Title: Skulduggery

Author: Black_Wingedbird

Rating: PG-13 (Language and violence)

Author's Note: Inspired by Kerry and Robbin's: It Started With A Splinter
http://kerryok1.tripod.com/Itstartedwithasplinter.html

skul·dug·ger·y (n.): Crafty deception or trickery or an instance of it.

Steve Sloan watched the taught surfer from where he stood on the warm sand, shamefully unable to tear his eyes from the figure. He knew it wasn't right, staring at his best friend like a awe-struck young woman, but there was something… magical in the way the water transformed Jesse Travis.

The young ER doctor was by no means incompetent, as the truth couldn't be more the opposite. Jesse was a lightening-fast doctor with instincts that were always honest and correct. He was now a prize of the Community General Hospital, whose board members all managed to see through the youth and inexperience and thereby give the twenty-something doctor a chance upon his arrival to California. Steve hadn't known Jesse back then. He had only heard of the Illinois-bred doctor through his father, Dr. Mark Sloan, while father and son would discuss the day's events over the dinner table. Right from the beginning, Steve could tell that his father was impressed by Jesse, and as time brought them all closer, began to see Jesse as a wayward son.

Maybe it was the closeness of their relationship that peeled away any formality Jesse might usually display, but Steve himself began to see the young doctor as a kid brother, the kind you never really appreciated until you were old enough to see that, yes, the annoying little guy really does worship the ground you walk on. The detective often saw Jesse in all his goofy glory, his free-spirited enthusiasm. While 'clumsy' might not be a precise description, 'controlled' wasn't either.

That was what had Detective Steve Sloan standing at the water's edge now, transfixed on the single man he was closest to after his father. The instant Jesse's foot touched the water, he was transformed, always finding his balance and movingly fluidly like an extension of the sea, like She wanted the light-haired surfer upon Her. Surely fate was mistaken when birthing Jesse in the Midwest, because he clearly belonged to the sea.

Steve shivered against a salty breeze and broke out of his inadvertent musings. His own surfboard caught the wind and fought against his grip. After taking a deep breath, Steve started out into the ocean to join his friend. They were each unwinding after a taxing workday; Steve running between the precinct and the streets, Jesse running from the emergency room to surgery. There was no better way to relax than riding the waves against a blinding orange sunset.

Steve clawed through the water and into the sinking sun. His dad was in the beach house at his back, making a dinner that would fill bellies a well as spirits. To his left, Jesse crouched and clung to his surfboard as if his feet were more comfortable there than on land. Steve shook his head and continued searching for his wave.

He didn't know what made him turn then, perhaps it was an upsetting flash of blue and white trunks (because wetsuits weren't very flattering), or perhaps it was a cry from the ocean Herself. Steve looked backwards over his shoulder just in time to see Jesse plunge into the waters below. Jesse had fallen lots of times, maybe on purpose just to let the ocean catch him, but there was something different, worrisome, about this plummet. This time the waves continued to pound, continued to keep their rider under.

“Jesse?” Steve called out, already making his way to where he had last seen the younger man.

“Jesse!” This time it was more frantic. It wasn't like the ocean to keep Jesse under, and it wasn't like Jesse to stay anywhere he was put.

Just as Steve reached his destination, Jesse's head broke the water's surface about twenty feet away, followed closely by his board. The waves seemed to quiet in an apology as Steve fell into the water and swam to his friend.

“Are you alright?” Steve asked as soon as he was sure he could be heard over the hissing waves.

Jesse nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. I banged my knee a little, but I'm all right. I don't know what happened.”

“Looked to me as if you fell, doctor,” Steve grinned, grabbing Jesse's shoulder for both their reassurances. “Let's call it a night. Dinner should be ready anyway.” Steve thought he saw tears escape Jesse's reddened eyes, but that was absurd considering the young man was dripping wet and treading water a couple hundred feet from shore.

“Sounds like a plan,” Jesse nodded. “I'm starving.”

Steve's arms tightened as he hoisted himself back on the surfboard. “Why does that not surprise me?” he asked with a grin, watching as Jesse climbed on his surfboard. The movement seemed slower, more guarded. “Are you sure you're okay?”

Jesse nodded with enthusiasm but the deliberate avoidance was not lost on Steve as the doctor looked straight ahead. “Yeah, great. Let's go.”

Steve felt a surge of big-brother-ness radiating within him at the way Jesse's jaw was set and his eyebrows furrowed. He silently cursed the ocean for abusing a person that so obviously worshiped Her.

They reached the shore and sunk their feet into the liquid sand. The sky was darkening around them, chasing them to the beach house and stopping just at the edge of electricity's warm glow. Deep purple spilt across the sky now, blotting out the vivid orange that was there only half an hour before. Steve was trudging through the sand when he realized his side was bare and he was alone. He turned to find Jesse leaning against his board, still at the water's edge. Or maybe the board was holding him up.

“You coming?” Steve asked, driving the end of his own board into the yielding sand.

“Yeah. It-” Jesse swallowed and looked to the sky quickly, then pointed. A diversion. “Sky's pretty.”

“We can look at it from inside.”

Jesse nodded. “I'm coming,” he said dismissively, but Steve didn't turn away. He watched as Jesse grinned nervously and slowly, tentatively, limped forward.

Steve watched sympathetically as Jesse kept his gaze to the sand in stubborn determination. Perhaps that was the best description of the young man- stubbornly determined. It was the way Jesse seemed to deal with all that life threw at him, at least from Steve's standpoint. He sighed, allowing Jesse to join him under his own effort. “Do I need to get dad?”

“No.” Jesse replied sharply, his blue eyes finally locked on Steves'. “I just twisted it. I'll be fine.”

“Jesse, you're using your surfboard as a crutch.”

Jesse blinked and pushed the board away from him a fraction. “Am not.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Well I'm getting cold. Let's go inside and eat. Think you can make it, hop-along?”

“Right behind you,” Jesse grinned, youth and mischief once again sparkling in his eyes.

Steve shook his head and started for the house, listening to Jesse hobble along behind him and the waves hissing against the sand behind Jesse. He had every intention of having his father examine Jesse once they reached the house. If Jesse had to be baited with food, then so be it. The least he could do for now is help preserve Jesse's pride by letting him reach his destination under his own power. Stubborn, determined… and proud.

They reached the deck stairs in only slightly more time than usual. Steve slowed his pace a little to accommodate for Jesse's struggling. He scaled the wooden steps in normalcy, and then turned to watch how Jesse intended on following. Perhaps he should have stayed behind the younger man to catch him when he fell.

With a sigh of doggedness, Jesse propped his surfboard against the railing and took his first cautious step, clinging to the railing with a force that turned his knuckles white. His own feet fell in place of Steve's wet footsteps as he slowly but surely made his way up to the weathered deck. He stood before Steve, panting as saltwater slowly fell from his hair to his shoulders. “One word about this to your dad and you'll be pulling Wednesday's shift at Bob's by yourself,” Jesse threatened with a pointing finger.

“Wouldn't dream of it Jess,” Steve replied, opening the sliding glass door for his friend. “After you.”

Jesse visibly braced himself, then set forth into the house with painstaking steadiness. Mark looked up from his duties in the kitchen and smiled.

“You're just in time, dinner's ready.”

Jesse opened his mouth and Steve smoothly blurted, “Jesse's hurt himself.” He heard Jesse's jaw click shut as he strode past the stunned young man and grabbed a towel.

“I did not,” Jesse argued, however there was not much strength behind it. He caught the towel Steve threw at him and looked away from the proud smile.

Mark set the casserole dish on the potholders and studied Jesse, then Steve. “Hurt how?”

“Surfing,” Jesse replied quickly, and Steve knew if Jesse had his way, that would be the end of the conversation.

“Said he twisted his knee,” Steve clarified. He tossed the wet towel aside and pulled on a T-shirt. “But you know how you doctors always downplay your own injuries…” Steve trailed off, successfully igniting a flame of worry in his father's eyes.

“Sit down, I'll be there in a minute,” Mark ordered as he turned off the oven.

Jesse remained where he was, glaring at Steve as he was handed a dry shirt and relieved of the towel. “I hate you,” he hissed, keeping a smile in his eyes that Steve easily saw.

“Just looking out for my best friend,” Steve replied, moving away and taking up residence on a bar stool near the breakfast bar.

Jesse hobbled to the couch and eased himself down, keeping his injured right leg straight out in front of him. He glared at Steve from across the living room.

Mark approached Jesse with all the mannerisms of a father having to patch up his son after yet another fall and scraped knee. “What have you done to yourself?” he chided, and even Steve could sense the true concern.

“As I told Steve already, it's nothing. Maybe a sprain, that's all.”

“Ten minutes ago your knee was just twisted,” Steve interjected.

Jesse looked into Mark's eyes and commented quietly, “It may be a little more severe than a twist.”

