Victims by Guardian

part three

That afternoon, Mark was in his office, catching up on some paperwork, when there was a light knock at the door. A nurse poked her head in.
"Doctor Sloan? If you're not too busy, there's someone here who would like to see you."
"By all means." Mark took his glasses off, as the nurse escorted a small, Chinese woman through the door.
"Hello, I'm Doctor Sloan," he greeted her, after the nurse had left them alone. "What can I do for you?"
"Doctor Sloan, my name is Wendy Ho and I believe that you have my great-granddaughter here."
"Please, call me Mark." He reached across the desk to shake her hand. "You're Bethany's great-grandmother?"
"So that's what they called her," the woman answered sadly. "She must be three months old by now and I never even knew that."
"Are you not close to your family?"
"I used to be, until poor Maria got pregnant. That tore our family apart. Can you believe that my son kicked his own child out onto the streets? We have barely spoken since that day."
"I'm sorry." Family rifts were one thing that Mark truly could empathise with. "But you're here now. How did you find her?"
"My no-good son called me to tell me about Kim being arrested. To gloat more than anything, ranting about how he knew that he'd turn out to be trouble. I doted on Kim and he just did it to get at me. Sometimes I wonder how I ever gave birth to such a monster."
"I'm afraid the old adage is true. You just can't choose your family." Mark smiled sympathetically, then stood up. "Now, how would you like to see your great-granddaughter?"

*****

Morton was busy half the night, making sure that everything was in place for his big moment. He did make sure that he got a few hours sleep, but was up with the dawn the next day. There was still an awful lot to do, including ensuring that all of his recruits were where they were supposed to be.
None of them had let him down and the lure of more money prevented them from questioning some of the dubious tasks he had set for them. Then he took two of them to one side and, with the promise of an extra bonus, easily persuaded them to continue working for him for the entire day.
Once that was achieved, Morton returned to his apartment to get changed and, shortly after midday, he strolled into the hospital as though he had every right to be there, ready with his excuses should anyone challenge him immediately. To his profound relief, nobody so much as looked twice at him.
He took the stairs up to Jesse's floor, not wanting to risk prolonged exposure to any one person in an elevator, then he hid in a closet, not far from his target's room and settled down to wait.

*****

All Hell broke loose later that afternoon. It began when Mark was called down to the paediatric ward. He'd left instructions to be summoned immediately if anything out of the ordinary happened. Monitors suddenly refusing to function definitely classed as out of the ordinary.
Instantly fearing for Bethany, he hurried down there. He knew there was no way that Morton should have been able to get at her, but the man had already proved to be quite ingenious.
His fears were compounded when he saw no sign of the security guard who should have been watching over her. A technician said something to him about the monitors being tampered with, but Mark paid him little attention as he rushed to the baby's side. Bethany seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but he knew better than to be fooled by appearances.
If anything happened to her, he would be responsible. Morton's fight was with him and it was wholly unfair that he should use a child as a weapon. Mark knew that he wouldn't be able to stop worrying until he had run every test available on her.

*****

Elsewhere in the hospital, Jesse's exhaustion had finally caught up with him. He stirred slightly when there was some sort of commotion outside, but his system was still recovering from everything he'd been through and the noise didn't even cause him to open his eyes.
He was rudely awakened a few moments later, when a hand was placed over his mouth and he felt a slight prick in his arm. Jesse's eyes shot open, then widened in fear, as he saw through the disguise and recognised Philip Morton.
The man had died his hair ginger and was now wearing glasses, but the sneer on his face was unmistakable. In one hand he held an empty syringe. Jesse tried to move, to hit the call button, but his limbs felt heavy and his head was swimming with drowsiness. Morton removed his hand from his mouth.
"What did you give me?" Jesse murmured and was surprised by how weak his own voice sounded.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" the other man retorted. "Was it more myzephomine? Are you gonna go all psycho again? Maybe another overdose. Maybe even enough to kill you this time."
Jesse glanced towards the doors, wondering where the Hell security had got to.
"Oh, don't worry," Morton sneered. "We're not going to be disturbed. There's enough going on out there to keep everyone nice and busy for quite a while. It's just you and me."
"What do you want?" The young doctor's words were slurred by now.
"Revenge, Jesse. Mark Sloan has ruined my life and now I'm going to ruin his. And you're just the man to help me."

