Disclaimer: Only my originals belong to me!

VICTIMS

by Guardian

Jesse Travis glanced at his watch and groaned inwardly. It was almost one a.m. and he'd only just got around to closing Barbeque Bob's, the restaurant he co-owned with his friend Steve Sloan. He was back on shift at the hospital at eight, but he'd insisted on staying to close up because he knew that Steve had been working even harder than him of late.
He locked the restaurant's front door and trudged wearily to his car, his mind on his bed. He didn't realise that he was not alone until it was too late. Somebody grabbed his arm and he was thrust roughly back against a wall.
Before he knew what was happening, Jesse found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Then everything happened with frightening speed. Jesse saw that the gun was wavering wildly, as though the hands that held it were shaking. He glanced up and had time to notice wide and frightened almond-shaped eyes, set in an unmistakably Oriental face.
Suddenly there was a loud bang and Jesse felt white-hot pain in his chest. Jesse fell back and the last thing he saw was his own shock, mirrored in the face of the gunman.

*****

Jesse was lucky that somebody heard the shot and dialled 911, so the paramedics were able to get to him before he bled to death. He was equally lucky that Mark Sloan was there when he was rushed through the doors of Community General Hospital. Mark had just finished his shift and was headed home, but he saw his young friend through triage, was with him when he briefly regained consciousness and stayed with him until he went into surgery. Then all he could do was wait.
Steve arrived less than half an hour later, concern for his friend clearly showing on his handsome features.
"What happened, dad?" he asked, without preamble. "How is he?"
"He was shot once, high in the chest." Seeing the stricken look on his son's face, Mark hurried to reassure him: "He's going to be okay. He's in surgery now, having the bullet removed. It was deflected off his collar bone into his chest cavity, but luckily missed anything major. A couple of inches lower..."
Steve closed his eyes briefly, not needing his father to spell out just how close they'd come to losing Jesse. He was aware that Mark was still talking and forced his attention back to him.
"It looks like a robbery. There were no witnesses, but his wallet is missing."
"I'll call the station," Steve said, knowing that he couldn't just stand around waiting. "See if they've found anything."
Mark was left to wait alone. He hadn't disturbed Amanda with the news, not once he'd learnt that Jesse's injury wasn't life-threatening. She didn't see enough of her children as it was. Now that she had a couple of days off, he was determined to let her enjoy them.
She'd be mad about not being told, of that there was no doubt, but Mark genuinely believed that he was acting in her best interests. Even if she were to come to the hospital, she'd only be stuck waiting with him.
Steve returned a short time later, but with no news on Jesse's assailant. Until the young doctor woke up and could give them a description, they had little hope of finding him.
Father and son waited in silence, Steve occasionally shifting restlessly on his chair. Mark could see that something was bothering him, but never pressed him as to revealing what that something was. Steve, he knew, would tell him when he was good and ready.
The revelation wasn't long in coming. As the minutes dragged by, Steve jumped to his feet and began pacing, casting constant worried glances towards the doors of the OR.
"What the Hell's taking them so long?" he snapped, as his frustration mounted.
"While Doctor Reynolds is an excellent surgeon, he's hardly a miracle worker," Mark replied, with amusement in his tone.
"You said it wasn't serious."
"What I said was that it wasn't life-threatening, but it was a nasty wound. Not only have they got to remove the bullet, but also some bone fragments. Plus there'll be some nerve and tissue damage that needs repairing. It takes time."
Steve flopped back into his chair and ran his hands through his hair.
"I should have been there," he said quietly, his eyes closed.
The comment wasn't completely unexpected to Mark. He knew his son well and also knew that he took his responsibilities very seriously indeed and that included his responsibilities as a friend. From the moment that Jesse was hurt, it was inevitable that Steve would feel he had let him down.
"Maybe you should," Mark answered. "Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you had been there, but we'll never know. Jesse did you a favour, as a friend, by volunteering to lock-up at Bob's, but there's no way he's going to see the shooting as being your fault. You shouldn't either."
"But dad..."
"But nothing. Jesse is going to need his friends around him while he recovers. He's going to need their love and support. Not some misplaced guilt trip."
Mark didn't mean for the words to come out sounding quite so harsh, but they had the desired effect. He didn't need Steve to be so consumed by guilt that he wouldn't be able to face his young friend. That would do them both more harm than good.
"I suppose you're right," Steve conceded slowly. "But I just wish..."
"Wishes won't change the past. All you can do is help Jesse in any way you can. And that includes finding whoever who did this to him."

