it all came in a 'pack per patient' kit form, but someone must have come up with the idea and used what they had to hand at the time. It must have worked, because of how routine it now seemed, although the procedure still carried risks. He hoped to God, his contraption would do its job as well.
Steve didn't seem to believe him when he told him what he was going to attempt. Here, in their home. And especially with these things. His son was a good man, and despite his outward veneer of surliness, he carried a heart of gold. All the years of being around doctors seemed to have instilled a need for all things sterile and pristine, and he was worried for his friend's welfare at using anything less. Well, that was fine if you had those things available, but otherwise… Mark had boiled what he could, but the rest would just have to do. With the amount of dirt already harboring in Jesse's lungs, he doubted a little more was going to make much difference. Besides, they could deal with the aftermath with antibiotics later. It was achieving the 'later' that mattered now.
"Jess, I want you to listen very carefully," Mark said.
Pain-filled eyes slowly sought out the source of his voice, and he waited until Jesse's bleary focus settled on him, before continuing, "This is a little unorthodox…"
"W-wouldn't expect anything less," the young doctor jibed. The rapid, light panting of his breaths illustrating how much effort he was expending to speak, which in itself was upsetting, for Jesse and talking went together like Fred and Ginger, you simply couldn't have one without the other. And that was precisely why he was struggling on valiantly. "Just wish I could see it."
"I'll write it up for the next copy of the Medical Journal," Mark bantered, and grinned, "You'll be famous."
Jesse almost giggled at that, and it touched Mark's heart, but there was a subsequent heavy moment of silence, foretelling of the seriousness to come.
"M-Mark… it doesn't matter if… you know…"
"Yes, it does, my friend, it matters a great deal," Mark argued in all seriousness.
Jesse's lips curled ever so slightly, before they quivered with the agony of another strained inhalation. Mark's insides twisted, he couldn't bear to see his young friend undergoing such torture. He ran his eyes over the assembled objects, which were to become life-saving equipment, and prayed what he was about to do would work. In his forty-odd years as a doctor, he'd treated criminals or every kind, some only so because they were victims themselves, but some truly the scum of the earth. And they had lived because of his interventions. He had done those things in the name of justice, and if there was any justice in this world, which could be heinous and cruel, then Jesse, too, must survive. The young doctor was not only an accomplished and dedicated medic, he was compassionate and kind, and if anyone deserved Mark's innate skills and initiative to succeed, then it was he.
"Now, just rest and let us do all the work for you now, okay? Save your strength for what's to come."
"'kay," Jesse whispered, hoarsely, his eyelids fluttering closed as he submitted to his mentor's advice.
Mark was ready. As soon as unconsciousness claimed his charge, he moved behind Jesse's head and tipped it back towards him. The older doctor had to act instinctively, for if he allowed himself to think of whom he was working on and the consequences if he things didn't go as he planned, it would have overwhelmed him. Much practiced actions became fluid motion even with the peculiar hardware. He used the spatula to depress Jesse's tongue and threaded the tube into his open throat. Just in time. Without his superbly conscious effort, Jesse's exhausted body could not manage another breath.
This has to work. Mark picked up the balloon pump, which he'd connected and taped to the tubing, and pushed, delivering the first artificial lungful of air into the frighteningly still body. Jesse's chest rose and then fell, as it should, and Mark repeated the move. He looked to Amanda who had donned his stethoscope to monitor Jesse's heart while he worked. She nodded, and her face erupted in a relieved smile.
Mark was feeling a little smug that his invention seemed to be performing its vital task, but although it was a key step in keeping the young man alive, the air of tension did not dissipate. Jesse's other injuries were severe and may yet prove fatal with the long delay in proper treatment. There was a huge question mark hanging over whether they would be able to save his shattered leg at all, never mind how functional it would be, and then there was whatever trauma his spine might have suffered. But if, between the three of them, they could keep breathing for him until the emergency services finally arrived, he might just make it.
~
Steve sat in the observation room overlooking the OR, his eyes glued to the diminutive form currently the focus of the surgeons' attentions. He couldn't see exactly what everyone was doing, but the fact that they were still working and hadn't given up on the body that had already coded twice as they strived to put right all the damage it had endured, was good enough for him right now. He had turned off the microphone to the theater after the first occasion Jesse's fatigued heart had stopped - dreading that he might hear the piercing alarm again, or worse, a time of death being pronounced - so his world, for the moment, was as mute as it was obscured.
On the periphery of his vision, Mark was hovering beside the operating table. His father had reluctantly conceded he was too tired and shaky to be actively involved in the surgery, after the long vigil of hand-pumping his DIY respirator until the ambulance had eventually arrived to bring Jesse to the hospital and the treatment he so desperately required, but he had insisted on being allowed in the OR alongside his friend, in case his vast knowledge and experience, or anything of his observations over the last few hours, could help them in any way.
The crude, but mercifully effective, means of keeping Jesse alive had now been replaced with the standard equipment. An orthopedic surgeon was trying to put the puzzle of pieces that made up Jesse's left leg bones back together. With the amount of metalwork and screws he was utilizing, he looked more like a car mechanic than a medical man, and it seemed as if his assignment was proving to be a harrowing mission, eclipsed only perhaps by the traumatic activity of the cardio-thoracic specialist, whose latex-covered hands were buried in the young doctor's chest. Steve had never really thought about the fact that Jesse had seen and, moreover, poked, probed and stitched his insides. He wasn't squeamish - he'd never have survived his career with that trait - but the interior of a human body held no fascination for him like it did for his dad, Jesse and Amanda. He marveled at their skills but had no desire to possess them.
Steve looked at the clock on the wall. He had been watching the macabre proceedings for over four hours. It would be getting light outside soon, another day, probably glorious, knowing the kind of weather most likely would follow the storm, and he hoped Jesse would live to see it. Amanda would be along when it was late enough for her to take the children to her mother's. She had been distraught at having to stay behind at the beach house while CJ and Dion continued to sleep. He wanted to be able to give her some good news when she arrived. The pathologist was carrying the weighty burden of feeling responsible for Jesse's plight, as Steve was himself. Jesse would, no doubt, be amused by his two friends warring over who felt the most guilty for what had happened to him. Amused, yes, but sad nonetheless - he wouldn't want them beating themselves up, or each other for that matter, over his predicament.
The detective shifted uncomfortably on the bench, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Waiting truly sucked. Steve liked being a homicide investigator. The hours were appalling, the conditions often atrocious and the people he encountered ranged from the demented to the totally evil, but at least he could pin the blame of a death onto someone. He could gain consolation from knowing there was a reason behind it all, and the culprit would be dealt with appropriately. But an accident was harder to make sense of, and it seemed wholly unfair for the heroism Jesse had shown in rescuing CJ to be repaid with such misfortune. Steve couldn't equate the justice in that. He gazed sadly at the steady activity below, the peculiar choreography of doctors and nurses continuing unfailingly around the center of their interest, who remained deathly still.
"Coffee?" Amanda's voice from behind startled him out of his reverie.
"Thanks," Steve said, taking the Styrofoam cup she offered out towards him. "I didn't think you'd be here for at least another hour."
"I couldn't stay there any longer. I bundled the boys in the car and drove them to my Mom's. She was just opening the curtains as we arrived. Have you managed to get any sleep?" she explained as she perched on the bench next to him.
"No. You?"
She shook her head. It wasn't surprising. Amanda and Jesse were incredibly close, too - perhaps closer than Steve was with her and he'd known her a lot longer. If Jesse was a substitute sibling, then Amanda was also. She was in as much turmoil as Steve, himself. Times like these called for extraordinary behavior. He wasn't one for being demonstrative, but at that moment his surrogate sister was in need of comfort and if he was honest, he was, as well. Steve slung one strong arm around Amanda's shoulders and drew her in tighter to him. He caught the slight squeak of astonishment as he did so, but she didn't shy away. On the contrary, her own arm slid around his back. And there they stayed, committed to awaiting the outcome of the hard-fought battle for Jesse's life.