*****

The people that Morton had recruited to help him carry out his scheme had done an excellent job. The hospital corridors were in chaos. All of security had been summoned urgently to the front desk, when one of his recruits had pulled a gun, another had broken into the pharmacy and someone had tampered with the equipment in the baby unit.
Most importantly of all, on Jesse's floor, two of his recruits were acting like drugs crazed teenagers, smashing equipment and terrorizing the staff. The security guard had had no choice but to leave his post.
Given the strength of their performances, Morton wondered if he'd actually paid them enough.
Whilst all this was happening, Morton had waited until Jesse lost consciousness, then wrapped him up in an oversized hooded robe, before settling him into a wheelchair.
Making sure that the hood fully concealed the young doctor's face, Morton quickly checked that the coast was clear, then wheeled him towards the elevator. It was ridiculously easy. There were sounds of the ongoing chaos in the distance and the few people that he saw were all rushing towards it. Nobody paid the slightest bit of notice to one porter, pushing a wheelchair.

*****

Mark was aware that something was amiss within the hospital, the tannoy system was driving him to distraction with its constant blaring. However, he successfully managed to shut the noise out and, with a nurse's assistance, gave Bethany a thorough check-up.
He was surprised and relieved to find nothing new wrong with her. The only drugs in her system were the ones that were supposed to be there and, in fact, she was as healthy as she had been since they'd first brought her in.
Thanking the nurse, Mark was about to pick Bethany up and put her back to bed, when the door burst open and Amanda dashed in, breathless and panic-stricken.
"Mark, thank God," she gasped. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"Amanda, calm down. What on Earth's the matter?"
"It's like everybody just went crazy." Amanda was gradually getting her breath back. "It all happened at once. Fights, break-ins. I don't know how you didn't hear it."
Mark looked down at Bethany. His worry for her had kept him completely absorbed.
"The police are on their way," the pathologist continued. "But then it all died down just as quickly as it had started. I was at the front desk and everybody just suddenly left. It was a distraction, Mark. Right down to keeping you here, busy with Bethany."
"Oh no," Mark breathed, as he realised what she was leading up to.
"I called the nurse's station upstairs, but got no answer, so I went up there. He's gone, Mark. Jesse's gone."

*****

Jesse's return to consciousness was agonisingly slow. At first, all he was aware of was a bitter cold, seeming to spread right through him. He knew that he was shivering and wanted to wrap his arms around himself, but he couldn't move. His hands were tied behind his back and his ankles bound together.
He tried to open his eyes, but they refused to co-operate and that strange heaviness still pervaded his limbs. He was aware that he was sitting upright, his back against a wall, but he had no other clue as to his surroundings. He certainly couldn't remember how he'd got to be where he was.
Somebody brushed against him and he flinched, but had nowhere to escape to. One of his eyelids was lifted and he caught a brief glimpse of a vaguely familiar face staring back at him, before it was dropped back down again. Then he heard the voice that he had grown to hate and fear.
"I think that's far enough," Morton said. "I don't want to have to worry about you getting too lively now."
Before he knew what was happening, Jesse felt his head being tilted back. Rough fingers forced his mouth open, then reached to the back of his throat. Jesse retched against the invasion but, just as quickly, those fingers were withdrawn and he swallowed reflexively. He felt the shape of the pills as they slid down his throat and a groan escaped him.
In spite of the fact that he was still shivering, Jesse could feel the sweat running down his face. How much had Morton given him, without him even being aware? More importantly, what exactly was it that had just been forced down his throat?
Suddenly, his stomach cramped violently and he fell onto his side. He wanted to vomit, to try and dispel at least some of the poison Morton had introduced into his body. But the world was beginning to fade again and, as another agonising spasm wracked through him, he didn't try to fight it.