*****

By the time Jesse's surgery was over and Mark and Steve had taken a quick look in on him in recovery, it was morning. Neither man had managed to get any sleep and were just about to go home, to try and catch a couple of hours before their respective shifts started, when Amanda came rushing down the corridor.
"I'll, um, just go and fetch the car." Steve mumbled, beating a hasty retreat when he saw the expression on her face.
"Why didn't you call me?" She demanded furiously. "I've just heard about Jesse. Is he going to be alright? I can't believe you didn't call me."
"I'm sorry Amanda." Mark's tired voice cut through her tirade. "It was really late when he was brought in and we didn't want to disturb you or the boys. Once we knew that Jesse was going to be alright, there really wasn't anything you could have done."
"I could have been here for him."
"I'm sorry," Mark said again.
Seeing the exhaustion on the older man's face, Amanda forced herself to calm down.
"Have you been here all night?" she asked him gently.
"I was just about to go home when it happened. I couldn't leave him. Even when I knew it wasn't as serious as it looked, I couldn't leave him."
He remembered his own horror at seeing Jesse's blood-soaked form and was still thankful, in spite of her wrath, that he had saved Amanda from such anguish. He suddenly realised that the pathologist was looking at him expectantly. She had said something, but he had no clue as to what it was. He sheepishly asked her to repeat herself.
"I said, why don't you go home? You're obviously exhausted. I'll wait with Jesse. He won't be alone when he wakes up."
Mark was too tired to argue. He felt a brief stab of guilt as he thought that, if it were Steve who was lying injured instead of Jesse, wild horses wouldn't have dragged him from the hospital. Then he remembered his own words, warning his son away from any guilt trip.
He'd seen for himself that Jesse was alright and already on the road to recovery. There was no reason for him to stay. He took Amanda's advice and headed home.

*****

The anaesthetic held Jesse in a deep and painless slumber until well into the afternoon. So Mark had returned to the hospital and was at his bedside when his eyelids first started to flutter and he fought his way back to consciousness.
Amanda was there too, as she had been all day, taking the time to catch up on some paperwork while she kept an eye on her friend. When he first began to stir, she laid her files to one side and took hold of his hand.
Mark went around to his other side and, smiling down at him, rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, anticipating his disorientation when he first awoke. As Mark had known he would, the moment Jesse's eyes opened, he began to try and sit up. Mark's gentle touch stopped him.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice still hoarse from the effects of the anaesthetic.
Amanda eased some ice chips into his mouth and he smiled at her with genuine gratitude.
"How do you feel?" she asked, as Mark began to do his standard post-op examination.
Jesse lay still and let his colleague get on with his job. He took a deep breath, then winced as something pulled in his chest.
"Sore," he admitted. "What happened?"
"What do you remember?" Mark countered.
"I was at Bob's," Jesse answered slowly, frowning as he sought the memory. "I remember locking the door. Then... there was somebody else. A gun... My God, he shot me!"
Mark nodded and was just about to explain when the door opened. Steve poked his head in, saw that Jesse was conscious, then came into the room.
"Jesse," he greeted, a broad smile portraying his relief at seeing his friend awake and alert.
"Getting shot sucks."
"Tell me about it."
"Steve." Mark's stern voice cut through their banter. "Jesse has only just come round. Any questions you have will have to wait until he's stronger."
"Mark, really, I'm fine." To prove his point, Jesse tried to sit up, but the anaesthetic was beginning to wear off and pain stabbed through his chest. He fell back, gasping.
"You are most certainly not fine," Mark admonished. "You have just come through surgery. What you need is rest and lots of it."
"But..."
"Don't make me fetch a sedative."
Those final words silenced Jesse, but Amanda had no such restrictions and allowed her own curiosity to come to the fore.
"So, have you caught him yet?"
Steve shot her a mock glare as he perched on the edge of Jesse's bed.
"There were no witnesses to the actual shooting," he told them. "We don't even know for sure if it's a he we're looking for."
"It was a guy," Jesse offered. "Oriental, maybe Chinese..."
He trailed off as he noticed Mark's warning look and muttered an apology. But Mark was as eager as anyone else to find the man who had shot his friend.
"You can carry on," he relented, "as long as you feel up to it. But if you get too tired, or start to get at all agitated..."
He didn't have to complete the threat. Jesse knew that it would involve sedatives.
"Okay." In his mind's eye, Jesse could clearly see the face of the gunman. "He wasn't very old. At least, I don't think so. He was Oriental. They always seem to look young to me."
"Did you notice what he was wearing?" Steve asked.
Jesse shook his head and closed his eyes, to see if that would aid his memory. But all he could see was those almond eyes, widened in shock.
"It was weird," he said eventually, knowing that it sounded lame, but not knowing how else to describe it.
"How do you mean?" Steve leaned forward eagerly.
"He didn't say anything." Jesse's frown returned. "He didn't demand money, didn't give me a chance. He threw me against the wall, then... I didn't try to fight him... He just... He..."
"Alright, that's enough." Mark stepped in swiftly as he noticed Jesse's increasing agitation. The young man was breathing heavily as his body reacted to his remembered terror. "Jesse, you need to calm down. I want you to take slow, even breaths."
Jesse swallowed heavily and nodded, feeling exhaustion creeping up on him. He closed his eyes, willing to let Mark and Amanda fuss over him. Within moments, sleep had claimed him.