~
Amanda carefully avoided the pulse-ox monitor as she curled her fingers around Jesse's. He was still deeply unconscious following the long and arduous surgery, so it came as little surprise that her delicate touch did not elicit even the slightest of reactions. Ruefully, she surmised she could probably have punched him and a response would have been similarly unforthcoming.
The pathologist knew all about life and death, and so many of the ways in which someone could go from the former state to the latter. Her knowledge was often sought after, but right now it was millstone around her neck. To all intents and purposes, Jesse could have been another corpse on her laboratory table, and the erratic pattern weaving across the screen at the head of his bed was doing nothing to dispel her consternation that he might yet end up there.
The ICU was a bleak place. While its sole purpose was to maintain life, in many respects it screamed death. Mechanical noises, electrical pings and shrill alarms drowned any sounds of natural existence where they were present; from Jesse there were none to be had. If the equipment clustered around him were to be disconnected, his badly injured body would simply not be able to survive. His youthful face was disfigured by leaden contusions and scratches, and the invasive ventilator tubing spoiled the mouth Amanda longed to see smile again. In her opinion, Jesse's grin was truly one of the wonders of the world, instantly endearing and with an utter brilliance that cheered even the most dismal of moods.
"It's just you and me, Jesse," she said, finally pulling the chair close enough to sit by the bed, making sure she didn't catch any of the array of wires and tubes snaking around the immobile figure. "I sent Mark and Steve home to rest. They didn't want to, of course, but we're going to have to sort out some sort of roster to keep an eye on you while you get better. Everyone's worked really hard, you know, and Mark… I don't think I've seen him so tired, other than when Steve was hurt that time. So that's why you have to fight. D'ya hear me, mister? You can't let him down, Jesse. It would break his heart. And mine. And Steve's. We love you, Jesse. Please, please, get well."
Amanda was sobbing by the time she finished her entreaty. She glanced over at the nurses' station to see if any of them were watching. Not that she was ashamed of showing how much she cared for her friend, she was more worried they would make her leave for fear of unsettling their patients. Well, there was one of their charges she did want to disturb. She would gladly have raised hell in order to provoke some kind of feedback, but she knew it would have no effect. Jesse was completely unresponsive. He had been in a coma by the time they'd reached the hospital, his heart flagging as he succumbed to the severity of his injuries, blood loss and delay in proper care. Mark had done all he could with the limited resources he had available, more than she would have believed credible. He had performed a miracle that night, but it might not be enough. Jesse's heart had stopped as they pulled into the bay outside the ER, then twice in the course of the simultaneous operations on his ravaged body. He had been revived on each occasion, but it was a struggle, calling for extreme measures, but just like when Steve had been so gravely ill after his shooting, Mark, as his advocate, would not allow them to give up, and a reviled voice at the back of Amanda's mind was afraid that he might have fought too hard to preserve Jesse's life at any cost. With the number and duration of resuscitations he had undergone, brain damage was a very real possibility.
Then there was the other potential long-term debilitation, of which she had not been aware until her young friend emerged from the OR and was being wheeled to the recovery room. She'd caught Mark lingering by a light-board studying some X-rays of Jesse's back, and he had guardedly spoken of the young doctor's loss of feeling in his legs. It had not been a priority for the surgical team - there had barely been sufficient time to patch up the most immediately life-threatening injuries before his body had simply become too weak for them to continue their invasion. So while they waited for word that Jesse was ready to be transferred to the ICU, for which Mark wanted to be present, he and Amanda had examined the pictures closely, but they could see nothing significant other than a mass of bruising around his spine. It was too early to make any kind of diagnosis, let alone a reasonable prognosis, but Amanda had already made up her mind to be there when it was proffered.
~
Mark couldn't stifle the yawn before he infected Steve with it. The aging doctor hadn't slept much, either, and what little he'd managed was interrupted with dreadful images of Jesse losing his fight, and judging by his son's gaunt expression it seemed his slumber had been equally troubled and short-lived.
They sat at the table, both staring at the untouched eggs and hash-browns
on their plates. However much sense it made to eat and keep their strength
up, which was why Mark had gone to the trouble of making the breakfast-come-lunch,
neither could actually face consuming any of it.
At least they hadn't been recalled to the hospital, which must mean Jesse
was still clinging to life with the tenacity Mark had come to expect from
his young friend. But there were so many post-operative complications that
could yet take him from them. And then, assuming he survived the next few
fraught days of intensive treatment, he would be faced with months of recovery.
The orthopedic surgeon had realigned and pinned together the fragmented
bones of Jesse's left leg; repaired muscle, cartilage, vein and arterial
damage, and was cautiously optimistic that he had saved the limb. Mark
could only hope the man's hours of meticulous work wouldn't prove to be
nothing more than a cosmetic exercise, for the result was astoundingly hideous.
The crazy pattern of stitching was going to leave dreadful scars, but that
was going to be the least of Jesse's worries. Mark was concerned that the
extent of the damage, no matter how brilliantly it had been repaired, was
crippling in itself, but if there was a serious injury to Jesse's back,
then all that effort would simply have ensured he'd have the right number
of legs to position in his wheelchair.
Jesse was someone who burned the candle from the sides as well as both ends. It was inconceivable to imagine him being confined in such a way, and far too cruel a fate for the young man.
"Are you going to eat any of that?" Steve asked, interrupting his somber brooding.
"I guess not," Mark replied with a weighty sigh.
Steve picked up the dishes and scraped the wasted food into the trash before stowing them in the dishwasher. "I've already called in and told them I'm taking the day off," he said, as he picked up his cell-phone, keys and wallet from the counter.
"Steve…"
"Dad, I know it was an accident - that no one was to blame. It doesn't stop me feeling responsible. I need to be there."
Mark appreciated how close Steve and Jesse were. The misplaced guilt was bound exist, as was the desire to support his friend. And Jesse would require that for some long time to come. Initially just to regain his strength, but after that… well, they'd cross each bridge as they came to them.
"Can we go?" Steve asked, anxious to be on his way.
"I ought to make a couple of calls first," Mark answered. The thought had only just occurred to him.
"Don't tell me," the cop chimed back, hardly using any of his detective's skills as he continued, scornfully, "Dane and Elaine Travis."
"They should be told." Mark wasn't enamored of the estranged pair either, but it was usual to contact next of kin when someone was involved in an incident. Just because he and Steve regarded Jesse as part of their family, and it was reciprocated, didn't mean his real parents didn't deserve to know how critical his condition was.
"D'you think they'll come?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, son," Mark replied, honestly.
Steve's tone, however, remained bitter. "You mean they might if they haven't got anything better to do, like saving the world or the latest medical conference in Barbados."
"Whatever you or I think of them, they're Jesse's parents. I'm sure he would want them to know."
"Okay, but do me a favor… when Jess wakes up, don't tell him you've contacted them, unless he asks… just in case."
Mark smiled in understanding, and he considered he and Katherine hadn't done a bad job of raising their son. Steve didn't want Jesse to build his hopes up, because on too many occasions in the past he'd had them cruelly dashed. On top of everything else, he obviously didn't want to see him hurt in that way, as well. For that matter, neither did Mark; but he wasn't going to risk their relationship with Jesse by deliberately keeping Dane and Elaine out of the picture. If either, or both, of them chose to come he would welcome their arrival, except if it became detrimental to his precious patient's recovery, and if they didn't, well, Jesse had him, Steve and Amanda to root for his survival, and encourage every step along the precarious path back to health.