*****

Amanda had just finished explaining to Mark everything that had happened when he was called to the phone. Uniformed police were already swarming the hospital and Steve was on his way. Mark had mentioned that Jesse was missing, but had so far said nothing about Philip Morton. To have cops suddenly storm the apartment building could very well endanger his young friend, assuming that was where Morton had taken him.
It was Mark's intention to let Steve handle that side of things, but as soon as he answered his phone call, he knew that he couldn't afford to wait for his son.
"Mark Sloan." He spoke brusquely, his mind filled with a thousand worries.
"Hello, Doctor Sloan." Mark instantly recognised Morton's voice and his hand clenched around the receiver.
"Where's Jesse? If you've hurt him..."
"You started this," Morton interrupted sharply. "All I asked for was a little forgiveness, a second chance. Surely everyone deserves that."
"After what you've done? You think that these terrorist tactics are going to get me to change my mind?" Mark was almost lost for words.
"Last chance, doc. Jesse really isn't looking too well."
"Let him go," Mark seethed. "If you just let him go now, we'll forget about this. I'll make sure he doesn't press charges."
"And the Medical Council?"
"You're too late. You always were and you'd have known that if you'd ever taken the time to talk to me. I made my report right after I fired you."
The silence that followed was so long that Mark started to wonder if the other man had hung up. Then there was a deep sigh.
"I thought that might be the case," Morton said eventually.
"Then let Jesse go. You can still walk away from this. You don't have to go to prison. Please."
"I'm sorry, Mark. This will destroy me, do you know that?" There was another long pause and when Morton spoke again, his voice was filled with menace. "So I will destroy you. When Jesse dies, you will be responsible."
"No, please..."
"If you want to save his life, come to my apartment. Now and alone. Don't bring your son, don't bring the cops. Just you. I believe you know where I live."
"Alright," Mark agreed, knowing that he had no choice. Jesse's predicament really was his fault.
"Oh and Mark? I'd hurry if I were you. I think Jesse might have just stopped breathing."

*****

Morton looked back over to where Jesse lay. That last part, about him having stopped breathing, had been a lie. But he wanted Mark to panic, to not have time to think or, more importantly, plan ahead.
Now, Morton had only one more thing to do. Picking up a syringe off the table, he carefully filled it with liquid from a small vial, then crossed over to his young captive.
He prodded Jesse none too gently with his foot. Getting no response, he tried again, with a little more force. A frown creased Jesse's features and a groan escaped his lips.
Morton crouched next to him and hauled him back up until he was, once again, propped against the wall. He was facing the door and would be the first sight that greeted Mark when he entered.
"Come on, Jesse," Morton muttered, slapping the young doctor's face. "You don't want to miss your big moment."
Jesse's frown deepened and he tried to twist away from those slaps, but Morton's hands followed the movement. Eventually, his eyes cracked open. He stared blankly at Morton, before his eyes slowly wandered down to his captor's hand and the syringe that it held.
"No more," he whispered. "Please, no more."
"No, Jesse, this isn't for you." Morton placed the offending object out of Jesse's line of sight, but still within easy reach. "At least not if you co-operate."
"I won't help you to hurt Mark." Jesse tried to sound confident, even though he was clearly terrified by the prospect of being drugged again.
"You already have, Jesse. Even without knowing it, you already have."