*****

Over the next two days, Steve found himself growing increasingly frustrated, as he began the search for whoever had shot Jesse. He knew that he had little chance of finding the man in a city the size of LA, not unless the gunman slipped up, but he felt the need to keep on trying, even though he had precious little to go on.
It wasn't even his case, he was assigned to homicide after all, but he constantly harangued his colleagues in the robbery division, spoke to all of his own informants and chased up any half-leads that came his way.
His Captain wasn't a stupid man and he noticed almost immediately what was happening, but to begin with, he was content to let Steve get on with it. He was a seasoned police officer and he understood friendship and loyalty. So long as Steve's extra-curricular activities didn't affect his work, the Captain was happy to let him carry on the search for the mystery gunman.
Steve was aware of this and appreciated it greatly, but that still didn't help to ease his mounting frustration as every lead he got turned into a dead end.

*****

At the end of his second day of fruitless searching, Steve called by the hospital. He felt irrationally guilty about his lack of results, knowing that Jesse would in no way blame him for not having caught his assailant. Still, he couldn't help but feeling that he had somehow let his friend down.
Jesse took one look at the detective's face and knew that he had no further news on the investigation. In his own way, Jesse too was feeling guilty. He'd really tried to remember everything he could about his attacker, going through reams of mug-shots and even sitting with a police artist. But he could see nothing beyond those wide and frightened eyes.
"Hey," Jesse greeted him easily, already having decided not to ask about the investigation. "I don't suppose you thought to smuggle in some ribs?"
Steve perched on the edge of the bed and lifted the lid of Jesse's supper tray. In spite of the young doctor's complaints, he'd actually eaten most of his evening meal. Steve picked up a chunk of potato and popped it into his mouth, ignoring Jesse's grimace of distaste.
"What do you need ribs for?" he asked as he chewed. "This is great."
Jesse suppressed a shudder. Hospital food was bad enough when it was warm. Only Steve Sloan could enjoy it stone cold.
"I could waste away in here," Jesse complained. "I've not exactly got a lot of weight to lose."
"No news on when you're getting out then?"
"Not for a few more days at least. I don't see why though. I could recover just as easily at home."
"Jesse, I think the idea is for you to rest. At least in here, dad can make sure that you do just that."
"But it's boring."
Steve couldn't help but laugh at Jesse's petulant tone. At that moment he sounded more like CJ than a fully qualified doctor. Throughout the visit, Jesse continued his good-natured grumbling, playing on Steve's sympathy, while the detective finished off his leftover meal.
A couple of hours later, Mark came into the room. He'd removed his white coat, ready to go home for the night, but he still insisted on giving Jesse a quick check-up before he left.
"Mark, there's really no need," Jesse tried to protest. "I've hardly had a twinge all day. In fact, I feel well enough to go home."
"Oh no, we're not going to have that argument again." Mark made a note on Jesse's chart. "You're staying here until I say you're fit to leave and that most certainly isn't just two days after being shot."
"But Mark..."
"Jesse, you are a doctor. You know all of the reasons why you can't go home, so I'm not going to stand here and discuss them with you. Get some rest, concentrate on getting well and you'll be discharged in no time."
Jesse rolled his eyes and sighed as Mark completed his lecture, but was wise enough not to argue any further. Steve grinned at him from behind his dad's back.
"Goodnight, Jess." Steve even managed to inject a smirk into his voice. "I'll call by again tomorrow. Just think, by then you'll be another day closer to going home."
Jesse waited until they had both gone before indulging himself in a huge yawn. He was still exhausted, but pride had prevented him from admitting that to his friends. In reality he knew that Mark was right and his own protestations were merely the result of boredom and a certain amount of self-pity. Mark was only doing what he himself would have done if it had been a patient of his lying there, suffering from a similar wound.
Jesse drifted off to sleep, thinking how grateful he was to have friends who cared so much about him. Besides, they were right. His recovery was progressing nicely. He would be home in no time.