~
Steve wondered how on earth Jesse had turned out to be the fine, upstanding, caring human being he was, with such self-centered individuals for parents.
Mark's phone calls had been met with shock and sorrow, but not from either Travis. Dane was undercover somewhere in Europe and the number he'd left with Mark linked to an office, the duty operative said he would do his best to get a message to the agent, but couldn't guarantee anything. Elaine's secretary had been similarly pessimistic about an early response from her employer. Steve's sarcastic guess at the woman's whereabouts was pretty close to the mark; she was indeed engaged in a seminar - in Australia.
While he was sad for his friend that neither of his parents would be there for him, in the near future at least, it suited Steve just fine. He was in no mood to be pleasant with people he regarded as being emotionally repressed. Anyone who didn't know him very well might have said that was the pot calling the kettle black, but he did have feelings, he just didn't like to show them off to all and sundry. Words of that kind did not come easily. He liked to believe his support came in the form of his solid presence.
At that moment though, he was forcing himself to be necessarily voluble. He did not know who had suggested coma patients could hear those around them, but if it would help Jesse, the normally taciturn detective was prepared to give it a shot.
Amanda had finally gone home to rest and spend some time with her children. Mark was taking a shift in the ER as they were a man down, keeping himself busy, but close. So it was Steve's turn to sit a lonely vigil, reciting his monolog. For once, he wished Jesse would interrupt. He wouldn't ask for much, especially as his young friend's mouth was otherwise occupied with the ventilator - the twitch of a finger would do. Sadly, he was disappointed, but he continued to hold Jesse's relatively uninjured hand loosely within his own grasp to make sure he didn't miss anything.
Every now and then, when the nurses stopped by to perform their duties, Steve took his breaks - grabbing another industrial strength coffee, going to the restroom or just stretching the kinks from his back. He had no desire to watch while his friend underwent the indignities of being bed-ridden. If Jesse really was able to hear from the distant place to which his mind had retreated, then Steve wanted him to have this privacy. Besides, the nurses whispered between themselves about the condition of their charge, and he didn't want to listen while they discussed how little hope there was.
Jesse was going to make it through this. He had to, because Steve couldn't imagine his life without the lively young man in it. Jesse Travis had filled the place in his heart Steve had reserved for a little brother, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing him.
~
Consciousness tugged at his senses. Muted voices fading in and out, light heavily filtered by eyelids he couldn't quite yet marshal the strength to lift and a dulled, but nevertheless distinct, all-encompassing pain.
Though the words were indistinguishable in the fug of his mind, the tones told him all a great deal. Everyone was sad. They needed his help, for some reason, though goodness only knew what use he could possibly be to them in his current bewildered state. Maybe he should try and get to them, wherever they were. Reluctant to see what could be out there to make his friends so upset, he decided to reach out a little. His fingers moved, but it took more effort than usual, and he flinched when his hand was suddenly, greedily grasped by another.
"Jesse, that's it, son. You're nearly there…"
"Wake up, Jess. You've been sleeping long enough, pal. Come on…"
Mark and Steve. He trusted them. If they were telling him it was safe to surface then he could believe it. Slowly, he cranked open one eye to assess his theory, and immediately had to squint against the harsh brightness of the room.
"I've turned the light down a bit. Is that better?" Mark said, softly.
Jesse tried again. It was. And thus his faith in the older doctor was further cemented.
When the vague figures standing over him finally coalesced into the two men he knew so well, he was bemused. Before, they had sounded so bereft and yet here they were grinning like lunatics. Maybe he should have stayed away…
"It's good to have you back with us, my friend," Mark's deep voice seemed to boom through Jesse's brain after so long in his netherworld.
It was only then, when he became fairly aware, that he was shocked by the rush of air forcing its way into his lungs, unbidden. Jesse choked on the awful sensation. Powerless to stop what was happening, he was scared that one of the most instinctive reflexes had been stolen from him and was under the control of a machine. Logically, he realized the ventilator had probably been essential to his continued survival at some point, but he wanted the contraption removed… like now!
Thankfully, Mark must have noted his distress and he offered to try him without it. Jesse eagerly complied with the procedure he had performed so often on others but had never experienced himself. In no time, he was sucking gratefully on a number of ice chips, allowing the resulting cold liquid to mollify his abused throat. He was beginning to feel a bit giddy, though and wondered if perhaps he had been premature in wanting the vent disconnected.
The other doctor threaded the clear tube of a nasal cannula around his face, and Jesse covetously inhaled its leaking oxygen.
"Better?" Mark asked.
Jesse opted to nod in reply. He didn't think he was quite ready to test his voice just yet.
"Any pain?"
He really would have liked to say 'no', but various hurts were starting to impinge on his consciousness, and the accumulated level of torment was fast approaching intolerable. Jesse had to admit defeat. He nodded again.
"Okay, we'll just increase the dose a little. See if that helps…"
Almost immediately, the young doctor felt the skin of his right hand being jiggled and he turned his head a fraction to see Mark delivering the painkiller into the IV port. It took a few minutes for the extra medication to seep into his system, but once it did, relief was sweet. He felt himself drifting back off to sleep, attempted to stave off the inevitable, but the sandman's pull was too great to resist.
"Rest easy now, Jess." Mark patted his shoulder, affectionately.
"I'll see you tomorrow, buddy," Steve called, as Jesse's eyes fluttered shut. It was comforting to know his friend believed there would be another day, for the abyss ahead of him appeared to indicate otherwise. But he placed his confidence in his adopted family, and stepped over the edge…
~
Amanda almost spilled her coffee when she looked up from the book she was reading and saw Jesse peering blearily at her. She was convinced he must have sensed her disappointment at missing out on his first foray back into the world, yesterday, and had saved his next appearance just for her.
"Jesse," she sighed, relieved and happy to see him surface, tossing the paperback to one side while placing her cup on the nightstand. "I was beginning to think you were ignoring me."
Anguish played over the expressive features as the young man feebly shook his head, bringing Amanda's spirits crashing down again. It seemed her jokes were destined to fall flat.
"I'm sorry, honey, I… I didn't mean… it's just so good to see you awake."
"H-how lo-ng?" Jesse rasped, saving her from any further explanation.
Amanda gripped his hand tightly. "Four days. You had us all so worried."
They still were. Just because Jesse's bruises were mellowing, and he once again had full blood volume, had been re-hydrated and was regaining consciousness, his condition continued to be a cause for concern. His lungs were not completely clear of fluid, with the high dose of antibiotics he was receiving, barely keeping the pleurisy at bay. And there was much that could go wrong following such extensive and complicated surgery. But they had been encouraged that the ventilator was no longer necessary and had decided to move him from the ICU to a private room, that morning.
The pathologist fed him a spoonful of ice chips, and she could almost see the cogs turning, as he processed the information she'd given. It might have taken him a little longer than usual, but after all he'd been through it was incredible he could be so coherent.
"It's Thursday?" he queried.
"Yes," she answered, both surprised and delighted he'd been able to work it out despite his obvious lethargy.
"W-what time is it?"
"A little after eleven. Why?"
Jesse took several deep wafts of oxygen through the cannula before expounding. "Mrs Gallesto. She's attending her first dialysis session today. I said I'd be there."
Amanda couldn't believe what she was hearing, and yet coming from Jesse it made almost perfect sense. She'd known many dedicated doctors, but her young friend took the trait to a whole new level. "Oh, Jesse. You've suffered dreadful injuries, you've been unconscious for the best part of a week and you can still remember appointments you made with your patients?"
"Technically she's not my patient anymore, since I referred her to the renal unit," he responded, affably.
"They should be able to see her through it okay."