*****

Mark drove as fast as he dared towards Morton's apartment, trying to concentrate on the road whilst explaining the situation to Steve over his cell phone.
"Dad, you mustn't go there alone," his son predictably argued.
"I have no choice, Steve. He's got Jesse and if I don't get there in time..."
"It's too dangerous. Listen, I'm not that far away. I can be there within half an hour."
"We don't have half an hour." Mark was almost at his destination. "Just meet me there. I have to do this, son. I won't let him hurt Jesse any more."
"Dad..."
"And Steve? Bring an ambulance with you." He pulled over outside the apartment and saw two youths lounging in the doorway. "And come quietly. We don't want to alarm him into doing something stupid."
"Dad!"
Mark put the phone down before Steve could argue any further and got out of the car. The youths straightened up as he approached them, blocking his way.
"Who are you?" The taller of the two demanded insolently.
"My name's Mark Sloan and I..."
"Okay, you can go in."
The two of them stepped aside to allow him entry, then moved back into position in the doorway.
Mark hurried up the stairs, his heart racing and his mouth dry. He'd got there as quickly as he could, but if Jesse had stopped breathing at the time of the phone call... Mark refused to let that thought reach a conclusion. He couldn't be too late, he just couldn't.
When he reached Morton's apartment, Mark tried the door, half-expecting it to be locked, but it swung open easily. He stepped in, then gasped in horror when he saw Jesse.
His young friend was tied up in a corner, dressed only in pyjama pants and a bathrobe. His face and chest were covered in sweat and Mark could see that a faint tremor was running through his entire body.
The shocking sight froze him for only the briefest moment, then he moved swiftly across the room. Jesse's eyes were half open, but he didn't once lift his gaze.
Then, as Mark neared an open doorway, intent only on reaching his friend, Philip Morton stepped out of it.
"Close enough, doc." Morton backed up until he was right next to Jesse, then crouched beside him.
Mark could clearly see the syringe in his hand. He took a hesitant step forward, but Morton pushed the tip of the needle against a vein in Jesse's neck. The stricken young doctor flinched and closed his eyes.
"What do you reckon, doc?" Morton was smiling nastily. "Is this gonna be the one that finally finishes him off? Do you wanna take that chance?"
"Let me help him, please." Mark held out a supplicating hand. "This has gone far enough."
"Not yet it hasn't. Almost, but not yet."
"What do you want from me?"
Morton straightened up, but was still too close to Jesse for Mark to risk trying anything.
"What do you think is in this doc? Go on, take a guess." He held the syringe up to the light, studying it thoughtfully. "Not that I'd tell you if you guessed right of course. That would spoil the fun."
"Just tell me what you want." Mark's gaze flicked back to Jesse's still form.
"I want you to make a choice," Morton answered. "Oh don't worry, it's an easy choice. One you won't really have to think about for more than, say, a second or two."
"What choice?" He spoke quietly, wondering how long they had been talking and how much longer it would take Steve to get there.
"Me or him, Mark." He gestured down towards Jesse. " Take your pick. Your friend or your enemy. See? I told you it was easy."
"What are you talking about?"
"Ethics, morals, doing the right thing. All of the reasons that you chose to ruin my career. Well, Doctor Sloan, now it's your turn. You are so high and mighty, talking about the Hippocratic Oath and the need to be true to it at all times. Well, I'm going to show you that it's not that easy."
Mark watched him silently, not understanding just what Morton expected of him. He needed to get to Jesse, but didn't dare move. He could only listen to the other man's rambling.
Then Morton surprised him again, straightening his arm and holding the syringe poised over the inside of his own elbow. His thumb settled on the plunger.
"If I inject myself with this, I will be dead within three minutes." Morton said, intensely. "You have the ability to save my life."
"You're insane."
"No, not insane. Just proving a point." The tip of the needle pierced his skin. "You won't help me. You'll go straight to your friend. Okay, so he's sick, but is he in imminent danger of dying? Would he last those few minutes that it would take you to save me?"
"If you choose to commit suicide..."
"Oh no, you don't get out of it that easily. I'm not committing suicide. I'm trusting you to save me. You are a doctor, after all. And isn't that your primary function? Saving lives?"
"Don't." Mark took another half-step forward, as Morton's thumb began to depress the plunger.
He looked at Jesse, worried by his pallor. Even as he watched, his young friend grimaced and gasped with pain. His eyes cracked open and he looked at Mark, as though unable to comprehend why he was not helping him.
"Mark..." he gasped and there was a plea in just that one word.
"Go to him," Morton spat, suddenly depressing the plunger all of the way in. "Help your friend. You hate me. Let me die."
"What was in the syringe?" Mark demanded, as Morton staggered against a wall.
"And when you find out that Jesse was going to be fine all along..." Morton ignored him. He was starting to get breathless. "That I'd died for nothing... when you could have... saved me... Then you'll realise... you betrayed your own... precious... oath."
Morton's knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. Mark rushed over and rolled him onto his back. His eyes were still open, though his face was twisted in pain.
"I hope... it drives you... insane," he muttered.