*****

The problems started for Jesse later that night. The next time he returned to consciousness, it was to find himself in almost complete darkness. Night had fallen and, for a moment, he couldn't even begin to discern where he was. The residue of forgotten dreams combined with the unfamiliar surroundings left him totally confused and more than a little afraid.
It hurt to breath and as agony, the same agony that had so rudely awakened him, tore through his chest, Jesse began to panic. All he was aware of was the pain. It was no longer so focussed on his chest, but seemed to radiate throughout his entire body. At that moment, he genuinely believed that he was dying.
Instinct and familiarity with the hospital equipment, more than luck alone, caused his flailing hand to strike the 'call' button at his bedside. Within moments the duty nurse was with him.
Jesse began to calm the instant that she touched his arm, content in the knowledge that he was no longer alone. Gradually awareness returned and he realised that he was in the hospital, recovering after being shot. Even as confused as he was, he realised that the pain was much more than he should be suffering.
"It hurts," he breathed, clawing at the nurse's arm. In the darkness he couldn't recognise her or read her name tag.
"I know, I know," the nurse soothed, not at all perturbed by the fact that it was her colleague who writhed beneath her touch. "I'll increase your medication, then I'll fetch the doctor."
Jesse nodded slowly and forced himself to relax back onto the bed. The increased dosage gradually began to take effect and the agony faded somewhat.
The nurse was only gone for a few moments before returning with a doctor in tow. As she turned the lighting level up, Jesse took a good look at the man who had come to treat him. He was in his forties, his black hair just beginning to go grey. He was also a complete stranger to Jesse.
"I don't recognise you," he murmured.
"Oh, of course not, we weren't introduced." The older doctor seemed somewhat embarrassed by this lack of etiquette. "I'm Philip Morton. I'm only here temporarily while... um..."
The man's embarrassment deepened and Jesse realised that he was looking at his own replacement. Jesse chuckled, in an attempt to put the man at ease.
"Then I guess you already know who I am."
"Yes, Doctor Travis. I... um... I only wish the circumstances were better."
"It's okay. And call me Jesse, please."
"Alright then, Jesse it is." Doctor Morton continued his examination. "The nurse tells me you were in some pain. Any difficulty breathing?"
"A little," Jesse confessed. "An infection, right?"
"Only a minor one from the looks of it. Luckily we've caught it nice and early and it's nothing that a dose of antibiotics won't clear up. You're not allergic at all?"
Jesse shook his head and cursed inwardly. So much for going home soon. Mark wouldn't let him out of his sight now. He returned his attention to Doctor Morton.
"I'm sure I don't have to tell you to take the whole course, even if you do start to feel better."
Again, Jesse merely nodded in response. He was already drifting back off to sleep.
"And I'll call by again in the morning." But by then, Doctor Morton was speaking to himself.