"She's scared. She doesn't hear too well and she says the nurses speak too fast. She's due in at noon. 'Mand', could you find her and explain things to her, for me?" Jesse gave her a sugary smile, marred somewhat by his battered appearance.
How could she refuse? Even if he hadn't been incapacitated, she probably would have succumbed to his wiles, as she had on countless other occasions.
"Okay, but just this once. There are other doctors in the hospital, you know. Your patients will just have to do without your exceptional talents for a little while." Amanda held her breath, wondering if she'd just overstepped the mark with her comments. Jesse took his work very seriously and given the reactions to her earlier teases, she was on tenterhooks as to how he would receive this latest one. Her fear was unfounded, however as he smiled appreciatively.
"Thanks, Amanda. I owe you one," he gasped, showing signs of flagging.
It was too soon for him to be exerting himself in this way. But their relationship was full of friendly banter and she couldn't help herself chiding gently, "If you're counting - you owe me a lot more than that, mister. How about that time…"
Jesse coughed, interrupting her, and Amanda's hand flew to the call button, where it hovered anxiously for a few seconds until he managed to bring the bout under control.
The young doctor sagged further into the pillow, exhausted. Amanda stroked the hair back from his eyes and was alarmed at the heat emanating from his forehead. Checking the readout monitoring his temperature, it seemed slightly elevated and she made a mental note of what had happened, hoping the only reason was the toll of the coughing fit.
"Do you want me to find Mark? I'm sure he could schedule his lunch to sit with you while I'm gone."
"Nah. 'S okay, I… I don't think I can stay awake much longer, anyway." Jesse yawned, exaggeratedly.
"Well, if you're sure. I'll get over to the renal unit and find Mrs Gallesto. I'll be back as soon as I can," Amanda stated as she bent to pick up her bag, stuffing the paperback in it.
There was no reply. She scrutinized her friend, terror lancing through her at his sudden lapse, but her fear dissipated as she realized he was merely sleeping peacefully. Smiling, she bent and kissed his warm forehead, before tip-toeing from the room.
~
Steve was sauntering down the corridor, all the brighter for knowing Jesse was on the mend. He had brought plenty to keep himself occupied - under one arm he had a full set of sports papers he intended to trawl through during the hours Jesse was asleep, and in his other hand he carried a hold-all brimming with unsorted papers and a red folder, on the spine of which was a label with 'BBQ Bob's Accounts' written in the young doctor's scrawl. And for when Jesse was alert, he had several new cases with which to regale him the gory details. He was almost at the door when he spotted Amanda hurrying towards his friend's room from the other direction.
"Amanda! I thought you were supposed to be with Jesse," he called, making her start.
"Steve! I was, until he remembered Mrs Gallesto," she counter-hailed.
"Mrs Gallesto," he repeated, as if it should mean something.
"Founder of the Doctor Jesse Travis fan club…"
The detective raised his eyebrows quizzically. He sometimes used the expression during interrogations, and it had the desired effect on the young woman, too, as she stopped being obtuse and actually explained what was going on.
"She's one of his old patients. She had to come in for dialysis today and he wanted to make sure she was okay. I'd have been back sooner only she's really deaf, and I had to explain everything at least three times, and if I have to hear 'what a lovely young man Doctor Travis is' one more time, I swear I'll scream," she ranted, and growled menacingly.
"Well, he is," Steve said, innocently, grinning at Amanda's obvious exasperation.
"I know that," she replied, grumpily. "But… oh, never mind. What have you got there?" she asked, indicating the hold-all.
"The book-keeping," he explained.
"I didn't think you had the head for that," she commented.
"I don't," he agreed. "I thought Jesse could keep himself amused for a few hours."
"Steve, he's only managing to stay awake for a few minutes at a time. I don't think he's quite up to high finance just yet," she mocked.
"He's had you running around after his patients…" Steve retorted with more than a little sarcasm.
"Point taken," Amanda conceded. "Well, now you're here I'm going to the on-call room to catch a nap before my shift." She turned to leave but stopped and said, "By the way, Jesse's temperature was a little high earlier and he was coughing, I'm sure the nurses are keeping an eye on it, but…"
"I'll tell my dad when I see him," he assured her.
"Thanks. And tell Jesse Mrs Gallesto is fine. Bye, Steve."
"See you later, Amanda."
Steve entered the room quietly, not wanting to disturb his friend's much-needed healing sleep, but it was too late. Jesse was just blinking open his eyes.
"'Manda?" he queried, drowsily.
"Try again…"
"Steve!" Jesse cried, as he focused on the older man. He seemed delighted at his new visitor's arrival, which in turn warmed Steve's heart.
The detective strode over to the bed, sat on its edge and without thinking placed a hand on Jesse's right thigh. "Hey, Jess. How're you feeling?"
Jesse didn't answer. His gaze traveled from Steve's face to where his hand was resting and his suddenly wide-eyed expression froze in terror.
"Oh God, Jess, sorry, I wasn't thinking, I…" Steve leapt from his perch like a scalded cat. How much hurt had he caused his young friend with his carelessness? Then he realized he hadn't touched the leg that had been so badly broken, therefore he couldn't have done any harm. However, it slowly dawned on him - Jesse's panic-stricken features stemmed not from pain but from the fact that he hadn't felt anything. Steve's good mood took a nosedive. Tests for the reason behind Jesse's paralysis hadn't been possible while he was unconscious, so between them, the friends had conspired not to mention it, hoping the problem might rectify itself before he was fully aware.
"Do that again," Jesse demanded.
"What?"
"Your hand… on my leg."
"Like this?" Steve reluctantly complied.
Jesse, with his left arm heavily cast, awkwardly shuffled in his bed until he could use his other hand to poke at his lower limbs. "Oh my God, no," he whispered, breathily. "Steve, is Mark in the hospital?"
"Uh, yeah, he's…"
"I want to see him." Jesse, surging upward, grabbed at Steve's arm in desperation, his breathing ragged.
"Jesse, calm down," Steve soothed, wrapping his free arm around the slim shoulders.
"Please, Steve, just get Mark," Jesse implored, lifting huge, pleading eyes up at him. The young doctor was on the verge of hyperventilating; sweat beading his brow.
Steve quickly pressed the call button, but a nurse was already at the door. She rushed over to the monitor where he now saw the lines zig-zagging crazily across the screen. The numbers at the side were steadily climbing and, inevitably, an alarm started to chime.
"Get Doctor Sloan up here, now!" Steve yelled at the woman. He was ashamed of how sharply the words had come out, but fear for Jesse's well-being had him in its icy grip.
More serenely than he could have imagined was possible, given his rudeness, she told him, "He's being paged."
Jesse began to cough, each harsh hacking sound tearing through the detective's consciousness. Stunned, at the turn of events, he could only stand and watch helplessly as the nurse tried to tend her distressed patient around him. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, to alleviate the terror overwhelming his friend.
"Steve…" Jesse croaked, hoarsely, fighting for every breath. They clung to each other, similarly petrified, until Jesse went completely limp, his deadweight slumping suddenly from the astonished Steve's arms onto the bed. At the same instant, the peak-filled trace on the monitor morphed into a perfectly straight horizontal line and the alarm turned into a staggeringly monotonous tone.
The nurse slammed the call button again, but there was already activity behind them.
"Out of the way, son," Mark's voice sounded, and Steve was pushed aside. Normally, he would have been less than amused at the treatment, but as he didn't seem capable of controlling his own body at this point, he was grateful for the shove increasing the distance between him and Jesse's frighteningly still form. He had caused this. One thoughtless deed and his friend's first tentative steps to recovery had been perhaps irrevocably reversed. Steve was in shock.
The nurse had wheeled the defibrillator over, and Mark wasted no time in applying the paddles to the young man's motionless chest. The pattern on the screen did not waver, and a second, greater charge also failed to induce a change.