*****

Steve broke just about every traffic violation imaginable, as he rushed towards Philip Morton's apartment. Even with the bubble light flashing on top of his car, his driving was nothing short of reckless.
He'd called ahead, asking for an ambulance to meet him a block away from his destination, not wanting them to race there with sirens blazing. Morton was unstable, bordering on the insane and now it was not only Jesse who was in danger, but his father too.
As he slewed the steering wheel again, to dodge past the impossibly slow drivers in his way, Steve grimly wondered if, maybe, he would end up needing the ambulance for himself. But not once did he even contemplate slowing down at all. Half an hour could feel like a lifetime, when people you loved were depending on you.
When he reached his rendezvous point, he was disgusted to find that there was no ambulance crew waiting for him. He removed the bubble light from his own car and was just about to call in and demand to know where the Hell it was, when it rounded the corner behind him.
Steve wasted no time in briefing them and was just about to start leading the way to Morton's apartment, when two police cruisers pulled in behind them. He hadn't asked for back-up, but Steve was immensely relieved to see them. After curtly ordering them not to use lights or sirens, the little convoy got underway.
He arrived just twenty-two minutes after talking to his father on the phone. As he got out of his car, Steve frowned as he saw two delinquents blocking the doorway of the building. This wasn't really all that bad an area and the kids were distinctly out of place.
Then two uniformed policemen got out of each cruiser. The two youths looked at one another, had a rapid conversation and then began to run. Steve was happy to let them go. He'd got a good look at both of them and could easily identify them again, if the need arose.
"Morton's apartment is on the first floor," Steve said, addressing the nearest of the two officers. "You two cover the fire escape, but don't move in unless I say so."
They nodded and moved off to carry out their orders.
"The rest of you are with me," he continued. He looked at the paramedics. "My dad seems to think that we'll need you pretty urgently, but wait in the corridor, until you get the all-clear."
Not willing to waste any more time, Steve strode into the apartment block, trusting them to follow him.

*****

Mark knelt between the two fallen men, a million thoughts racing through his head.
Who should he go to, Morton or Jesse? His enemy or his friend? His instincts screamed that it had to be Jesse, but Morton's words had clouded his mind.
Yes, he had often spoken of morals and ethics and had even cited the Hippocratic Oath. But what was he to do, with only one pair of hands, when two people so desperately needed his help?
He tried to look on it as a triage situation, to help the one in the most need. But Morton had been right about that, too. There was love and hate involved. How could any decision he made be impartial?
These thoughts passed through Mark's head in a matter of fleeting seconds and, even as his mind hovered in indecision, his hands were busy.
He tore open Morton's shirt collar, to try and ease his breathing, as his fingers quested for a pulse. He found it, beating unnaturally quickly beneath his touch.
Then a sudden thought struck him. There were two doctors in the room. Jesse had been drugged, but he had also been at least semi-aware. Maybe he didn't have to make this decision alone, after all.
"Do you know what was in the syringe?"
When there was no answer, he twisted around to look at his young colleague. What he saw stopped all of the conflict he'd previously suffered.
Jesse's eyes were, once again, closed and his head lolled against the wall. A thin trickle of green bile had wormed out of the corner of his mouth. To his consternation, Mark could no longer tell if he was breathing or not.
In his mind, Morton had ceased to exist. This was Jesse Travis, more like a son than a friend, and he had neglected him for long enough. He scooted over to where Jesse lay, the place he now knew he should have gone to first.
As his frantic fingers searched desperately for a pulse, he heard the door burst open behind him. He turned and saw Steve, gun in hand, frozen in the doorway by the tableau that had greeted him.
Jesse's flesh was cold beneath his touch.
"Help me, son," he pleaded.