*****

Philip Morton kept his promise and looked in on Jesse at the end of his shift, but the young doctor was still sound asleep and the duty nurse reported no further problems.
It was much later that morning when Jesse finally awoke and, by then, Mark was back at his side.
"So, I hear you had some excitement during the night."
Jesse, still not fully awake, responded only with a blank stare. Then, slowly, those frightening events came back to him.
"I was kinda hoping I'd dreamed it," he muttered eventually.
"No such luck, my friend. Definitely an infection and that means you'll be enjoying the hospitality of Community General for a little while longer yet." Mark glanced up from the notes he'd been studying on Jesse's chart, a slight frown on his face. "I don't suppose Doctor Morton mentioned exactly what he prescribed you. I can't seem to make it out."
He showed the chart to his friend, but Jesse couldn't decipher the squiggle that had been added to his list of medication.
"No, I think he just said something about antibiotics. Sorry Mark, it's all a bit of a blur."
"Oh, it's not a problem. I'll just ask him the next time I see him. How do you feel now?"
"It's not too bad," Jesse's reply was little more than a whisper. "I was scared."
Mark stopped what he was doing and stared at Jesse, astonished by the admission. Jesse Travis was fiercely independent and never one to show weakness. Mark found that quiet confession profoundly disturbing.
"You had every right to be scared," he answered slowly, careful to mask his concern. "It must have been very painful."
Jesse merely shrugged and Mark's frown deepened. The young doctor seemed unusually listless, not his normal self at all. But, before he could investigate further, his pager sounded.
"It's Steve," he explained after he'd checked it. "I'll just be a minute. You never know, he might have some news for us."
Once again, Jesse's response showed a remarkable lack of enthusiasm. Still frowning, Mark set off to phone his son.
"Great news, dad." Steve's excitement, a marked contrast to Jesse's lethargy, even carried down the telephone. "They've got him, dad. They've caught the man who shot Jesse!"

*****

"Dad, I need you to come to the station."
"Why? What's wrong?" Mark frowned at the undercurrent of tension in his son's voice.
"It will be easier to explain when you get here," Steve answered. "But things could get complicated."
"Alright, son. I'll be there just as soon as I can. I'll just need to speak to Jesse first."
"How's he doing?"
"He picked up an infection during the night, but it's nothing to worry about. This news might be just what he needs to cheer him up."
"I wouldn't count on it."
Steve hung up before his father could ask him what he meant by that cryptic comment. Mark, however, didn't allow himself to dwell on it. With a shrug, he headed back to Jesse's room.
When he got there, he found his friend sitting up in bed, but still seeming uncharacteristically quiet. The young doctor barely even acknowledged his entrance. He also, Mark noticed, hadn't touched his breakfast.
"You really ought to try and eat something," the older doctor admonished. "You need to keep your strength up."
Those words earned him another half-hearted shrug. Mark perched on the edge of the bed.
"I've just spoken to Steve. It's good news. They've arrested the man who shot you. I'm going to the station now."
That at least provoked a flicker of interest in Jesse's eyes, but he still didn't say anything.
"Jesse, are you sure you're alright?" Mark was, by now, genuinely worried. "If you're feeling at all unwell, I'll stay here. Steve can fill us both in on the details later."
"I'm fine. Just tired."
With those muttered words, Jesse lay back down and turned onto his side, with his back to Mark. He closed his eyes. Mark just looked at him for a long moment, but didn't know what else he could say. Putting his friend's strange mood down to his interrupted sleep, he headed off to the station.

*****

"So what's the problem?" Mark asked Steve, a short time later. The two men were in Steve's car, heading towards a poorer suburb of LA.
"The guy who shot Jesse is Kim Ho. He was arrested trying to use one of Jesse's credit cards." Mark just looked at Steve with raised eyebrows. "Pretty stupid I know. Anyway, Ho got completely hysterical. He claimed that his baby daughter was dying and he had to buy medicine."
"So that's where we're going now? To see the little girl?"
"It is, but that's not even half the story." Steve sighed. "It gets worse. Dad, Kim Ho is thirteen years old."
"Oh my God."
"We don't know much about the mother, only that her name is Maria. The baby is Bethany and she's about three months old."
"And you don't know what's wrong with her?" Mark had turned to look out of the window, watching as the buildings became more and more run down.
"No, he just kept saying that she was real sick, that she was dying." Steve pulled up outside what looked to be an abandoned house, but before he got out of the car, he turned back to his dad. "There's one more thing about Ho, he's got no previous. He's never been in trouble in his life before. Up until last year, he was attending school, doing well too. Then he just quit."
"Around the time Maria got pregnant. What about their parents? His and Maria's?"
"I don't know. It took us long enough just to get this address off him. It wasn't until I mentioned that you were a doctor..."
"Are you sure he's sent us to the right place?" Mark asked, getting out of the car and peering at the ramshackle building. He couldn't imagine anyone living in such a place, much less trying to raise a child.
"One way to find out."