"Don't do this, Jesse," Mark ground out. "300 joules."
Again, Jesse's body lurched from the bed as the current surged through him. A long second passed and then a blip appeared on the monitor, followed by another, and another. Steve exhaled loudly, and realized he had been holding his own breath in unconscious sympathy.
Once the rhythm was dancing reassuringly across the screen, Mark stowed the equipment away. He and the nurse rearranged their patient and checked all the wires and tubes connected to him, before he began a thorough examination of the young doctor. When, eventually, he stepped back, he reported to her, "Let's keep him on the mask for now, but if these numbers don't improve we may have to re-intubate."
Then Mark turned to his son, and while his question was a simple request for information, Steve could only hear a loaded accusation.
"What the heck happened, Steve?"
~
Mark sat by the bed watching a slumbering Jesse's chest rise and fall. Even after nearly three days since the young man's startling crash, he was finding the constant rhythmic movement an absolute blessing, for they had been shown with astonishing veracity how his system had been severely weakened by his ordeal. Thankfully, there had been no need to put the young man back on the respirator; his body, in general, recovering from the episode quicker than Mark had dared hope for. However, his fever had risen slightly, leaving his skin dressed with a fine sheen of perspiration.
Not wanting a repeat of the panicked response Jesse had made to being accidentally reminded of his paralysis, Mark had broached the subject at the earliest opportunity, and while naturally, his friend hadn't taken the news well, at least Mark had been able to assure him he would do everything he could to find some answers. They had embarked on a full series of tests, but still hadn't found anything conclusive. New X-rays had shown only a slight improvement in the spinal cord contusion, and this remained the main suspect for the loss of feeling and movement in his legs, though only time would tell if something more sinister was hiding behind its façade.
Physically, Jesse was making remarkable progress in most respects. The orthopedic surgeon was more than pleased with how his work had turned out, with the bones of his leg already knitting and circulation fully restored. Plus, he had pretty much overcome the setback of his collapse, and was now able to stay awake and alert for a couple of hours at a time. It was tough on him though. Lying in bed was something the young man was not cut out for. He was used to a punishing schedule in the ER, an equal share of the work at the restaurant, plus his other studies, a bi-weekly clinic at the women's shelter and of course, his beloved surfing and occasional involvement in Mark's investigations. Sleep was reserved for the odd few hours he could spare in between. Mark was trying to keep the younger man amused as best he could given the obvious restrictions, but the finer points of Karpov's chess game were no substitute for Jesse's packed and vibrant life. On top of his incarceration, Jesse had been stripped of his independence, and Mark could see the increasing frustration as he regained his senses but was incapable of even the simplest of tasks without help in some form or another. He was becoming something of a coiled spring, which sometime soon might snap under the pressure.
A week had passed since the accident, and Mark, Steve and Amanda all had their own work to do. Amanda had her sons, and Steve had the restaurant which, without Jesse, was taking up more of his so-called free time, so Mark was spending the majority of his downtime at the young man's bedside, but it was fast becoming a thankless duty. Not that he was doing it for lavish expressions of gratitude, Jesse was as good as family and deserved his support, even if he was digging himself a chasm of self-pity. He could understand why Jesse felt depressed and would never blame him for the anger he felt for what had happened to him. But he was bottling up these feelings instead of venting, and as a doctor himself, he should know the danger of such repression. In fact, Mark was certain the persistent fever was a result of it. Unfortunately, although medics were full of advice for other people they didn't always know what was good for themselves. The nadir-bound path was one which Mark had familiarity with, and he knew the road back was one which largely had to be found from within.
And Jesse wasn't the only one hurting emotionally. Steve felt utterly responsible for his young friend's collapse and although Mark knew he had good reasons to keep him away from the hospital for all but an hour or so a day, he wondered if they weren't becoming a little too convenient and timed so that Jesse was asleep by the time he got there. The aging doctor had tried to assuage his son's perceived guilt by telling him it was just an unfortunate circumstance of the way they'd decided to treat the question of Jesse's problem, but Steve had already made up his mind and no amount of sagacious words from Mark were going to change it. And Jesse was too wrapped up in his own misery for the moment to see how much Steve needed absolution.
Mark didn't know how he was going to resolve the situation. He suspected that even if Jesse's paralysis disappeared, as they were all praying it would, Steve would still carry the burden of having nearly killed him, after all the effort of keeping him alive.
The hand under Mark's own suddenly cramped, fingers curling, white-knuckled, into the sheet below.
"No!" Jesse cried out in his sleep.
The older doctor tried to rouse his restless patient, but Jesse was totally lost in a fevered dream, his head flipping from side to side, leaving sweaty smudges on the pillow.
And as a tear ran from the corner of the young man's eye, Mark could only begin to wonder what images were tormenting him to such an extreme degree.
~
The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough for him to stand squarely in it, and adorned by a black and white checkerboard pattern on all sides, even the floor. It made him feel claustrophobic. Jesse didn't know how he'd gotten there. He couldn't remember, but ahead of him he could see a closed door at the far end. He started walking towards it, but didn't seem to be making much progress. He broke into a steady jog, but still the end of the tunnel remained at a distance. Finally, he ran. Ran and ran, legs pumping up and down until his lungs were burning with exertion and the door suddenly loomed right in front him. Unable to stop in time, Jesse slammed into it, knocking the remaining breath harshly from his body. It took a moment to regain his composure; then he grabbed the handle. He twisted it and pulled. It wouldn't open. He tried turning the knob in the opposite direction, but to no avail. He tugged as hard as he could, only to have the handle come away in his hand. Frustrated beyond belief, he pummeled the door with his fists, but nobody answered. Eventually, his hands were raw and bloody, hurting too much to carry on, and he turned, slumping dejectedly against the door when he found the tunnel had closed behind him, and there were now three more doors, one on each side and one ahead. He tried each in turn. The first and second were locked fast, too. But the last handle, much to his surprise, clicked as he turned it, and the door opened.
"No!" Jesse screamed at full volume, not wanting to believe the sight before him. Right behind the open doorway was another door. He opened that. There was another. And another. And another. Each door was smaller than the one before it, but he kept opening them, until he was kneeling on the floor to be able to see through the successive frames. He continued even after the doors were so small that he had no hope of squeezing through. It was getting hard to breathe, squashed as he was. He attempted to straighten a little to allow some air into his lungs, but a new terror faced the trapped man. The walls and ceiling were closing in, screeching loudly as they slid over each other. Crushing him in a little box. Abruptly, everything stopped.
Jesse couldn't escape. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.
But he did cry.
"Jesse. Jess, it's okay. You're safe. Wake up and see for yourself."
Jesse knew the melodic voice as well as his own. "M-mark?" he questioned, drowsily, trying to blink the tears from his eyes. His chest hurt.
"You were having a nightmare…"
That's what it was? But it felt so real. Trapped. He couldn't move. Couldn't escape the horror. Jesse's mind began to run away with itself again and, panic-stricken, his breathing quickened.
"Jess, come on. It was just a bad dream," the older doctor soothed.
Mark sounded so sure, and Jesse could feel the warmth of his mentor's hand on his arm, stroking gently, grounding him. A nightmare, that's all it had been. He was awake now and everything was all right. Except it wasn't. His legs wouldn't work. He was trapped, in a hospital bed, and no one - not even Mark whom he had trusted to make everything better - could tell him if this was a nightmare he would ever wake up from.
During the day he had been striving to maintain a cool veneer, in spite of his friends trying to coax his feelings out of him; he was a doctor for God's sake. He told people dreadful news almost every day of the week in some way or other, shouldn't he be able to take it when it was aimed in his direction? He hadn't wanted to show how terrified he was, especially to Mark, but the nightmare had chased away his inhibitions, leaving him open and vulnerable to the reign of his fears.