Mark let his fingertips ghost over the joint and stood up. “Either way, it's swelling. Stay there and I'll get a wrap and Tylenol.” Jesse opened his mouth and Mark added, “You will have this knee wrapped or you won't get any dinner.”

Jesse's jaw clicked shut for the second time that night. “Fine, dad,” and Steve wondered how the term of endearment could sound so much like a curse.

Steve chuckled as he picked at a roll. “He cares about you Jess. A lot of people do.”

Jesse glanced at the hallway which Mark had disappeared in. “You're lucky.”

“So I've heard.”

Mark reappeared with a roll of Ace bandages and a white pill bottle. “I'll let you do the honors, young man,” Mark said, tossing the bandages in Jesse's lap. “I have a dinner to serve.”

Steve watched Jess pout for a minute and wondered how the Travis parents could be anything less than amused in their son's presence. It scared him how deeply he thought of Jesse and therefore tried not to do it too often. Jesse had many layers, and as the young doctor grumpily began wrapping his knee, Steve found himself glad to know Jesse on the most sincere level. There was something about the stubborn, determined, proud, and naïve man that complimented Steve and all his straight-forwardness and experience.

A sort of return to innocence.

Steve shook his head vehemently. Since when had he become a waxing poetic? Must be a full moon, he thought, and took his plate to the table to eat.

~o0O0o~

Jesse hobbled through the door of his apartment, relieved that no one was around to see his awful limp.

He pushed the door shut and winced when it slammed with more force than he intended to use. The dinner had been great, the usual Mark Sloan level of excellence that Jesse had come to know and worship. The thought made him smile briefly before the throbbing in his knee overrode all other thoughts.

The apartment was dark. Jesse didn't bother turning on any lights before limping to the couch. He sat carefully, trying not to jar his leg. The bandage helped to immobilize the joint but Jesse feared his injury was more serious than he wanted to admit.

He sighed, mostly out of disappointment in himself, and leaned forward to take the bandage off. It was swollen, there was no denying it, and it seemed a little warm to his sensitive fingers. Great.

The tan bandage fell to the floor silently. Jesse shifted on his couch and leaned over his leg further. After taking a steeling breath, he felt around his kneecap, biting his tongue against the pain that increased tenfold with his actions. It was more swollen on the inside of his knee. 'The medial lateral ligament,' his mind supplied. 'Still in tact.'

“Ha, it really is just a sprain,” he said aloud as he collapsed against the plush couch cushions. He knew the treatment for such an injury only required rest and perhaps Ibuprofen to dull the pain. Unfortunately, rest would be impossible. Tomorrow he was pulling a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. The next day he would be at Bar-B-Q Bob's. In fact, Jesse didn't think he would have a day off for the next eight days.

Discouraged by that realization, he let his head fall back. There was no way he would ask for time off from either job. There were car services to be paid off, Christmas presents to buy, American Medical Association dues to be paid… not to mention the fact that he loved both of his jobs. He was a doctor and perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Staring at the dark ceiling in his living room only served to heighten his determination and center his attention on the ache in his knee. Which probably should be re-wrapped.

With a grunt and a mighty effort from his tired body, Jesse had his knee bound and able to once again support half of his weight. Jesse rose from the couch and searched his bathroom for a bottle of pain relief. He grabbed the bottle from the far corner of his medicine cabinet, checked the expiration date, and downed two pills.

“I'll be fine,” he told himself as he limped into the bedroom. Telling Mark about this would only admit that something was wrong, and a sprained ligament was not a big deal. It wasn't. “With any luck, no one will ever notice.”

Exhausted, he crawled under the bedcovers and immediately slipped into a restful sleep.

~o0O0o~

The next morning found Jesse fully awake and semi-functional around 8:30. He had gone through his normal morning routines, finding that a limp slowed his rushed preparations considerably. After arriving at Community General only twenty minutes late and after blaming it on the traffic, Jesse met with the wing's newest nurse to introduce himself. Her name was Jessica, and she had replaced the beloved, elderly Nurse Mary Gray. Mary, despite her lengthening age, was one of Jesse's top nurses. She had been dependable, courteous to the patients and fellow staff, and she made Jesse Christmas cookies every year.

Jesse loved her.

But Mary had retired gracefully a week ago and was now enjoying the rest she deserved. Today was her replacement's first day on the clock, and Jessica Foster seemed to be very capable of filling Mary's proverbial shoes. The middle-aged blonde was bright, kind, and quick. Too quick.

“Dr. Travis, you're limping.”

“No I'm not,” Jesse argued as he limped towards the nurse's station.

The nurses gathered there spared a quick glance to each other.

“A new dance style, then?”

The other nurses giggled.

Jesse narrowed his eyes. “Don't you ladies have some work to do?”

Jessica looked to her seniors, her face a question. Jesse realized that he had scared her, so he asked in a softer voice, “Are you comfortable with the way things are organized here?”

Jessica's nerves seemed to soothe a little at the honest question and she replied, “I think so.”

Jesse looked at his watch. He had nowhere to be at the moment and the ER was hauntingly quiet. “Let me take you on the grand tour while I've got the time.” It wasn't that he didn't trust the other nurses to teach the newcomer- Jesse just enjoyed having a good working relationship with all his nurses. They came in handy sometimes.

The two traveled down the hall side-by-side, Jesse's gait made unsteady by his limp. “Have you lived in California long?” he asked, partly out of interest, partly out of his flirtatious habit, and mostly to distract her from asking how he had hurt himself.

“A few months. I know my way around-”

“Jesse?”

Jesse cringed. It was Mark's voice that had called his name, and as Jesse came to a stop in the middle of the hallway, he realized it was too late. “Yes?”

Jesse and Jessica turned to face Dr. Sloan. Jesse looked past the older doctor and saw the other nurses at their station, trying to hide their laughter. Backstabbers.

“The knee still bothering you?” Mark seemed to notice Jessica at that moment and smiled to her with a nod of his head. “Hello there, I don't believe we've met.”

Jessica shook Mark's hand politely. Jesse tried to slink off as they started small talk, grateful for the distraction but disappointed when it didn't work.

“Hold on a minute Jess,” Mark said, stopping Jesse's retreat. “You did keep a wrap on it right? You know, Steve told me you fell pretty hard, why don't I take a look at it later-”

“I'm fine,” Jesse interrupted. “Really. Just a sprain.” Of sorts.

“Alright. I'm going to trust you,” Mark said in a way that made Jesse feel really guilty. “But I am going to prescribe some Ibuprofen, and you are going to take it until that knee gets better.” Even as Mark spoke, he was filling out a prescription sheet. When he was done, he handed it to Jessica. “Would you mind filling this for Dr. Travis?” he asked in what Jesse thought was a sickeningly sweet voice.

“Of course,” Jessica replied, sounding just as bad.

Jesse watched her leave, shooting daggers at her back. Evil nurses. They just couldn't be trusted.

“Jesse,” Mark started, waiting until he had Jesse's attention before continuing, “It's me you should be mad at. Leave the poor nurses alone. She is only following orders.”

“She's my nurse, she should be on my side,” Jesse argued, sounding lame even to himself. His leg really was throbbing, and it was sure to be worse by the end of the day.

Mark only chuckled. “You remind me of Steve,” he said and smiled at a memory. “He and his sister would always stick up for each other when one or the other got into trouble. Unfortunately for him, I could always bribe Carol with candy.” He paused, watching Jesse lean against the wall. “Come to think of it, I bribe you with food too.”

Jesse huffed. “You don't bribe me, you make offers that I can't refuse. Plus I would never take opposite sides with Steve. It's guy thing.”

“Oh, is that it?” Mark questioned in a way that made Jesse feel very young.

Mark and Jesse continued their banter, enjoying the rare ability to do so. The local population must be taking extra precautions today and thereby avoiding any serious injuries. The quietness of the hospital was a nice, but nerve-wracking change of pace. It was like the calm before the really big storm. In fact, Jesse thought if he looked outside right now, he could see the wildlife seeking protection like a prophecy. Maybe even some dark clouds beginning to roll in from the coast. Jesse shivered.

“You alright?”

“Huh?” Jesse blinked, realizing he hadn't been listening to anything Dr. Sloan had been saying. They had walked back to the nurse's station and Jesse looked to them for help. They only smiled back, looking concerned. “I'm fine,” he answered finally, furrowing his brow in thought.

“Here you go, Dr. Travis,” Jessica interrupted as she approached. A prescription bottle of pills rattled as she placed them on the nurse's counter.

Jesse, grateful for the distraction, smiled warmly at her. “Thank you.”

“Now I want you to take those,” Mark said sternly, with a pointed finger. “And no more surfing for a while.”

Jesse rolled his eyes and reached for the bottle. His hand stopped midway when the ER doors burst open and a team of paramedics raced an occupied gurney in the hospital.

“I got an eighteen year old kid, flat-line!”