*****

"Hello! Anyone home?" Mark called out as he pushed open the battered front door. The hallway was a mess, piled with dirt and rubble, but he could see a light shining from under a door at the far end. "Hello, Maria?"
The door opened a fraction and a frightened young face peered through the crack.
"Who are you?" she asked, trying to keep her tone firm, even though she was clearly terrified. Mark judged her to be barely a teenager herself. "We've got nothing worth stealing."
"It's alright." Mark spoke soothingly, advancing slowly. "I'm a doctor. Kim said that your baby's sick."
"Kim?" At the mention of her boyfriend's name, Maria opened the door wider and looked out beyond the two men. "Is he with you? He never came home."
"I'm sorry, miss..." Steve stepped forward, reaching for his badge.
"Gilbert. Maria Gilbert."
"Miss Gilbert. I'm Steve Sloan and I'm a detective with the LAPD. I'm sorry, but Kim has been arrested."
Maria's hand shot to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears but, before she could respond, there was a piercing cry from within the room behind her. Steve winced at the sound. The baby wasn't crying, she was screaming.
"Let me look at her, please," Mark offered.
Maria merely nodded her head and stepped back to allow the two men access. The room was a startling contrast to the squalor of the rest of the building. While it was by no means spotless, Maria had obviously worked very hard to make it as homely as she could. But still, it was easy to see how a child would get sick in such surroundings.
There was a cot in one corner. It was shabby and obviously second-hand, but someone had tried to brighten it up with white paint and cartoon transfers. It was from there that the screaming came. Mark ignored the rest of the room's meagre furnishing and headed straight over to the cot. Very gently, he leaned over and lifted little Bethany out.
"She's really running a temperature," he said, rocking the baby in an attempt to calm her. "How long has she been like this?"
"Two or three days now. She just won't stop crying and she can't keep any food down." Maria's anguish was clear on her face and in her voice.
"We really need to get her to hospital."
"No, I can't. I mean," she gestured hopelessly at their surroundings. "Do I look like I've got medical insurance?"
"Don't you worry about that," Mark hurried to assure her. "Don't you worry at all. Let's just concentrate on getting her better. Steve, will you call an ambulance, please?"
"What about Kim?" Maria caught Steve's arm as he prepared to go outside to use his phone. "You said he'd been arrested. What did he do?"
"There's no easy way to tell you this," Steve answered. "But Kim's in a lot of trouble. Maria, he shot somebody."

*****

Mark rode back to Community General in the ambulance with Maria and Bethany. The girl was absolutely distraught when she learned the details of Kim's crime. Not only did she have her baby to worry about, but now she had to face the foreseeable future without her boyfriend.
When they got to the hospital, Mark not only admitted Bethany, but Maria as well. In spite of her protests, he settled her into a room and gave her a sedative. He waited with her until she dropped off to sleep, then quietly left. Steve was waiting for him outside.
"Somebody her age shouldn't have to go through something like this," his son said, looking at her through the window. "She's only a kid herself."
"But old enough to get into a lot of trouble. How is she ever going to manage alone?"
"I've been thinking about that. I spoke to the guys at the station and Kim Ho has made a full confession. Now he knows his baby's safe, he's prepared to take whatever punishment's thrown at him."
"Juvenile detention?"
"More than likely. Unless... someone were to intervene on his behalf."
"I don't know, son. He shot Jesse, after all. Sick baby or not, that's a very serious offence."
"I know but, in his statement, Ho claims that he never meant to shoot anyone. He only took the gun as a threat. Then he said that he was so scared, that he couldn't even aim straight. He was shaking so hard that the gun went off. It was an accident, dad and he is truly sorry."
Mark thought about it for a moment, asking himself what Jesse would do in such a situation. He found that it was a question he couldn't answer. Jesse had almost died. It would be hard for anyone to consider leniency under such circumstances.
"I think you should speak to Jesse first," he answered eventually.
"I'd planned to talk to him in the morning. Then I'll speak to the DA and I think we might have a chance, Kim's never been in trouble before, but he'd be more likely to escape a custodial sentence if the victim, Jesse, were to speak on his behalf."
"That's a lot to ask of him."
"I know, but this is Jesse we're talking about." Steve spoke with a confidence that Mark could not share. "He's a doctor and one thing he's not short on is compassion."