What if he never walked again? He might not only lose his career and his hobbies, but his friends, too. He wouldn't be part of the team anymore. There would be no more coffee breaks in the doctors' lounge thrashing out the trickier points of Mark's latest case, no more discussions as they ambled through the halls. On a practical level he couldn't possibly take an active role in investigations - he wouldn't be able to beat Steve to a crime scene, or go undercover because it would be deemed too dangerous. If he were involved at all, it would be on the sidelines. They might throw him the odd snippet of information out of sympathy. He didn't want that.
Jesse couldn't expect round-the-clock attention, nor did he particularly crave it, but he'd barely seen Steve in the last few days, though Mark had told him he had stopped by late, after his extra shifts at Bob's, and when his detective work permitted. Amanda, too, was becoming a less frequent visitor, though he understood the other responsibilities and a young family that occupied her time. And while Mark was doing his best to make up for their absences, Jesse's sullenness was even putting a dent in the older doctor's usual chirpiness. He knew he was upsetting his friends, and possibly driving them away by his refusal to disclose the extent of his concerns, but he couldn't help himself.
Just like in his nightmare, he was being robbed of his freedom, not least of all by his own, almost fanatical, independence. All his choices were being taken from him. All anyone would see when they looked at him was a cripple in a wheelchair. He would cease to exist as a person; he would become a package - body and care-orders. He would be dependent on others, limited by his disability and allowed only to do what those around him perceived as safe.
In the dimmed lighting Jesse found Mark's silhouette. It was ironic. A solid presence but no discernable features - exactly how he saw himself at the moment.
"Do you want to talk about it, Jess?" the dark shape asked.
"No."
"You've obviously got a lot on your mind… so many questions, doubts, fears. No one is going to think any less of you for being afraid, Jesse, but if you won't let anyone close enough to help you, I don't know how you're going to cope with this."
"I'll be okay," Jesse remarked, flatly. Even to his own ears his voice sounded like a specter of its former self.
Apparently, he wasn't fooling Mark either. "I'm not convinced, Jesse. I'm your friend and I always will be. I hope you'll remember that."
"I'm tired, Mark. I don't want to talk. I just want to go to sleep." And forget everything.
"I'll be here," the older man assured.
Jesse didn't argue. Although his words or his intonation might indicate the contrary, he didn't want Mark to go away. He wished he could let everything out like his friend wanted, but he didn't trust himself to maintain any form of composure, and he had already lost enough control of his life. If this was the one thing he could make a stand over, although it may prove self-destructive, then so be it. Closing his eyes, he prayed another nightmare wouldn't steal his conviction.
~
"Amanda, are you busy?" Mark's voice sounded from the doorway to the pathology lab.
She was, actually, with two autopsies to perform in her capacity as Medical Examiner. But the report to the District Attorney could probably wait a little longer - it wasn't as if the drug dealers that had apparently shot each other over working the same patch were going anywhere anytime soon, or ever, for that matter.
"Come in, Mark," she said, not liking to lie, but not wanting him to go either. Something was clearly troubling her old friend, and she had a fair idea what. She crossed to her desk and sat behind it. Glancing at the clock, Amanda realized it was around the time when Jesse received his daily physical therapy, which explained Mark's arrival at her door.
He sank wearily into the one in front. "How does Jesse seem to you?" he asked, straight to the point, and not surprising her at all.
"Bored, frustrated, agitated, angry, upset… Do you want me to go on?" Her list was borne from bitter experience. Jesse had barely said a word to her on her last visit, keeping his gaze fixed on the television, though she was sure he wasn't actually paying the show any attention. It was a stark contrast to that first time she'd been there after he'd woken, when they'd discussed Mrs Gallesto. She had even tried asking if there were any other patients that needed a bit of special care in his absence, but it had failed to raise any interest from him. His words had stung all the more because they were exactly what she'd said to him, but where she had uttered them mockingly, he had almost spat them in her direction. There are other doctors in the hospital, you know…
"So basically…" Mark began.
"Depressed," they chorused in unison.
After a shared rueful smile, Amanda carried on, "In a nutshell, yes. But I'm surprised you haven't gotten through to him."
Usually, Mark could have ordered Jesse to jump and while he might have asked 'how high?' there would have been no question as to whether he would follow the command. It wasn't like Jesse to be introverted or antagonistic, but then it wasn't like Mark not to have found an answer to the odd behavior.
"He had a nightmare last night - woke up terrified," he declared, solemnly.
"Is it any wonder with all he's been through?"
"I know. I know," Mark sighed. "But he's shutting us all out, and holding everything in. I'm afraid he's going to suffer a breakdown at this rate." He leaned over and dropped his head into his hands.
Amanda wasn't sure if the gesture was more one of exhaustion or exasperation, surmising it must be a bit of both. She walked round her desk and put her arm around the older doctor. "You're doing everything you can, Mark. It's just going to take him a little longer to bounce back from this than normal."
"What if he doesn't?"
"Oh, Mark, it's not like you to be so pessimistic," the pathologist remarked, genuinely saddened by the effect the situation was having on her friend.
"Maybe it's catching," he retorted morosely. He sighed heavily again and then straightened in his seat. "Sorry, honey, I shouldn't be bothering you with this."
"Don't be silly, of course you should," she chastised, gently giving his shoulder a squeeze. "That's what friends are for."
"I wish Jesse would realize that," Mark replied, his blue-gray eyes glistening.
Amanda knew that if the normally sensitive Jesse were able to recognize the anguish his current mental state was inflicting on his mentor he would be both ashamed and upset. But her young friend was caught up in a netherworld of pain and uncertainty. It was tearing him apart and was pushing those trying to help him to the limits of their endurance.
"He will. It may be a while before he gets there, but in the meantime we'll be there for him, won't we?" she declared, valiantly.
~
Steve stopped at the door, indecisively. His recent visits, though not entirely by design, had mostly been while Jesse slept. However, the news of the younger man's nightmare prompted his early arrival today. He didn't think he could handle witnessing his friend in such extreme distress again, not after what had happened the last time.
But seeing Jesse awake would bring its own problems. Steve still felt responsible for the near death experience the doctor had suffered and as yet he hadn't had chance, or rather, hadn't gone out of his way, to determine Jesse's perspective. Not that he was expecting to find out anytime soon. From what Mark had told him, Jesse wasn't opening up to anyone, and if his father couldn't talk his protégé round then in Steve's opinion, no one could - obvious bias notwithstanding.
His hand eventually reached for the doorknob, but his feet hadn't moved. This was going to be hard. A chatty Jesse was something Steve was well versed in dealing with, but a reticent one was a whole new phenomenon. And while he was used to uncommunicative felons, he couldn't exactly interrogate his friend to discover the depth of his turmoil. He almost refused the hurdle of actually opening the door, sure that he wasn't qualified for the role of counselor in any way, shape or form. But a crash from inside had him wrenching it open.
And once again, for the second time within a week, he found himself stupefied with horror at the sight that met his eyes. Jesse was leaning over the side of the bed trying to pick up a bit of the broken glass which was smashed on the floor there, muttering a curse as the sharp shard remained elusive to his questing, and already bloody, fingers. With the seeds of Jesse's depression planted, in Steve's mind there was only one possible conclusion - the young doctor was going to slash his wrists with the offending article.
"I don't believe it! Jesse, after all dad - and I - went through to keep you alive, you would consider that!"
Apart from looking up at being interrupted, Jesse froze where he was, a stunned expression plastered on his face. "Steve… w-wha'?"