The group scattered like a herd of deer after a rifle shot. Jesse made it to the paramedics amazingly fast, considering. “All right, how long has he been down?”

The group hurried down the hall towards the emergency room. “Unknown, mother found him in his room, we've been working on him for 15, gave him two rounds of eppy, two of atropine.”

“Been any signs of life?” Jesse asked, his adrenaline warring with the pain in his knee. It soon won.

“We got him back once then we lost him again.”

The young man on the gurney became Jesse's only focus as the group of medical professionals swept into the emergency room. Clothes were cut away, an endotrachial tube was placed, IV's were started, and his orders were rattled off. Jesse was completely centered now and only interested in saving the life before him. It was what he did best.

As the pain in his knee was forgotten, so was the solitary, tinted prescription bottle sitting forlornly on the nurse's station.

~o0O0o~

They called him Crazy Eddy, but he wasn't. His name really was Eddy, but he was not crazy. What he saw was real, despite having been diagnosed as 'hallucinogenic' by every psychiatric doctor in Community General. He didn't need no doctors to tell him what was and wasn't real. He could see the insects plain as day while they crawled up and down his arms, morning and night, never stopping.

He could feel them.

They were real.

Eddy shuffled along the brightly lit hallway, jerking and brushing his sleeves, knocking the hundred-legged insects to the floor where they scattered and melted into the shadows. They were always on him, biting, scratching, digging, burrowing into his body and crawling under his skin. He hated them.

The only thing Eddy wanted was something to numb his pain. He resigned himself years ago, understanding that the insects had chosen him as their host. He was special. They needed him, and in a twisted sort of way, he needed them. Eddy had come to the hospital seeking help only for the pain they caused. He knew they wouldn't go away until he was dead.

Eddy grumbled as another insect fell to the floor in his wake. He was on a quest. His old doctor had prescribed a pill that had done nothing to ease Eddy's pain. It was a prescription called Haldol, and the doctor said it was the strongest pain medicine available- even claimed it was made specifically to ease bug bites- and Eddy had followed the instructions faithfully to no avail. His body still ached and bled and stung where the insects tore at his flesh both day and night. He had to get help. Maybe a different doctor would be able to ease his misery.

This part of the hospital was quiet. Eddy wandered into the emergency room waiting area of the hospital, careful not to step on the insects that fell under his feet. Killing them was bad. He had learned that when they first invaded his body, and learned it the hard way. A particularly large bug bit him on the shoulder and he cringed then tried to brush the offending beast away. Up ahead in the hallway, he spotted a nurse's station; similar to the one he was familiar with where he saw his old doctor. Maybe the hospital staff in this division would be more competent. Maybe they could help him.

He came to a stop at the counter, nervously brushing at his arms to dispel the insects. They squeaked with rage. “I need help,” he spoke brokenly, his gaze darting everywhere but at the pleasant-looking nurse on the other side of the counter.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, scanning the half of his body that was visible to her.

“They're all over me, they bite so hard,” Eddy pleaded, stomping a foot as one of the creatures slithered down his leg.

The nurse raised an eyebrow and Eddy hoped she couldn't see the filth and bite wounds that covered him. “You'll have to take a seat and fill out this paperwork,” she said, handing him a full clipboard and a pen.

Eddy's heart sank. He had heard that line before. Why would nobody help him? He ached all over, and some of the insects stung so hard it drove him to tears. Night would be coming soon. They were always harsher in the dark.

A pill bottle at the corner of the counter caught his attention. Ibuprofen! That would ease his pain! He looked back towards the nurse, and rubbed another bite on his elbow. She was waiting for an answer. “Okay. Thanks.” Eddy reached out and took the clipboard. Now it was time for some fast acting.

He dragged the plastic clipboard off the countertop, knocking the bottle of Ibuprofen to the floor as he did so. “Oops,” he started, raising a dirty and quivering hand when the nurse rose from her chair. “I'll get it.”

He bent over, sending five of the dark insects plummeting to the slick tile, and withdrew his old bottle of worthless medication. Time for the old switcher-oo. Now out of sight of the nurse, Eddy dumped the Haldol into the empty Ibuprofen bottle and capped it, then quickly scooped the Ibuprofen pills into his old prescription bottle and recapped it, shoving it into an insect-filled pocket on his tattered coat. He rose, the spilt bottle in his hand and worthless pills inside, then placed it back on the counter with a rattle. Mission accomplished, he smiled at the nurse and started down the hall.

“Wait a minute sir, don't you want to see a doctor?”

Eddy grinned. “That won't be necessary. I feel better already.”

Shrugging, the nurse took the prescription bottle from the counter, read the label and set it aside. Doctor Travis must have misplaced them during the rush of the emergency earlier. She then turned her attention back to the strange, convulsing man, watching as he continued his jerky movements down the hall. 'Looks like he could be an escapee from a mental institution,' she thought wearily, then went back to her computer work.

~o0O0o~

Jesse was in agony.

It was fast approaching nine o'clock at night and he had been kept running all day. After the first emergency, the dam seemed to have broke and every time he turned around another patient was being rushed inside. The severity of each crisis ranged from a simple broken bone to all-out cardiac arrests. There hadn't even been time for lunch.

Jesse limped down the hall, his stride extremely unsteady and enough to make one seasick. His leg would hardly bear any weight at all now. As he made his way to the nurses' station, Jesse remembered the prescription he had forgotten earlier. As much as he hated to, he really needed the relief of the extra-strength Ibuprofen now. Listening to Mark scold him for overdoing it would be made a little easier if the throbbing pain in his knee eased even a fraction.

“Hey Doctor Travis, you're looking a little rough.”

“Thanks,” Jesse grumbled at Nurse Deare as he hobbled around the corner and behind the nurse's counter. “Wish the same could be said for you. Have you seen a prescription laying around here?”

“I see lots of prescriptions laying around here. Whose are you looking for?”

“Mine.”

Nurse Deare shut her mouth for a moment and studied the young doctor. “I don't remember it, let me look. What happened?”

Jesse bent over and searched the floor under the counter quickly. “Nothing. Just a surfing accident.” He had probably said too much already, forgetting how quickly news spread through the hospital grapevine, but Jesse couldn't think straight anymore. He just wanted to rest and pray for his knee to heal with unnatural speed.

“Ouch. Did you have Dr. Sloan look at it?”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “No, I did not have Dr. Sloan look at it. It's just a sprain. I think I'll live.”

Nurse Deare held up a bottle with the enthusiasm of one who had found a missing wedding ring. “Here it is. Someone must have set it aside for you earlier.”

Jesse snatched the bottle, causing the pills inside to rattle. “Thank you,” he replied, stuffing them into his pocket with a forced smile. “Have a good night.”

She raised an eyebrow and Jesse felt like an ungrateful brat. Why did all the nurses have the power to belittle him? It just wasn't fair.

After a proper goodbye, Jesse made his way through the lounge and to the locker room, the pills rattling with every exaggerated step. His stethoscope was traded for his car keys and his lab coat hung up on its hook. Jesse glanced at himself in the mirror and ran a trembling hand through his light hair. He really was a mess. He said a silent prayer of thanks that his shift had finally come to an end. The invisible bonds of his job fell away and he was free to go home and crash.

Maybe he'd eat dinner first.

Jesse pulled the bottle of prescription-strength Ibuprofen from his pocket and eyed it warily, as if an ulterior motive was hiding behind that black and white label. The longer he stood there, the more his knee called out for the drug. Finally giving into common sense and increasing pain, Jesse opened the bottle and shook out a tablet. He gathered his spit and swallowed it dry, moving quickly for fear of being seen. Jesse liked to think he was invincible, never getting injured or sick and certainly not needing anyone to take care of him.

He dropped the bottle in his shirt pocket, covered it with his hand to mute the rattle, and shut the locker door with an echoing bang. Now all there was to do was go home, cook up some macaroni and cheese, and pass out in front of the TV. Jesse smiled to himself as he limped towards the door. He was a grown man and able to care for himself. He'd show Mark and those darn mothering nurses that he didn't need their pity. In a little while, he'd be good as new.

Jesse hobbled to the door and kept one hand on the row of cold metal lockers for support. He paused, his hand just closing around the handle, when the door swung open forcefully and slammed Jesse backwards against the wall.

He must have yelped, because the door stopped suddenly and was pulled away, revealing a surprised-looking Mark. “Good heavens Jesse, what are you doing back there?”

Jesse shifted his weight awkwardly, putting himself back together. “Oh, you know, just hangin' around…”

“Are you alright?” Mark stepped away from the door to look at Jesse more critically.

“I'm fine,” Jesse smiled, stepping away from the wall at last. “Just going home, as a matter of fact.”

Mark glanced at his watch. “I'd love to invite you over for dinner but I'm afraid at this hour, Steve will have already eaten most everything.”

Jesse laughed and headed for the door. “That's alright, I'm looking forward to a nice, quiet night at home tonight.” Maybe he could keep Mark distracted long enough to escape without being examined.