*****

Steve called by the hospital on his way into work the next day. It was early, but Jesse was already awake and picking at his breakfast.
"Hey, Jess. How are you feeling?" In spite of his assurances to his dad, Steve was a little nervous about the task he had set for himself. It didn't help matters when Jesse barely grunted in response to his greeting.
"So, dad told you that we caught the guy who did this?" Steve pressed on, putting his friend's reticence down to the fact that he'd just woken up. "Jesse, that's what I really need to talk to you about."
"Why? You caught him, lock him up."
"It's not quite that simple. The guy who shot you, Kim Ho, he's just thirteen years old."
"So? Like that makes a difference?"
"Jesse, he's not a bad kid." Steve was becoming distinctly uncomfortable with his friend's almost hostile responses. "He just got himself into a Hell of a mess and he was desperate. He didn't mean to hurt you, the gun just went off."
"Where are you going with this, Steve? What do you want from me?"
"I want to help Kim Ho and his girlfriend. They have a..."
"No."
"What?" By now, Steve was more than a little put out by the younger man's behaviour. He wasn't even giving him a chance to explain. "If you'd just let me finish..."
"No," Jesse repeated, firmly. "I can't believe you're doing this. He almost killed me, Steve and you want to let him off?"
"Jesse, you don't understand..."
"No, I don't understand. An inch and a half, that's all it was. An inch and a half and we wouldn't be having this conversation." He held his fingers apart for emphasis, as if Steve needed reminding how close he had come to dying. "And I sure as Hell hope you wouldn't be trying to get him off a murder charge."
"It was an accident..."
That prompted a snort of disbelieving laughter.
"He pointed a gun at me. What's so accidental about that?"
Steve was becoming increasingly annoyed by the constant interruptions, but he somehow kept a lid on his temper. He knew that Jesse was scared and hurting and they were the reasons behind his behaviour.
"Jesse, please, just hear me out," he tried again.
"No, I don't want to. I don't care about Kim Ho. He shot me and I want to see him go down for a long time."
Steve just looked at him for a long moment, then shook his head.
"I just don't understand you," he said quietly. "Kenny Parker kidnapped you and threatened to kill you and yet you could still show him compassion."
"That was different. Kenny Parker needed help. His daughter had just died."
"Kim Ho has..."
"And seeing as you brought it up, what about Kenny Parker? What did he die for? He died because he didn't believe in justice and he was right."
"Jesse..."
"Gianni De Marco's thug killed that little girl and what did you do about it? Nothing! He got away with it. Why is that, Steve? Is De Marco that untouchable? Is the whole of the police force on his payroll?"
Steve stared at him as though he'd been slapped. He felt the colour drain from his face, as he absorbed those cruel words. His anger was growing again, but this time he didn't even try to keep it in check.
"How dare you?" He hissed. "How dare you even suggest that? De Marco threatened me with a law-suit because I tried so damned hard to find out what happened to Chloe Parker. I almost got a suspension. You know that! And I did it for you, Jesse. I did it because I could see how much her death was hurting you. But you know what? Now I'm wondering why the Hell I bothered!"
Steve's voice had got progressively louder, until he practically yelled those final words. Then, without giving Jesse the chance to respond, he stormed from the room.