*****

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Doctor Sloan?"
Amanda turned at the sound of a woman's voice and turned to find herself looking at Wendy Ho. Mark had introduced her the day before and, despite her worry, Amanda somehow found a smile.
"I'm sorry," she said, keeping her tone light, "but he's not here right now. Are you here to see Bethany?"
"Well, yes, but I really wanted to talk to Doctor Sloan," Wendy answered.
"Maybe I can help you. If you're worried about Bethany, I..."
"No, no. It's Kim I'm worried about. My grandson."
Amanda paused before answering. Of course, she knew all about Kim Ho but, with everything that had been going on, she'd never taken the time to analyse her own feelings about him.
He had shot one of her best friends and, as a result of that shooting, Jesse had been plunged into his own private Hell. But she was also a mother and knew what lengths a parent would go to, to protect their child. Philip Morton wasn't Kim Ho's fault and she wondered what Jesse would have done if none of those repercussions had followed.
Jesse! Amanda remembered Mark's phone call and the haste with which he'd left the hospital. Sudden dread churned her stomach.
"Excuse me?" Wendy said, seeing that she'd lost the other woman's attention.
At that precise moment, Amanda wanted nothing more than to scream at the Chinese woman, to tell her exactly what her precious grandson had started, but she saw the look on Wendy's face and compassion won out.
"I'm sorry," she sighed. "You were saying about Kim?"
"Doctor Sloan explained everything to me," Mary continued, unperturbed by the younger woman's momentary distraction. Mark had explained a great many other things to her as well. "I know that Kim did wrong and is in a lot of trouble and I can't excuse him for that."
"It's in the past now and nobody can change that." Amanda only spoke because an answer seemed expected of her.
"No, but we can do something about the future." Amanda had to forgive Wendy's persistence, she knew nothing of Jesse's plight. "His father hates him and will have nothing to do with him. But what about me?"
Amanda looked at her, not sure what she was getting at.
"What if I give them all a home? Kim, Maria and the baby?" Wendy continued with growing enthusiasm. "I don't want my grandson to go to prison. I'll look after them and I'll take full responsibility for them."
Amanda admired the woman's spirit, but couldn't help feeling the slightest twinge of bitterness. Kim Ho might still be responsible for setting in motion the chain of events that killed Jesse Travis.

*****

Steve had imagined a thousand different scenarios as he'd raced towards Morton's apartment, but none of them matched the scene that had greeted him when he burst into the room.
He never thought he'd see a look like that on his father's face. Mark looked desperate, almost helpless. And when he'd spoke, his tone of voice had turned Steve's blood to ice.
"Help me, son."
"Get the paramedics in here! Now!" He barely spared a glance towards Morton as he raced to his father's side.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Get those damned ropes off him."
Mark carefully laid Jesse onto his side and slipped two fingers into his mouth, easing it more fully open. More of the disgusting bile spilled out.
Steve had pulled out his pocket-knife and was savagely sawing through the ropes that bound his friend, when the paramedics rushed into the room. Mark barely spared them a glance.
"He injected himself with something," he said curtly, jerking his head in Morton's direction. "I don't know what."
Then Jesse convulsed violently and he left them to get on with their job, no longer caring whether they succeeded or not.
"Dad?" Steve had completed severing the bonds and was looking to his dad for direction, when Jesse convulsed again. His arms thrashed weakly at the hands that were trying to help him.
"Just keep him still, son." Mark had to force those words out. Jesse had been restrained for too long. "I have to clear his air-way."
Hating himself for what he was doing, Steve pulled his friend's arms down and held them in a firm, but gentle grip. Mark pushed his fingers further into Jesse's mouth and they had to endure another sudden convulsion.
"Doctor Sloan?"
It was the voice of one of the paramedics and Mark completely ignored him. He didn't even care if he were about to tell him that Morton was dead. His fingers quested further and Jesse retched, then gasped in a sudden breath of air.
Temporarily satisfied, Mark spared a brief glance towards Morton. The two paramedics who'd tended to him were looking back at him quizzically.
"He's going to be fine," one of them said. "As far as we can tell, he gave himself a shot of some kind of stimulant. My guess would be adrenalin. Nothing serious, but enough to cause him a lot of discomfort."
"Dad!"
Steve hadn't once taken his eyes off Jesse and so it was he who noticed that, after his friend had exhaled that gasped lungful of air, he didn't fight for another one.
Mark reacted without thought. Jesse had stopped breathing, so he did the only thing that he could. Rolling the young doctor onto his back, he began to perform CPR.
"Doctor Sloan." One of the paramedics stepped forward, confused by what he was seeing. "Why don't you let us?"
But Mark was beyond hearing them. He had caused this situation, so it was up to him to resolve it. Steve had to step in and physically pull Mark away from Jesse before the paramedics were able to get close to him.
"Dad, they've got him." Steve was almost shouting to get his father's attention. "Let them help him."
Mark looked at him and his eyes were filled with tears.
"I should have known he was lying," he whispered. "He's done nothing but lie, right from the start. God-dammit! I should have known."
"Known what?" Steve was starting to get worried and not just about Jesse. "Dad, what are you talking about?"
"He always meant to kill Jesse. Why couldn't I see that? But he made me choose, between my ethics and..."
"Dad, I don't understand."
"He made me leave Jesse to die." A tear trickled down Mark's cheek. "That was his revenge. I would have let him die and that would have driven me insane."
Concerned as he was by his father's behaviour, Steve threw a worried glance towards the corner where the two paramedics worked feverishly over his best friend.
One of them glanced back over his shoulder.
"We've got him stabilised, but I don't know for how long. Do you know what he took?"
"He didn't take anything!" Steve reacted with typical fury. "He..."
"Steve, we know it's not Jesse's fault." The altercation seemed to snap Mark out of his stupor and he stepped forward with calm authority. "Let's just get him to hospital."
"What about him?" One of the paramedics asked, glancing towards Morton's still unconscious form. "He really should go to the hospital, too."
"Just take care of Jesse," Steve snapped, fixing Morton with a venomous glare. "I'll take care of him."