“You, quiet?” Mark teased. He turned towards his own locker and shrugged off his jacket. “Somehow I can't imagine that.”

Jesse, in the hallway now, tasted freedom. “I love being quiet. Just not when you're around.”

Mark laughed and waved a hand. “Goodnight, Jesse.”

No one had to tell him twice. Jesse was making his way down the tiled hall as quickly as possible, car keys jingling from his fingers. He quickly said his goodbyes to the on-duty nurses and kept moving, giving them little thought after passing. He was reminded of a car speeding down the highway, collecting bugs on the windshield. Right now, his mind was set on one track: home.

Jesse stepped out into the cool night air and took a deep breath. The air outside always seemed a little cleaner after having breathed antiseptics all day. The hospital smells were just something you got used to after a while, hardly noticing them until your date pointed out that she could smell 'hospital' in your hair. That always ruined the mood.

Jesse located his car at the other end of the parking lot. She was waiting faithfully, glistening under the streetlights while still blending in with the inky night. Jesse shivered. It wasn't that cold, was it? His shoes echoed on the parking lot's asphalt floor, giving the feeling of an old horror movie. The shadows were playing at the edge of his vision, bending into human-like shapes and ducking behind parked cars.

He stopped. Jesse shook his head and rubbed his eyes. What the heck was wrong with him? This was the same parking lot he had trekked across for years now, why should it be spooky tonight? There were still a few months until Halloween.

With a sigh, he started forward again. His stomach was gurgling and protesting his hesitant progress. The pills still rattled against their housing, an ever-constant reminder of his lameness. In the distance, highway traffic could be heard driving to unknown destinations. Jesse reached his car and stabbed the lock with his key in relief, then quickly got inside the familiar vehicle and pulled the door shut. He peered through the windshield and searched the darkness for out-of-place shapes lurking about. Satisfied that it was just his over-active imagination at work once again, he started the car and headed for home.

Halfway to his apartment, Jesse's vision began to blur. It was as if his eyes were filling with unshed tears. Tears that wouldn't fall and in fact, weren't even there. Jesse rubbed his eyes with his right hand then turned up the radio a little louder. Maybe blasting an old Pearl Jam song would combat the overall sick feeling that was creeping over him.

But as Eddie Vedder sang about ending up alone, Jesse's heart rate sped up a little. The stress was finally catching up to him, he figured, as a small headache blossomed behind his eyes. Too many long hours at the hospital, followed by co-running a restaurant, followed by playing detective had finally taken its toll. He would just have to slow it down from now on. With a sweaty, trembling hand, he turned off the radio and listened to the soothing whisper of rubber on pavement.

A feeling of all-out dread seeped into his bones as Jesse arrived at his apartment complex. It was like being back in med school again, growing physically sick with anxiety over the next day's test. Jesse tried to think about what he had to be anxious about. Paying the bills? Doing the laundry? Feeding Slick the goldfish?

Jesse parked the car and took a deep breath. What was happening to him? Maybe all the close contact with deranged patients had finally rubbed off on him. “Pull yourself together,” he said out loud, his voice the only noise in the car.

Jesse limped through the parking lot and towards the building's door. The shadows were definitely moving now and they taunted him. The hair on the back of his neck rose as Jesse grabbed the door and let himself in. He pushed it shut behind him, severing himself from the eerie expanse of the parking lot.

“Look at yourself, afraid of the boogey-man,” Jesse mumbled to himself as he scaled the stairs. “…absolutely uncalled for…”

He stomped up the stairs- as best he could with only one good leg- hoping the sound would give the impression of a large, confident man rather than a limping, Illinois-bred doctor. With a heart rate still higher than normal, Jesse unlocked the deadbolt and let himself in to his apartment.

He inhaled deeply and leaned back against the door. The faint odor of this morning's burnt Pop-tart was still in the air, as was the cologne-and-salt water smell of Jesse himself. Safe in familiar surroundings, Jesse dropped his keys on the end table and let his shoulders sag. “Evening, Slick,” he greeted the fantail goldfish as he walked by. “What's happening?”

He really needed a girl.

Half an hour later, Jesse was boiling boxed macaroni noodles and half-watching an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000. The placid environment of his home made him sleepy, despite the deep feeling of worry that had taken up residence in his gut. The egg timer beeped, Jesse finished making the quick meal, and he returned to his soft and worn couch with a hot bowl of macaroni and cheese. Interesting how one of the best comfort foods came in a blue box and sold for fifty cents.

A sudden crash broke his drowsy reverie. Jesse flinched and lurched into the couch cushions as his brain determined where the noise came from. Something was at the balcony's glass door. Swallowing his pounding heart, Jesse rose on unsteady legs and set his plate on the coffee table.

A small shadow bounced around at the bottom of the door, occasionally banging into the glass with a dull thump. Suddenly wishing he owned a baseball bat, Jesse began to creep towards the mysterious object. The reflections from the TV sparkled on the door and obscured his vision. Jesse's hair rose once more and stood erect on the back of his neck and forearms. “Hello?” he called out and felt childish. He cast a glance to Slick, who merely stared back.

“I've got a gun,” Jesse bluffed as he rested his hand on the sliding door's handle. Guns made him think of Steve, and Jesse most certainly did not need Steve as witness to his paranoia. Everything was under control. Weren't those the famous last words of someone important?

Jesse forwent the traditional deep breath and pulled open the sliding glass door as quickly as possible with the intent of startling the intruder. He stared, open mouthed, at the small fluttering creature.

A bat.

Jesse swallowed, suddenly feeling even more juvenile. The tension faded from his shoulders as he watched the poor animal flop around hopelessly, seemingly incapable of becoming airborne. A greasy spot was visible where the bat had apparently flown into the glass.

Jesse bent down, wincing as the extreme angle pulled at the tendon in his knee. “Come here little guy,” he murmured for whatever good it would do, and reached out to cup the bat in his hands. Thin leathery wings flapped against his fingers as the animal fought it's own clumsy attempts at freedom. When the bat landed in his palm, Jesse lifted it to the railing and hefted it over the balcony. It fell quickly then regained its equilibrium and flew out into the night. Mission accomplished, Jesse saluted the disoriented creature and headed back inside.

Perhaps it was the full belly or the security of home or even the unfounded rampant emotions, but Jesse was quickly overwhelmed with fatigue. He gathered his plate and fork and carried them to the sink with a yawn. He traveled to the bathroom and began brushing his teeth, then traveled around the small apartment to ensure everything was locked and turned off for the night. Once back in the bathroom, Jesse set the bottle of pills on the counter and smiled to himself. Mark was right; they had seemed to have helped the throbbing in his knee, and even the headache that has begun in the car. Jesse snorted, hating to admit even to himself that he might have hurt himself.

He finished in the bathroom and moved into his bedroom, striping his clothes as he headed for bed. Clothing was tossed- the direction didn't matter so long as the floor was still there- and soon Jesse was staring up at the ceiling of his darkened bedroom.

The shadows were still playing tricks on him, creeping along the walls and reaching for him when his back was turned. Jesse took superficial comfort in hiding under the blankets and told himself that he was imagining things. After this next stretch of workdays, he promised himself a full day of sleeping. Maybe that would cure his anxiety and stress. He was sure about one thing: if he didn't get some rest soon, he'd quickly end up looking like Mark Sloan.

With a deep sigh, Jesse closed his eyes and prayed to wake up the next morning feeling a little bit better.

~o0O0o~

The next morning, Jesse rolled out of bed and fell onto the floor. Hard.

He woke up though, so his pain wasn't for nothing. The alarm clock buzzed from its spot on the nightstand above his head. Jesse groaned and rubbed the heel of his palms hard over his eyes, dispelling the sleep that clung to him like a disease. It was morning; he could tell by the disgustingly warm ray of sunlight filtering through the window onto his face. Jesse tilted his head back to stare at the digital clock. He sighed. He would have to be at Bar-B-Q Bob's in three hours.

Jesse placed his hands on the carpet and pushed himself into a sitting position. His knee screamed in protest at the movement. “Ow,” he hissed in pain, his hands going to his leg automatically. Guess it was time for another pill.

Jesse threw his arm atop the mattress and tried to heave himself to his feet. He was halfway up when his injured knee refused to hold any weight, sending Jesse crashing back to the floor. He wanted to cry.

“I'm not old enough for this crap,” he muttered into the carpet.

Jesse tried once more, this time catching himself before he fell again. With frustration, he hit the alarm clock to silence it's incessant screeching. He then hobbled awkwardly to the bathroom, needing to relieve the pressure in his bladder as much as needed to relieve the pain in his knee. After the first mission was accomplished, Jesse latched onto the bathroom counter and grabbed the pill bottle with a yawn. He studied his tired face in the mirror while shaking out a pill. Man, all these 12-hour days were taking their toll on his fabulous good looks. No wonder he hadn't been on a date in a few weeks.