*****

Jesse lay on his bed, staring at the door, wondering what had just happened. He hadn't meant to say those things to his friend and he certainly didn't mean them. Steve was a great cop and had always been there for him. He owed him his life, on more than one occasion.
But when he had started trying to defend Kim Ho, Jesse had been hurt and he'd wanted to hurt Steve in return. Kenny Parker's suicide still weighed heavily on his mind and it galled him to think that nobody had ever been punished for what that man went through. He knew that it wasn't Steve's fault, but he'd needed to strike out at someone and the detective had been the nearest target.
A part of him was still angry, furious that his best friend would choose to side with his assailant. The rest of him knew that Steve would have his reasons and, if he'd only taken the time to listen, he would have explained those reasons to him.
Why should he have to? he thought, suddenly finding that anger was winning the battle of his mixed up emotions. If it was Mark lying here, he wouldn't be doing this. He'd throw the book at him.
Jesse was surprised to find just how bitter he still felt. He'd been shot, had almost died. Was it too much to ask for his friends to stand by him?
Such thoughts were still chasing themselves around Jesse's head when Mark entered the room a few minutes later.
"How do you feel?" he asked, his tone grave.
Jesse bit his lip and looked away. Now the person that he trusted and respected more than anyone else in the world knew about his lack of rationality, of compassion. He found that he couldn't answer.
"Steve told me that you were... upset."
"Did he tell you why?" Jesse ignored the hesitation in Mark's words. He knew that "upset" was not the word that Steve had used.
"No. And he didn't tell me why he was so angry when he left here."
"I just can't understand why Steve's doing this to me." Jesse's tone was plaintive and Mark was disconcerted to see tears in the young man's eyes. "Why does he want him to walk free after what he did?"
"He's thirteen years old," Mark reminded him gently. "What else did Steve tell you about him?"
"I know he said it was an accident, but I can't believe that. If he really didn't mean to shoot me, why did he then rob me and go off to spend my money, instead of getting help?"
"Do you know what he was buying, when he tried to use..."
"I don't want to know!" Jesse interrupted harshly. "It doesn't matter if he was buying medicine for his sick old mother. He left me to die!"
Mark recoiled from the fury emanating from his normally placid friend. Something was definitely wrong here, something more than just what was happening with Kim Ho.
"Just answer me one question, Mark," Jesse pressed on. "If he hadn't been arrested, if he hadn't been dumb enough to use my credit card, would he have given a damn about what happened to me? Would he have even cared if I'd lived or died?"
"He has asked after you and he's glad that you're alright." At least physically, Mark added to himself. "But at the time, he had other priorities."
"Other priorities," Jesse snorted. "What could be so important..."
"Namely his baby daughter."
Mark watched sadly as all the colour drained from his friend's face and his look of anger was replaced by horror.
"Christ, Mark." His voice was a harsh whisper. "You said he was only thirteen years old."
"He is. And his girlfriend is fourteen." There was infinite compassion in Mark's tone. "Baby Bethany is just coming up to three months. Jesse, Bethany is downstairs in paediatrics. She has leukaemia."
"Oh, no."
Jesse's fragile hold on his emotions finally crumbled. Mark watched in silence as the young doctor's face crumpled and the tears that he'd fought so hard to keep in check spilled down his cheeks. Still without speaking, Mark sat down next to him and took him into his arms, holding him as he wept.

*****

When the flood of tears finally stopped, Mark didn't immediately release his hold on the young man. He gave him time to compose himself, knowing that he would be needlessly embarrassed by his outburst.
"I'm sorry," Jesse muttered eventually, but still making no attempt to pull away from Mark.
"You've nothing to be sorry for. I know that must have been a shock for you. I was just trying to help you understand. Maria is going to need Kim with her, if she's going to get through this."
"I guess."
"So will you do it?" Mark pulled back so he could look at Jesse. "Will you put in a good word for him?"
"Steve never asked me to do that," Jesse pulled away and his gaze dropped to the blankets. Again, Mark wondered just what had happened between the two friends.
"Well, Steve's planning to speak to the DA, to ask for leniency, but he'll have a better chance of success if you'll speak on Kim's behalf as well."
"I guess."
Unseen by Jesse, who was still focussed on the bedclothes, Mark studied him frowningly. Jesse seemed to be on an emotional roller coaster, ranging from his frightening fury, to this profoundly disturbing lethargy. Not to mention the crying fit in between.
Mark instantly recognised the symptoms. He would have noticed sooner had he not been so caught up in Kim and Maria. He reached out to touch Jesse's shoulder, but the young man didn't even glance up at him.
"I need to speak to Doctor Morton. Will you be alright?"
All he got in response was a nod and a shrug.

*****

Steve was nowhere in sight when Mark exited Jesse's room and for that he was truly sorry. He really wanted to talk to his son, to find out what had happened between him and Jesse and maybe go some way as to explaining why. Now, though, that would have to wait. Jesse's health had to be his priority.
"Is Doctor Morton still here?" he asked the duty nurse. He had his suspicions about what was happening and was barely able to keep his anger out of his voice.
"No, I'm sorry. He's working nights."
"Then I need to see his notes on Doctor Travis as a matter of urgency." He accompanied the nurse to her desk. "Oh and I don't want Jesse having any more medication until I say so."
"But Doctor Morton..."
Mark silenced her with a glare, as he pulled Jesse's file. He found what he was looking for in no time. Unlike the notes on Jesse's chart, the handwriting in his file was perfectly legible. Perhaps Philip Morton had thought that not even Mark Sloan would go through files marked as confidential.
As far as Mark was concerned, his methods were irrelevant. They could argue the ethics at some other time. At least he had his answer. Mark looked again at the information he'd uncovered and his face tightened with anger.
"Damn that man," he muttered.

Forward to part two

Back to Diagnosis Murder page

Back to Main Page