"You ungrateful sonofabitch!" Steve was almost blind with rage. How could Jesse, whom he cared so much about, be so selfish as to attempt to take his own life, after all the time and effort they'd expended over trying to get him well? He strode across and kicked the shattered pieces away from where the younger man's hand still dangled. It was all he could do not to grab Jesse by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.
He towered over the bed-ridden form, knowing how intimidating he was appearing and he didn't care. Jesse stared up at him, vulnerable and doe-eyed.
"Steve… p-please… help…"
"We've all been trying to help you. But you don't want it… Dad's been worrying himself sick over you, and this is how you repay him?" he growled, menacingly.
"No… I mean… help - I can't get back up," Jesse explained, feebly, from his awkward position half hanging out of the bed.
Against the better judgment of his ire, Steve leaned over and rescued his friend, although he wasn't exactly careful with the maneuver, and he wasn't sure any more that he could consider Jesse a friend.
"So… are you ashamed of what you were about to do?"
"Umm… no. Steve, I have no idea what you're talking about." Jesse sounded truly bemused, as he briefly inspected his bleeding finger and then jammed it in his mouth.
"You - that glass - you broke it to kill yourself."
"I… what?" Jesse demanded; speaking around the digit he was still sucking on. Then realization dawned on his features. "Oh…"
"Is that all you can say? Oh?" Steve's fury continued to burn.
Jesse giggled and that only made the detective more irate, and the compulsion to hit the younger man grew again.
"Steve… you thought… you thought I was going to commit suicide?" the doctor laughed.
"You… you weren't?" Steve queried, quickly running out of steam, his anger turning into embarrassment at his apparently glaring mistake.
"Of course not. God, I would never… I mean no matter how bad I felt… I wouldn't…" the humor disappeared from Jesse's voice and he became utterly serious. "Steve, I swear, I wouldn't ever do that."
A wave of relief swept over Steve, and he felt his legs start to tremble, shocked at how intense his fear and resentment had become and what it might have driven him to. Before the treacherous limbs gave way beneath him, he dumped his backside on the bed. "Then what were you doing?"
"I dropped the glass, I was trying to pick it up so that no one else would hurt themselves on it." The young man eyed the cut on his finger with annoyance.
It was Steve's turn to laugh, and Jesse joined in again. It felt so good for them to be sharing in the moment, almost as carefree as their relationship had been merely days ago. But when the merriment subsided, Steve noticed a troubled look in Jesse's eyes, and sure enough, the question it related to wasn't long in coming.
"Mark thinks I'm depressed? Depressed enough to…"
"Jesse, you haven't been talking to anyone, you're having nightmares, you're barely eating…"
"Okay, on the surface, I can see how you might think that, but I'm not… not exactly," the younger man conceded.
"You wouldn't be human if this whole… thing… wasn't affecting you in someway, but we just wish you wouldn't bottle it all up inside. We want to help," Steve said, sincerely.
"I know… I guess I've just never been all that good with… feelings and stuff," Jesse admitted, sheepishly.
Steve understood only too well. "Me either, Jess. Tell you what, if I try a bit harder at it, promise me you will, too, okay?"
"Deal. Thanks, Steve," Jesse enthusiastically agreed.
Smiling happily at his friend for this apparent breakthrough, Steve was about to ask when they should start this resolution when there was a knock at the door. A nurse poked her head into the room.
"Doctor Travis, you have another visitor. Should I ask her to wait, or…" the poor girl was cut off by another woman barging past.
"What do you mean, wait? I'm his mother, for goodness, sake!"
The nurse ducked out of the way, leaving Elaine Travis in the doorway alone. "Jesse, darling!" she gushed.
"Mom!" Jesse squeaked, startled, his cheeks suddenly acquiring more color than Steve had seen since before the accident.
"Well, I'll leave you two to catch up," Steve said, hurriedly getting up off the bed. "Nice to see you again, Doctor Travis," he managed to say as he sidled past the woman. "Don't forget our agreement, Jess, I'll be back later, okay?"
"Right, Steve, bye."
Despite uttering the farewell, Jesse was peering at him imploringly, obviously wanting him to stay, but Steve knew what Elaine would think of that, and he wasn't going to incur her wrath. So, for once deserting his friend with barely a second thought, he exited the room as fast as he could without actually resorting to running. As he shut the door he could hear Elaine telling Jesse how she had changed her flight plans to make the detour to LA on her way back from Australia, before launching into a diatribe about the state of his rumpled bedding.
~
"You did what?" Mark asked; astounded at the tale Steve had just recounted to him and Amanda in the doctors' lounge.
"I practically accused him of trying to commit suicide," Steve expanded.
Mark glared at his son. "My God, do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been?"
"I wasn't exactly thinking rationally, dad. You said he was depressed, and when I saw him reaching out for that piece of glass, the blood already on his fingers, I assumed the worst. I just lost it."
"Yes, but if he had been suicidal you could have tipped him over the edge with behavior like that," Amanda chipped in her two cents' worth at Steve's recklessness.
"Which is why the Department doesn't ask me to talk down jumpers… It was dumb. I know. I got lucky."
"You should have known better," Mark further admonished. "Haven't I taught you anything? You can't take the most obvious evidence on face value."
At least Steve had the grace to appear suitably chastised. "Okay… it could all have gone horribly wrong. Instead, I think I might have gotten through to him. That was until Elaine showed up."
"Yes, I wish she'd have let us known she was coming. But I can't imagine she'd do anything to upset him," Mark offered, hopefully.
Steve, however, looked at his father as if he had grown a second head. Mark knew there was no love lost between Steve and Jesse's mother. But the doctor really couldn't believe the woman would be so insensitive as to hamper her son's recovery. She had talked to Mark on a couple of occasions during the past week to get updates on Jesse's progress and had even spoken to him when he was awake when she called. The young man seemed brighter afterward, knowing she had taken the trouble to get in touch, if only briefly.
Now that she was here though, would she try to interfere with his care? It was a discussion Mark could see coming and one he didn't relish having.
Almost as if the very thought had instigated it, he spied Elaine Travis exiting the elevator and heading toward the room.
"May I come in?" she asked, politely as he caught her eye. Of the many qualities Jesse possessed, Mark was sure his impeccable manners were something he'd inherited from his mother.
"Of course, Elaine, have a seat," Mark welcomed and beckoned her over to the table, ignoring the wince on Steve's face as he realized who was at the door.
"Thank you," the woman said, and she sat down, soberly. She gave a small, but grateful smile at Amanda as the pathologist placed a lightly steaming cup of coffee in front of her and she sipped at it slowly, apparently gathering the thoughts on her visit with her invalid son.
Mark was waiting for the tirade of accusations - for the accident, for the delay in treatment, for the interim DIY solutions, for the relapse, for the general level of care, and anything else she could probably think of to be angry for Jesse's condition.
"I only have two hours until my flight back to Chicago, so I'll come straight to the point," she began, not disappointing Mark's view of her. "Quite frankly, I'm not convinced Jesse is in the right place to get the care he needs, but he has told me - in no uncertain terms - that this is where he wants to be. Despite all the contacts I have which could assure him the very best and very latest of treatments available anywhere in the world, and believe me, money is no object; he has placed his faith in you, Doctor Sloan."
Mark swallowed convulsively. While, of course he hoped Jesse would believe they were doing their best, he wasn't entirely sure the young man felt that way… until now. He prayed that trust wouldn't be betrayed, however unintentionally.
"If he changes his mind, or if you feel you've done all you can, I'll help; but for now I have to honor his wishes and depend on you to do what's best."
"I'd move Heaven and Earth for that boy, Elaine. I just wish we could get to the bottom of what's causing the paralysis."
She didn't comment, which seemed to take a remarkable amount of restraint. Instead, she complimented him. "You're a good man, Doctor Sloan."
"Call me Mark, please," he insisted.