Jesse tossed the pill in his mouth and it hit the back of his throat. He chased it with not-cold-enough tap water and set the plastic cup down with a clunk. Now it was time to scrounge up some food.

He shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing a hand through his hair as he went. “Morning Slick,” Jesse greeted the lone fish.

It stared at him.

“I know, I haven't had a shower yet. Quit nagging.”

Twenty-five minutes and a full belly later, Jesse was doing just that. The hot water was gently beating the ache from his knee and it felt wonderful. Jesse leaned against the shower wall and frowned at a new pain. A headache was burning in his temples again, seemingly having crept to his head from his knee. 'I must not be getting enough sleep,' he thought as he continued his shower. There were lots of explanations for headaches and he wasn't very worried.

He was just stepping out of the shower when he noticed the bathroom door was open a crack. Jesse stood paralyzed, half in the shower and half out, certain that he had closed the door the entire way. 'I know I shut it. Didn't I?'

Unaware of the growing puddle beneath him, Jesse grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist as he stepped out of the shower. He strained his ears to listen for any sounds within his small apartment. A deafening ring echoed in his ears. Nothing. He must be imagining things.

Jesse sighed. “Get a life, Travis,” he muttered and grabbed the cool door handle. He flung the door open- just in case- but was left looking into his own empty apartment. Everything was in order.

Slick stared at him in un-blinking surprise.

Jesse took another deep breath and rolled his eyes at his own foolishness. His heart was still pounding in his chest and now his headache had grown a little stronger. Great. He was worse off than when he started. “I need to relax,” he said aloud, breaking the silence.

Slick agreed.

Jesse rolled his eyes at the fish and moved into the bedroom to dress. He left the door open, mostly because it was a luxury of living by one's self, and secondly so that he could continue talking to the goldfish. “My knee feels better, maybe I'll hit the waves to get rid of this nervous energy.” Jesse glanced at the wall clock. “I've still got time before I have to be at work.”

'You shouldn't,' Slick protested. 'You might hurt yourself worse.'

“That's a chance I'm willing to take,” Jesse said, pausing as he pulled a T-shirt on over his head. “I can't start my shift like this- look at my hand.”

Indeed, Jesse's hand was trembling as he held it in mid-air for Slick to observe.

“Steve will take one look at me and think I'm on drugs,” Jesse said, then laughed at the image the thought produced in his head.

'Maybe you should quit laughing,' Slick said matter-of-factly.

Jesse moved towards the door and grabbed his keys and wallet. He coughed, sobering himself before saying, “You're right. Acting like a nut isn't going to make me feel like less of one.” Jesse smiled. “You're a true friend Slick. What would I do without you?”

Slick shrugged, although without shoulders, most of the motion's effect was lost.

“Right. Well, see you later.” Jesse waved good-bye to the goldfish and left.

~o0O0o~

Jesse's body hummed with energy. The last time he felt like this was around T-minus 45 minutes-until-finals back in med school. He and his buddies had stayed awake for the preceding 72 hours trying to prepare for that test, surviving only on high-price caffeine drinks and Doritos. Those were the days.

Wait a minute… they still were.

Jesse had arrived at Mark's house ten minutes ago. Mark was working at the hospital today, but Steve would be home, and most likely asleep. Jesse had kept quite while parking his car dangerously close to Steve's- it was a sick running joke they had about seeing who could park the closest to the other- then went around the back of the house to find his surf board. It had been set aside under the deck, and Jesse retrieved it with a little effort and protest from his knee.

Now he was paddling out into the sea, waiting for a decent ride back to shore. The weather was calm and none of the waves were very big, but they would serve as a mild thrill nonetheless. Jesse found it to be quite peaceful, actually. Just what he needed to calm the nervousness crawling in his belly.

The ocean swelled underneath him, preparing for Her next surge of water. Jesse watched in anticipation, then decided to wait for the next offering. After a few months of the California life and surf, Jesse found that he was able to read the water, a skill acquired from repetitious practice. For instance, Jesse and Mark had been standing side-by-side one afternoon, watching casually as Steve surfed. Even though they were in the midst of a deep discussion involving a patient's treatment, Jesse had predicted Steve's wipeout about five seconds before it happened. Mark had looked at him quizzically, and Jesse shrugged. 'I saw it in the wave,' he had offered, but the statement obviously hadn't satisfied Dr. Sloan. However, neither man had ever said anything about it afterwards.

Jesse jumped to a crouch on his surfboard. His wave was growing in the distance, signaling its presence like a perfumed invitation. His knee protested with a vengeance, but Jesse's concentration was on the rolling water before him. It sparkled in the morning light and the best comparison Jesse could make was to that of diamonds. After all, he was not an English major.

The wave rose to its full height. As Jesse prepared to catch a ride, a large, dark shape took form in the clear water. Jesse knew that shape.

The black form was oblong, with a vertical spike on the middle. The signature silhouette of a shark.

Jesse froze as panic squeezed his heart. He couldn't breathe. He had come out here to go surfing and try to relax; yet here he was, about to become shark food. Why did the Fates always deal him a bad hand?

Jesse absolutely could not move. He had never known a terror like this, a true terror that made him genuinely fear for his life. Fear that his life would end in such a horrible, painful, bloody death. He could already feel hundreds of white, razor-sharp teeth cutting into him and slicing him open with powerful pressure. What was he going to do? He couldn't out-swim a shark this size, even if he had full use of all his appendages. Jesse sat, muscle-locked, and stared.

The shark turned and swam towards the sea floor, disappearing for a moment. Jesse held his breath as the wave rocked his fiberglass surfboard. The sea was deathly quiet.

Then the sea grabbed Jesse violently, all but tossing him in the direction of shore as if telling him that he was no longer welcome. The water roared in his ears as it crashed down around him. He hadn't been prepared for the water's onslaught. Jesse struggled to stay on the board- to keep his head above water. He risked a glance behind him. A slick and shiny fin cut through the water, aimed right for him.

Jesse felt his eyes grow wide. He used his arms to paddle the tide beneath him as he set sight on his destination. If he was gonna die, he was gonna go down fighting.

Or running, however one might look at it.

~o0O0o~

Steve applied a strip of striped toothpaste to his toothbrush and stuck it in his mouth. He tossed the toothpaste tube on the bathroom counter and wandered down the hall, humming absentmindedly as he brushed his teeth. He was due at the restaurant in about an hour and a half, so the detective could afford to take things slow this morning. He was looking forward to spending the day at Jesse's side; the young doctor was always good for a laugh. Maybe they could pick up some women before the day was over. Between the attraction of Steve's occupation and Jesse's puppy-eyes, the pair were unstoppable.

Steve found himself in the living room, sort of watching the news but mostly watching Sponge Bob Square Pants. The cartoon was addictive, in a really creepy sort of way. Something flew past the window, probably a bird, but the quick motion in his peripheral vision caused Steve to jump and move to the glass. He chewed on the toothbrush as he searched the beach outside the house. Nothing seemed out of place.

Except for one dark-colored Mustang.

Steve stared at it for a moment. What was Jesse's car doing here? Why hadn't Jesse made his presence known? Why hadn't he let himself in and helped himself to some food? Steve began to worry. Where was Jesse? And where had he learned to park?

Steve slipped into detective mode and wiped away the toothpaste that was running down his chin. If Jesse wasn't in the kitchen, stuffing his face, then he would be occupied with the other thing he come over to do- surfing.

Steve made his way to kitchen sink and spit out the foamy toothpaste. He drank from the faucet to rinse his mouth, then set the toothbrush on the counter. Now he could think better.

He reached the back door and peered into the bright sunlight, scanning the beach and the waves methodically. There, a good distance into the sea but approaching shore rapidly, was Jesse. Steve squinted.

“What the hell…” he trailed off, blinking his eyes as he focused on Jesse's flailing form. That wasn't the agile friend he was used to seeing on the waves. There was something wrong, something that had driven Jesse into panic. But what? The wave wasn't overpowering, Jesse was the only one in the water… what was he running from?

Steve sighed. Time to play hero.

~o0O0o~

The surfboard lurched. Jesse's shaking hands scrambled for purchase on the slick surface. He thought he felt the shark's rubbery skin rub against his hand. Jesse's heart was pounding so hard that he was actually beginning to feel faint.

But he couldn't stop. The monstrous shark was behind him, underneath him…waiting with open jaws and a thirst for blood. Jesse was determined that it wouldn't be his.

He was fighting blindly now, his vision so foggy that he wasn't exactly sure that he was even pointed in the right direction anymore. All he could see was a pointed dorsal fin, jagged teeth and cold, unblinking eyes. The face of his death. He was swallowing sea water, then coughing it back up, and his muscles burned with overuse. There was no time to think about what might have been, as others have described experiencing before their near-death encounters. The only thing Jesse thought about was panic and pain.