*****

It was one of the longest nights of Mark's life, as he kept a constant vigil at Jesse's bedside. In spite of his son's and his friends' objections, he refused to go home. It was his fault that Jesse was lying there, fighting for his life. Staying with him was the least he could do.
The young doctor's tox-screen had come back reading like a stock-sheet from a pharmacy. His stomach had been pumped and he was hooked up to a multitude of tubes, as they tried to flush the deadly cocktail out of his system.
Steve stayed with him for as long as he could, but he had work to do, namely making sure that Philip Morton got exactly the punishment that he deserved.
Morton was kept in the hospital overnight, mainly for observation, but he had two armed guards on his door and Steve was there when the time came for him to be formally arrested.
Jesse's tormentor dressed, then sat on the edge of his bed, listening impassively as Steve read him his rights.
"What are you charging me with, Lieutenant?" he asked and Steve was surprised to see him smiling hopefully at him. "Murder?"
"Kidnapping, assault, attempted murder." Steve enjoyed watching the smile fade from the other man's lips. "He's alive, Morton. My dad saved his life."
Steve handed his prisoner over to the two uniformed cops, then hurried back to where his friend lay, praying that he had just told Morton the truth.

*****

Jesse had thought that regaining consciousness in Morton's apartment had been painful, but that was nothing compared to the agony that awaited him when he finally started to come around, some forty-eight hours after being rushed through the doors of Community General.
To begin with, he was only vaguely aware that something wasn't right. There was something in his throat and, remembering how Morton had forced drugs into him, he began to panic. Then the pain hit him all at once and he gasped, almost choking on the tube that had been helping him to breath. His eyes shot open suddenly, as full consciousness was rudely thrust upon him.
Mark had given in to the constant pressure of his colleagues and snatched a few hours sleep in the on-call room. He had returned just in time and almost fell off his chair in surprise when, without any prior warning, his patient woke up. He saw the panic that immediately followed and was on his feet in an instant, leaning over the bed so that Jesse could see him.
"It's okay, Jess," he soothed. "You're safe now. He's gone and you're at the hospital. You're safe now."
Jesse looked up at him with pleading eyes. He wanted to tell Mark just how much he was hurting, but the tube prevented him from speaking. Tears of pain and frustration welled in his eyes.
"I know you're hurting, Jess." Mark saw the tears and correctly interpreted at least part of their reason. "But I'm sorry, I can't give you anything for it. He put so many different drugs into your system, we have no idea what might trigger another reaction. I truly am sorry..."
He trailed off and just looked on helplessly as two tears trickled down his young friend's cheeks. He would have done anything to be able to take his pain away, but the risks were just too great. He reached out and laid a soothing hand on Jesse's cheek.
"I am so sorry," he whispered.
Jesse stared back at him, not fully understanding what he was being told. His head was still fuzzy and the pain was making it difficult for him to concentrate. All that he wanted was to stop hurting. More tears rushed to replace those that had already fallen.
Mark could do nothing more than continue stroking his cheek, making soothing noises and watching his friend cry. He didn't know how long he'd stood there, but eventually Jesse's eyelids dropped and he slipped into what Mark hoped was a peaceful, therapeutic sleep.