She nodded. "I know how much you mean to Jesse… all of you… You've given him something Dane and I never managed to achieve - a real family. When we got together, I didn't anticipate having children, it just kind of happened. I make no excuse for the kind of mother I've been - it's the way I am. I tried not to resent Jesse for being there and interfering with what I wanted to be doing. Instead, I suppose I ended up ignoring him most of the time, letting someone else have the day-to-day responsibilities, with the odd day in the park or a holiday to justify my position as his parent."
Elaine stopped talking long enough to drink the cooling coffee, composing herself.
"I don't suppose Jesse's ever told you about when his appendix ruptured…"
The three friends shook their heads.
"I should have known right away. He was never the kind of boy to pretend he was sick to get off school, but I see plenty of those at the practice and so when one day, not long after his father left us, he said he wasn't feeling well, I dismissed it as an excuse to try and get Dane to come back. But when I was told what was wrong, I realized he was probably feeling ill for days before he'd even said anything."
She paused, allowing Mark the time to absorb all the new information about his young friend's upbringing, and he realized it was little wonder Jesse had a hard time expressing his emotions. When Elaine continued, her voice was hushed but resolute, almost as if she didn't want to part with something so shocking, but couldn't not.
"I got a call from the school in the afternoon to say Jesse had collapsed in class, and he'd been rushed to hospital with suspected appendicitis. It was a lot worse than that. He had peritonitis, and the resulting infection nearly killed him."
"It was a mistake, Elaine, appendicitis can be a tricky condition to catch," Mark said in an understanding fashion, not wanting to tar the woman any blacker than she had herself.
"It was a mistake that nearly cost my son his life, but that wasn't the worst part, Mark. Do you know what was going through my mind while I was waiting for his operation to finish? I was thinking about what damage the news would do to my practice if it got out." Elaine scathed, trying to control the tears brimming in her eyes. "Jesse had never once mentioned about becoming a doctor before that day, but after… it was all he wanted to do. I think he saw something in the physicians at the hospital that he didn't see in how I behaved. I always wanted the power to cure, the satisfaction it brought me to diagnose an illness and put it right, I never really thought what it meant for the client. Jesse's the opposite - it's all about the patient for him. I suspect you might be the same, Mark. That's probably what he found at that hospital and it's why you get along so well."
Though Elaine had started out pretty much as he anticipated by stating that she wouldn't be staying, Mark certainly hadn't been expecting the confession that ultimately came. Amanda and Steve were sitting with their mouths agape, stunned by what they'd heard. The woman had as much as admitted Jesse's arrival in the world wasn't planned, nor wanted - at least by her. But while her words were deplorable, he couldn't help but admire her honesty.
"We'll take good care of Jesse. Don't you worry about that," Mark told her. She did care about her son; he just wasn't the center of her life. Jesse had never been physically abused, and neither had things gone so far as actual neglect. His childhood obviously hadn't been wonderful, but it could have been a heck of a lot worse. No matter what Mark's feelings were on the subject of the importance of family, he couldn't condemn her for that.
She hastily wiped away the one tear that had dared to fall, and reached for her purse. "I know you will. Is there somewhere I can call a cab?"
"How 'bout I drive you to the airport?" he suggested.
"That's kind of you, but I'd rather not," she admitted.
Mark guessed Elaine had let more slip than she'd ever intended when she'd first walked into the room, and was now distinctly uncomfortable in their presence, so he didn't press the issue. He did, however, make the phone call to the cab company on her behalf and escorted her down to the entrance to wait for her ride.
~
Amanda had stopped by Jesse's room, intending to spend the hour before she had to collect CJ and Dion from her mother's with him. But when she got there a flustered and fuming nurse informed her that Elaine Travis had insisted he have a sponge-bath and fresh linen. Amanda didn't want to intrude on the procedure, so after assuring the nurse that Jesse's mother probably wouldn't be visiting again any time soon, she decided to pick the boys up from school herself, for a change.
As she waited with all the other mothers she felt a pang of guilt that she didn't do this more often, but as a single parent in a job with unpredictable hours it was difficult. She didn't think she neglected her sons, but she told herself she should perhaps ask what their perception was. After hearing Elaine's confession of how she put her career first above everything, Amanda had assumed an air of shock. But was she any different? With her inheritance, she could afford not to work at all, and devote her attention to the boys. However, she knew how much she loved them and she made sure they knew that as well, even if it was just a phone call at bedtime that told them so. From the grim picture Elaine had painted with her self-condemnation, she wondered how often Jesse had gone to bed as a child, without a word from his mom. That was what set her apart from the kind of woman Elaine was, and she felt marginally better.
"Mom!" CJ yelled excitedly upon seeing her at the school gate.
"Hi, sweetie," she called back and opened her arms so she could give him a big hug as he ran to her.
Dion gave a similarly elated cry, which surprised her even more, given his age; but he realized the potential of her presence. "How come you're here? Is grandma sick?"
"Oh no, she's fine! I just finished a little early today," she explained to quickly put his mind at rest.
"Can we go to the park?" CJ asked, seeing an opportunity to take advantage of her time with them.
"Can we go to the movies?" Dion added.
"Haven't you got homework?" she countered.
"Yeah, but…" they chorused.
"Okay. I'll make a deal. You both do your homework as soon as we get in and I'll take you to BBQ Bob's for dinner," she offered by way of a compromise.
"Great!" Dion enthused.
"Will Jesse be there?" CJ inquired, earnestly.
Amanda flinched. CJ doted on Jesse. She fondly recalled how eager her son had been for her to marry the young man in order that he could be his daddy. She hadn't taken either of the boys to see him since the accident as she thought CJ was too young for the explanations that would no doubt ensue from all the equipment surrounding him, and Dion didn't really like going there anyway.
"Um, no, honey, he's still in hospital, remember?"
"Oh, yeah," CJ answered, glumly. "When's he going to get better? He promised he'd take us surfing, didn't he?"
"Yes, CJ, he did, but he was badly hurt in the storm and it's going to be quite a while before he can go surfing." Amanda held back the misery that accompanied the uttering of those words. Jesse might not ever get to surf again, and that would hurt her as much as it might hurt him. She hadn't told CJ about Jesse's paralysis, and she'd sworn Dion to secrecy after he overheard her talking to Steve on the phone one night. It had been hard enough trying to explain the condition to the older boy without making him feel any blame, so she was sure she had made the right decision not to tell her youngest.
"Doesn't he want to see us anymore?" CJ asked, sulkily.
"Of course he does, but he's been asleep a lot."
"We visited grandma when she was in hospital that time - why can't we go see Jesse?" Dion chirped, giving her both an answer to her query and a dilemma at the same time. Given Dion's dislike of hospitals, it amazed Amanda to hear him so keen, but then if it wasn't for Jesse he wouldn't be in her care now.
"Do you want to, CJ?"
"Yeah!" he raved. "Can we go now?"
"It's a bit too late now, but how about tomorrow?"
"Okay… what can we take him?" CJ was virtually bouncing in his seat in anticipation.
"Take him?" Amanda asked.
"Yeah, when we saw grandma we took flowers and grapes," Dion reminded her.
"We could get him a take-out from Bob's," CJ suggested.
"But It'll be cold by morning," Amanda protested, cringing at the thought.
"I've seen Jesse eat cold ribs lots of times…" CJ said.
"And burgers…" added Dion.
"And fries…"
Amanda had to admit she had, too, and they all looked even less healthy
than they did when hot. "Well, we'll see," she humored them.
Apart from the practicalities, she was sure Jesse would appreciate the
thought. He had lost weight in the time he'd been in hospital, so it was
about time he started to eat properly again, and a good helping of junk
food might prove to be just what the doctor ordered.