Jesse was very close to hyperventilating when he suddenly hit something hard and landed on his face in wet sand. His entire body was heavy with fatigue. He rocked his head back and squinted into the sunlight as his body acclimated to the solid earth.

He was lying at Steve Sloan's feet.

“What are you doing?”

Jesse licked his salty lips and tried to form an answer. His surfboard rocked gently in the sand beside him as the water lapped the shore. He was barely aware that his shorts were full of sand. Sprawled on his stomach, half in the water and half out, Jesse's vision faded and was growing black around the edges. Had he hit his head? He didn't think so. Why was there a lingering feeling of dread around him?

The shark. He had been running from the shark.

“Jess? You okay?”

Jesse thought he heard a voice, but darkness overcame him too quickly. His head dropped in the yielding sand and he slipped into oblivion. His last thought was a prayer that Steve wouldn't get eaten also.

~o0O0o~

“Jesse!” Steve dropped to his knees beside his friend. He turned the lax body over so Jesse wouldn't inhale any more sand. He placed two fingers to Jesse's hot neck and quickly found a rapid pulse coursing through the jugular vein. Steve turned his head to see the exaggerated rise and fall of Jesse's bare chest. If he was breathing and his heart was beating, why was Jesse unconscious?

Steve looked out into the water for answers. Gentle waves rushed up to meet him, like a guilty puppy. The sky was a peaceful blue, and they appeared to be the only living souls within eyesight. Steve sighed in frustration and rose to his feet. If there were no answers to be found at the scene, then he would have to question the witness. If he could rouse him.

After a somewhat taxing struggle with Jesse's limp body, Steve dropped the younger man onto the living room couch. He quickly checked to make sure the doctor was still breathing, then grabbed the cordless house phone and sank into the armchair opposite the couch. Community General was number one on the speed dial. Steve took vigil over Jesse as he listened to the phone ring, then waited to be transferred to his father.

“Dr. Mark Sloan speaking.”

“Dad.”

“Steve? What's the matter son?”

Steve took a breath of composure. “Something's wrong with Jesse. He was here surfing this morning-”

“He was surfing on that knee?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that may be part of the problem. He's collapsed.”

“Collapsed?” Mark sounded worried now. “Where is he? What happened?”

“I got him, he's on the couch. Passed out cold. What should I do?”

“He's breathing, right?”

Steve raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forward in exasperation. “Yes, father. He's breathing.” Then on a more sincere note, he added, “Kinda heavy, actually. Looks like he's taking deep breaths.”

“Well you said he was surfing, right?”

“Yeah.”

Mark sighed on the other end of the line. “Alright, it's probably just overexertion. Keep an eye on him. I can't get away right now, but tell him when I get through with my shift…”

“He's not to leave town?”

“You got it.”

Steve sighed, feeling better. “Okay. I'll talk to you later.”

After Steve hung up the phone, he retrieved a blanket and tossed it over his friend. It was warm outside and in the house, but because Jesse was soggy, goose bumps were beginning to rise on his skin. His breathing was beginning to shallow out and grow steady. Steve felt more tension drain away and the promising signs of normalcy. As soon as Jesse woke up, they were going to have a long, serious talk.

Well, serious anyway.

Steve sat down in the armchair and turned his attention to Sponge Bob.

~o0O0o~

Jesse slowly climbed his way to consciousness. He grabbed onto the sounds of the TV and laughter, pulling himself hand-over-hand towards wakefulness and away from the sticky, warm pull of blackness. What the heck had happened? He could tell without seeing that he was on the Sloan couch, and from the sound of things, it was Steve who was sitting with him.

Jesse remembered falling face first into wet sand and the after-image of Steve's sandaled feet inches from his head.

Oh boy.

He would have some explaining to do.

Jesse groaned and tried to melt into the cushions.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty awakes.” Something weighted and flat landed on his stomach. “Get up. We're late for work.”

Jesse blinked open his eyes and brought one shaky hand to his face, rubbing away the haze that lingered in his vision. The objects on top of him fell to the side. They were his shoes.

Steve appeared before him, at the back of the couch. “You all right?” he asked, sounding as concerned as one man should for another man.

Jesse swallowed, awakening his dormant throat. He pushed himself to his elbows. “Yeah,” he breathed and squinted as his bearings settled around him. “You put me here?”

“Had to. You were sucking up my beach.”

Jesse chuckled and closed his eyes, then sat up fully. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Steve's voice softened then. “What happened?”

A giant man-eating shark tried to tear me to shreds.

Jesse looked at Steve sharply. He hadn't said that out loud, had he? “I…” Jesse trailed off, unable to look at Steve while he lied. “Guess I just overdid it, that's all. Kinda embarrassing.”

Steve nodded and turned away, and Jesse got the feeling he had just given the correct answer to a verbal test.

The detective tossed a shirt through the air, and after Jesse caught it he realized that it was one of his. No wonder he could never find clothes at his place. All his belongings seemed to have migrated here.

Steve was looking at him. “As I said, we're late.”

Jesse looked at the TV. Cartoon figures were dancing across the screen. “Doesn't look like you minded too much,” he observed as he pulled his shirt on.

Steve snatched the remote and turned the TV off, then tossed it to the coffee table. “Anything's better than listening to you snore.”

“Well if I sound anything like you, I would have to agree.”

Steve snorted.

Jesse smiled, glad that the tension seemed to have lifted. It unnerved him to know that Steve had most likely carried him in the house. Steve had also probably called his father. Jesse couldn't really blame him- if he had been in Steve's shoes and the detective had keeled over for no apparent reason, Jesse would be upset also. His eyes fell to the carpet as he realized that he was indeed lucky to have such a good friend.

“Have you eaten yet?” Steve's question broke the stretching and uncomfortable silence.

“No.”

“No you haven't, or yes you have but you're hungry again?” Steve's voice was raised in humor.

Jesse grinned and pushed his heels into his shoes. “Would it make a difference?”

“I suppose not. You can grab something from the kitchen, but you are gonna have to eat it on the road.”

“I can do that,” Jesse replied, already heading towards the Sloan Supermarket. He could drive in the Indy 500 while eating a bowl of chili. It was just one of his many gifts.

Or so he told himself.

Half an hour later when Jesse pulled into the back parking lot of Bob's, his satisfied stomach was full of strawberry Pop-tarts but his knee had become the focus of his attention. The burning, twisting pain had set in once again and Jesse was actually beginning to pant from the intensity. Steve had parked his car and Jesse had parked behind him, and while the detective searched his passenger seat for something, Jesse leaned over the Mustang's console and dropped open the glove box.

The now familiar prescription bottle rolled downward, falling into Jesse's open hand. He rolled the plastic bottle in his palm for a moment, warring with himself. He hated being a slave to the drug- to any drug- to any thing for that matter- but this was one pain he was sure he could not overcome on his own. In retrospect, it had been stupid to attempt surfing. There was nothing relaxing that had come out of that little adventure, except for maybe the rest he had gotten while he was unconscious on the Sloan couch. Jesse just liked to live by his own rules, doing what felt good at the moment, pretending he was still young enough to not be dealt the consequences.

He quickly tossed a pill into his mouth and swallowed it dry. As soon as had he pushed the glove box shut, Steve appeared beside Jesse's car.

Jesse straightened and opened the door.

Steve was tapping his foot with a smirk on his face. “Waiting, sweetheart.”

“I'm coming,” Jesse retorted, stepping out and pushing the car door shut. “You're already half an hour late, I don't think a few more minutes is going to make that much difference.”

“If that were you sitting on the sidewalk, waiting for you favorite restaurant to open, wouldn't a few more minutes make a difference to you?”

Jesse glanced at the couple waiting by the front door and grinned sheepishly. “Didn't we hire people to help run this place? Aren't they suppose to take care of opening up?”

Steve unlocked the door and sighed. “I keep hiring people, you keep granting them time off.”

Jesse cocked his head. “I let everyone have time off?”

Steve led the way into the darkened restaurant and flipped on the light switch. “Vicious cycle, isn't it?”

The lights came on sharply, bathing the restaurant in a bright fluorescent glow. It reflected off the clear glass, the polished wood, and fake plants that hung from the ceiling. Jesse breathed in deeply. The always-lingering smell of sweet smoke and spices worked to drain stress he didn't even know he had from his body. Jesse was put at ease every single time he walked in.

“You let the customers in- and be nice to them- while I go turn everything on.”

Jesse snorted. He was always nice to the customers. Well, except for that one time when a drunken college kid wouldn't stop making moves on their 20 year-old blonde waitress. And that other time, when his new car got dinged in the parking lot. But other than that…

Jesse unlocked the doors and welcomed the elderly couple inside. While the old woman seemed to be a little cross at his tardiness, the man smiled and told Jesse that the wait was no problem, since they were retired and had no where else to be. Jesse had seen this couple before; they were here at least once a month. They always took their time and left generous tips. They were the kind of people that made you look forward to getting old.