*****

Healing was a slow and pain-filled process. After Jesse's first return to consciousness, Mark had removed the throat tube, but it was still too soon for him to consider increasing his medication. Throughout the next two days he, Steve and Amanda could only be there for their friend as his nightmare continued.
There were a great many more tears, not all of them from Jesse's eyes and there was one horrific moment when Jesse completely lost all control and had begged Mark to give him something, anything to help him. Mark had cried along with his friend and just held him until the pain subsided to a more bearable level.
On the morning of the third day since Jesse had first awoken, Mark had run a battery of tests and was anxiously awaiting the results, when Amanda came into the room.
"Any change?" She asked quietly. Jesse was still sleeping.
Mark was just about to answer, when a nurse opened the door and handed him a file. Taking his glasses from his top pocket, he studied it in silence for, what felt to Amanda, the longest time.
"Well?" She pressed, unable to contain her curiosity.
"The foreign substances in Jesse's bloodstream have fallen almost by half," he explained. Then his face broke into a broad grin. "He's out of the woods, Amanda. He's going to be alright!"
Unable to help herself, Amanda threw her arms around the older doctor's neck and hugged him hard. She was laughing and crying at the same time.
"Hey, guys," a weak voice called out from the bed. "I'm starting to feel a little left out here."
The two of them turned towards him, still grinning like idiots.
"I'm guessing from your expressions that it's good news." Jesse shifted uncomfortably on the bed, a grimace flashing over his features. "So why don't I feel any better?"
"Where does it hurt, Jess?" Mark asked, as he began to prepare a syringe.
"Um, everywhere?" He gasped again, then said through gritted teeth: "Stomach, mostly."
"Let me give you something for that."
After what he had been through, Mark wouldn't have been surprised if Jesse had flinched away from the needle. But the young doctor just closed his eyes, then sighed with unmistakable relief as the painkiller was administered.

*****

Another two days and Jesse was getting back towards being his normal self. Mark had told him what Morton had done, as he found that he had very little memory of events inside the actual apartment. Then, he had gently explained about Wendy Ho and her offer to take care of Kim, Maria and Bethany.
Mark had been unsure as to what Jesse's reaction would be, but the compassionate young man had simply smiled and said he was happy that Bethany would have a proper home to grow up in. The baby's prognosis was reasonably good and she was responding well to the treatment.
Mark's only concern about his friend was that, throughout their conversation, Jesse never once asked after Kim Ho himself. He didn't press the issue, knowing that Jesse would have to face up to it sooner rather than later.
That afternoon, there was a light knock at the door and Steve poked his head round, his face lighting up when he saw how well Jesse was looking. As he entered the room, his smile faded somewhat. His wasn't a social visit.
"Jesse, Kim Ho was in court this morning," Steve began. "He pleaded guilty to all of the charges, but the DA did intervene. Once she found out about his grandmother's offer to..."
"Just tell me what he got, Steve." Jesse's voice was flat, his gaze impassive.
"A probationary order."
The doctor merely nodded, seemingly lost in thought. Steve looked at him worriedly, remembering how he had previously reacted at the mere mention of Kim Ho's name and afraid that the news might have caused a set-back in his recovery.
"Jess..."
"I'm okay." Jesse looked at him and his eyes were bright with tears. "Maybe you're right, maybe being locked up would have destroyed him and maybe now he'll sort his life out. But it's not that easy, you know?"
"He wants to come and see you. To apologise to you in person."
Steve was only trying to make his friend see that Kim wasn't such a bad kid after all. But he was forced to regret the words as soon as he'd said them. Jesse sat frozen on the bed, a look of shock on his face. He was so completely and utterly still that, for a moment, Steve genuinely feared that he'd suffered a relapse. Then he blinked and the tension in his features relaxed, leaving behind only sadness.
"I'm sorry." His tearful gaze dropped down to the bedclothes. "I just don't think I'm ready for that yet."

THE END.

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