By the time Jesse was serving table 12, his limp was almost non-existent. The pain had once again migrated from his leg to his head. His headache hammered away against the inside of his skull with such a force that Jesse wondered if the customers could hear it. He struggled to keep his eyes focused on anything, as the pain was also rattling his eyeballs. Jesse had never had a migraine such as this.

Halfway through his shift, Jesse was, for the first time in his life, considering asking to go home on sick leave. It seemed hard to walk, as the simple task of placing one foot in front of the other proved difficult when it appeared that you had five feet. His heart was pounding from stress and he felt hot. Even his tongue seemed to have swollen and blocked words from coming out properly. He was absolutely miserable. People were starting to look at him funny.

A few of their faithful hired help had arrived to work their appointed shifts. They were college kids, and needed the money. Jesse snorted as he sat precariously on a vacant barstool. You could always count on the poor college students to show up for work.

A palm hit him on the back of the head and Jesse caught himself mid-fall then turned to glare at his tormentor.

“Sitting down on the job?” Steve goaded as he came to a stop next to Jesse.

Jesse rolled his eyes and almost lost his balance again. “Just taking a breather,” he replied, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands on the counter.

“You, the great Jesse Travis, taking a breather?” Steve looked at him. “You feelin' alright?”

Jesse pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. This wasn't a restaurant. This was Hell with fluorescent lighting.

“Never better.” As he spoke, his mouth began to water and his stomach flip-flopped.

“Well you look like something I ran over on the highway last week. Can you make it till the end of our shift?”

Jesse nodded and wasn't sure when his head stopped moving. “Oh sure. No problem.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder for a second, then he was alone again. Voice swirled around him, growing in volume until the noise was deafening. He lifted his head and scanned the room. He was being watched. The two men at the corner table were laughing at him. An infant was watching him with wide eyes then burst into a ear-shattering scream. Jesse swallowed hard. He was turning into a paranoid freak. Even Ben, the football player-slash-waiter appeared to be glaring at him. What was going on?

Jesse turned and slid off the barstool. The restaurant tilted sharply, almost sending him to the floor. Jesse kept one hand on the counter and made his way to the cash register. There was no way he could serve anybody in his current state. Maybe if he sat down and tried to relax, whatever this was would pass. Nicole, the college student who had been handling the money, quickly relinquished her seat as Jesse approached.

“You look terrible,” she noted with concern thick in her voice as Jesse sat down.

“So I've been told,” Jesse replied. He felt himself tilting and made an effort to sit up straight.

“Does the boss know you're like this?”

Jesse narrowed his eyes. “I am the boss Nicole, how many times do we have to go over this?”

The young woman grinned. “Oh, right. My bad. I'm sorry Jesse, it won't happen again.” With that, she turned and began checking on the nearest customers.

“See that it doesn't,” Jesse grumbled. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple and he brushed it away. Jesse looked at the wall clock.

Only three more hours to go.

~o0O0o~

Steve watched Jesse Travis with a mixture of concern and irritation.

The younger man was obviously feeling bad but was too stubborn to go home. Steve knew that rumors of sick employees would most definitely not help their fledgling business. He could see it now, tomorrows headline would read: Plague-Carrying Owner of Bar-B-Q Restaurant Spreads Sickness!

Steve sighed. Jesse was working himself into the ground and it was showing. Steve also knew that if the young doctor didn't slow down very soon, there would be serious consequences. Maybe his father would have some way of talking sense into Jesse. They had drugged the younger man before, and given his current state, Steve would have no reservations about doing it again.

With his mind made up, Steve pulled out his cell phone and leaned against the wall. A small smile spread over his face. “Hello dad? We're going to have company for dinner…”

~o0O0o~

“Hey Jesse, wait up!”

Jesse came to a stop two feet from his car. He sighed and turned around slowly. He found that the slower he moved, the less violently the world tilted.

Steve jogged a few steps across the parking lot and came to a stop in front of Jesse. “Hey, I was thinking, maybe you could come over for dinner tonight,” he said, and Jesse thought he sounded hopeful, like he was asking an out-of-his-league girl out on a date.

“Uh…” Jesse faltered. He would like nothing more than to join the Sloan father and son for a good meal and their company, but given his current state, he wasn't sure he would make good company himself. “I don't know…” he trailed off, looking to the pavement for an excuse.

“Oh come on, you know you want to,” Steve goaded. “I know there's nothing to eat at your place except dust bunnies and that stupid fish.”

“Slick is not stupid!” Jesse retorted. “He talks to me, you know.”

Whoops, did he say that out loud?

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I'll bet he does. Now get in your car and follow me home. Dad is expecting you. You know how he gets when you don't honor his dinner invitations.”

Jesse sighed and reached for the door handle. It had been a very long shift and his stomach was rumbling quietly. “Alright,” he said and opened the door. He had a sinking feeling that he was being tricked, but at the moment he was too sick to care.

He felt Steve's gaze on him and shuddered. Finally, Steve turned towards his own car. “Great. See you there.”

The clouds parted and a ray of clarity passed over Jesse. “Race you there?” he asked with an encouraging grin.

Steve glared at Jesse as he got in his car. “No. We are not doing that again.”

“Pansy,” Jesse taunted as he sank into the driver's seat. He smiled at the middle finger Steve flashed him in response.

The drive to the beach house was uneventful save for the fact that Jesse had to lean forward over the steering wheel in order to focus on the road before him. He was sure he looked like a white-haired grandmother on her way to the supermarket, but at the moment, the stripes on the road were making him very dizzy. Jesse couldn't remember the last time he felt so relieved to turn onto the sandy driveway of Mark Sloan's house.

The sun was sinking and staining the sky around it bright orange. Jesse shut off the car's engine and reveled in the peaceful silence of the beach front scenery. Mild waves tumbled to shore and a few hungry sea birds glided through the air. His headache actually began to recede a little. Maybe he would have to look into buying the house next door.

“You comin' in or are you gonna sit there all day?”

Jesse jumped slightly and got out of his car. “I wasn't 'sitting there',” he grumbled, “I was busy formulating a withering retort.”

Steve snorted. “You doctors and your dry sense of humor…”

Steve opened the front door and Jesse followed the detective inside. The tempting aroma of hot food teased his stomach. The sound of the oven door banging shut echoed through the house, followed by Mark's happy voice.

“You guys are just in time! Come on in and have a seat.”

Jesse followed Steve to the dining table and sunk wearily into the cushioned wooden chair. His head was spinning from the sudden decline in altitude so he dropped his elbows on the edge of the table and rested his forehead on his palms. As Steve and Mark talked about their days, Jesse's eyes locked on the glinting knife that lay just inside his elbow. It's smooth surface reflected the room's fluorescent lights and the brightness smeared into a blurry star that overlapped the edges of the utensil. He had never noticed the awesome beauty of such a simple butter knife and now it held him transfixed.

“Hello, Earth to Dr. Travis…”

Jesse inhaled sharply and looked up, blinking. “What?” he asked and managed to sound defensive.

Mark was seated next to him and holding out a plate of food. He glanced to Steve as he said, “I asked if you worked as hard as it looks like you did.”

Jesse relieved Mark of the heavy plate. “I always work hard,” he replied, though the words were muted by the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. It was the truth; he had fought hard for everything he held dear, and he had fought alone. He would never tolerate any assumption of the opposite.

Mark and Steve were looking at him strangely.

Jesse blinked. Why was he getting upset over something said in jest? He smiled to diffuse the tension and ducked his head to hide his unease.

Casual conversation continued once more, slowly at first then livening until it was one continuous sound droning in the background. Jesse's vision blurred into a patchwork of fuzzy utensils, casserole and dinner plate. He blinked hard and struggled to focus on the suddenly unappealing food before him. He was losing it, he was sure. The stress of two full-time jobs and his crime-solving part-timer had finally caught up with him. He only hoped he wouldn't pass out in front of Dr. Sloan.

“Jesse, are you alright?”

Jesse raised his head sharply as if breaking the surface of some very murky water. The lights overhead seared his eyes and burned a path clear to his skull. Something was not right here and he knew it. Jesse blinked away the moisture in his eyes and smiled grimly. “Just fine,” he lied and knew that one would land him in Hell for sure.

Steve chuckled. “You look far from 'fine', Jesse.”

Jesse couldn't raise his gaze to look at Steve. The light burned too much. “I'm not hungry is all.”

A fork clattered and Jesse winced at the sharp noise. “You, Jesse Travis, not hungry? Now I know something's wrong.”

Jesse wanted to give Steve the bird, but he would not do so with his senior friend sitting so close. He instead returned his head to his hands and closed his eyes over the untouched dinner. His stomach was revolting now, for the first time in a very long while, and hot bile slowly crept up his throat.

What should have been a tempting aroma rose from the plate and assaulted his senses. His stomach twisted further with every second. “Excuse me,” Jesse squeaked as he jumped to his feet and darted on numb legs to the closest bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

As soon as his knees hit the unforgiving tile floor and his sweaty hands grasped either side of the toilet, the young doctor vomited heavily into the clear water below. The edges of his vision grew dark and cloudy and his world was narrowed down drastically until all that was left was the Porcelain God he was bowing before.

Jesse retched until his sides ached and his breathing came in difficult shudders. His blood was boiling and sweat clung to him like a heavy blanket. As he cracked open his watery eyes and to make sure he hadn't vomited his intestines, Jesse became afraid. This was not the work of simple stress. Whatever was ravaging his body was much fiercer, and much more worrisome.

There was a concerned, fatherly voice muffled by the solid bathroom door. “Jesse? Are you okay?”

This time Jesse could not lie. He flushed the toilet and rocked backwards. All his muscles were tight and quivering so hard they ached. “I've felt better,” was his meager reply.

There was a thoughtful pause before Mark spoke again. “Help yourself to the medicine cabinet. I'd like to see you when you're done.”

Jesse let his eyes fall shut and he nodded. Was he dying? Had he been so stressed and his immune system so weakened that he had contracted a deadly disease? As absurd as it sounded, right now it made perfect sense in his illogical mind.

“Jesse?”

“What?” he snapped, agitated by the noise-sensitive headache beating against his skull. He realized that he had never audibly replied to Mark's question but couldn't find the strength right now to feel regret.

“Just making sure you hadn't drowned.”

Jesse huffed and was left alone with his thoughts. He winced as he looked up at the mirrored cabinet on the wall. It sure was a long ways away. Jesse doubted he was up to a quest of that grandeur at the moment. For now, he would sit on the cool floor and pray that the ache in his stomach would ease. Perhaps if he were lucky, some of his other ailments would ease up as well.

Jesse doubled his worship efforts.

After his shaking had faded into fine tremors and his pounding heart had slowed to a more natural rhythm, Jesse was able to pick his miserable self up off the floor. He clung to the pristine sink for support and peered at his haggard reflection in muted horror. He looked absolutely awful.

His skin was pale and clammy and he overall looked sick. His prided blue eyes were bloodshot and watery from the pain of the bright lights overhead. He felt a little disembodied, like he was underwater or numb. Even his hair was disheveled, but then again, that's how he painstakingly styled it every morning.

There would be no hot dates in his immediate future.

Jesse sighed and tugged the wrinkles out of his shirt before opening the medicine cabinet and selecting a drug to ease the sea-sick feeling in his gut. After chasing it was a handful of water, he took another deep breath and prepared to face the wrath of Mark Sloan that would surely be looming outside the door. Jesse smiled to himself at the mental image and allowed himself to believe, for a tiny fraction of a second, that his own father cared for him as much.

Jesse turned the doorknob and pushed out slowly.

It squeaked.

Of course it squeaked, doors always squeaked when you were sneaking about. It was a law of nature. Jesse made a fist and cursed the hinges under his breath.

“Come here young man.”

Oh boy. This was not gonna be fun.

Jesse pushed against the force that was repelling him from Dr. Sloan and crossed the living room.

“Sit.”

Jesse sat.

Steve was clearing the table but keeping an eye on the proceedings at the same time. Mark raised a pen light and pointed it Jesse. “Look at me.”

Jesse gripped the edges of the couch cushion and squinted up at Mark. The pen light clicked on and bore straight into his eye sockets. Jesse flinched and blinked back the reflexive tears that were forming while the blurry image of Mark's face floated before him. Somehow, he managed to keep his head raised through the torture.

At last, the light clicked off and Mark folded his arms. He stared at Jesse with intent blue eyes and a stern face. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Jesse thought about lying, but when he looked away to make up an answer, Mark interrupted, “I'm serious Jesse. Did you?”

Jesse's eyes narrowed. “No.” How did Mark know? “How did you know?”

The older doctor's eyes softened somewhat. “You always look away when you lie, Jesse. It gives you away every time.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Steve?” Mark said and that was enough to prompt the detective into retrieving the thermometer. Mark turned back towards Jesse. “Symptoms?”

Jesse sighed in defeat and leaned back against the couch cushions. “Headache, high blood pressure, blurry vision… and I strongly suspect a fever.”

Mark's face remained as stern as Jesse had ever seen it. Was the senior doctor really upset with him?

“And what have you done to combat these things?”

“Uh…” Jesse gaze fell away before he could stop himself.

Steve returned with the thermometer and probably spared Jesse a long talking-to. Mark took the offered item and handed it to Jesse, then went to the kitchen.

Jesse sat on the couch, facing the wall with a digital thermometer sticking out from between his pouting lips. He was getting mad. He had never been treated like a child in his whole life, why did Mark chose to do so now? Jesse knew he would be fine once he made it through this busy work schedule and took some time to relax. This was simply a bug he had picked up somewhere- it wasn't like he was dying or anything! After another few days, Jesse could spend the entire day- make that weekend- as an extension of his own couch, or soaking up the sun out on the beach. He only had to keep his cool for a little while longer…

The thermometer beeped and he reached up to take it out of his mouth and examine it. No sooner had he done so and Dr. Sloan was beside him again.

“See? No big deal.” Jesse displayed the thermometer to the doctor like it were his 'get out of jail free' card.

“99.3 is almost a fever. Perhaps you should stay home tomorrow.”

“No way. I'll go home and get a good night's sleep and be perfectly fine by morning. You'll see.”

“Jesse,” Mark sighed, running a hand down his face.

“I'm a doctor too, Mark, and I know what I can and can't do. You don't have to treat me like a little kid. I'm a grown man and perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

Whoops, that was a little harsh.

A flicker of something resembling pain passed over Mark's features, but it was gone too quickly. “And what happens if you get sick while a patient is under your knife?”

“I won't.”

Steve had wisely stayed out of the conversation until now. He sat near the kitchen, with his arms folded in concentration. “Do you want a ride home tonight?”

Jesse turned his head sharply, still caught in his anger. “No. I'll be fine.”

He got to his feet and refused to let the violent swirl of the room bring him to his knees. Jesse fought hard to remain upright, covering his struggle by straightening his clothes, then started towards the front door.

“Jesse…” Mark started, but was silenced when the young doctor held up a hand.

“I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for dinner.” Jesse paused and looked over his shoulder, because he was determined to show his sincerity despite his anger, then started forward again. “Goodnight,” he called over his shoulder.

He pulled the door shut behind him loudly and with finality. He was fuming, and felt the need to cut himself off from the source of his anger. Always careful to remove himself before unforgettable and harsh words were thrown about, Jesse found himself in a sudden solitude now. Stars twinkled in the night sky and a breeze as soft as a whisper blew across the land. Jesse took a deep breath of the cool evening air. Silence rang in his ears, broken only by the crashing waves.

With a hint of shame and a heavy heart, Jesse walked to his car.

~o0O0o~

Jesse Travis woke up suddenly and opened his eyes to find himself staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom. Something had startled him and his heart was throwing itself against his ribcage in a maddening rhythm. He blinked, bringing the ceiling into focus and Jesse wondered, not for the first time, exactly what all those little bumps on the ceiling really were.

Finally the screech of the alarm clock penetrated his consciousness and Jesse swung his fist about until it connected solidly with the small device. That must have been what woke him up, for currently Jesse was warm and content and quite tempted to simply adjust himself, roll over, and go back to sleep. He loved his bed; it was one of his favorite places to be.

'Wait a minute- how did I get here?'

Jesse's eyes snapped open once more. Usually when he thought about that question, he was able to recall the series of events that had brought him home, but now…

Jesse panicked. He searched his foggy mind for some clue as to how exactly he had gotten here and only discovered a very large and dark hole in his memory. He remembered going to Mark's house for dinner… puking in the toilet…arguing… everything became hazy and dark after that. Jesse brought his hands up to rub his temples. The headache never seemed to leave him anymore. It was always there in the background, threatening to take over at the first opportunity. Jesse growled.

He sat up, trying to ignore the dizziness the action caused him, then swung his feet to the floor. Jesse sat with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees, hunched over the edge of the bed and waiting for the feeling to pass. It only faded.

Finally realizing that his alarm clock had gone off for a reason, Jesse pushed himself to his feet with a sign. As soon as his weight bore upon his knee, the injured joint protested violently and Jesse hissed to himself in pain.

Jesse mumbled a few swear words on his way to the bathroom. His entire body was protesting his state of consciousness, from his bladder to his hair. As Jesse took care of his most urgent need, he leaned to the side to run a hand through his hair. Every movement felt sluggish and numb, as if he weren't fully awake. Maybe a shower would help.

Soon Jesse was enjoying the hot water pelting against his back and shoulders, melting the knotted muscles under his skin. It felt good. Jesse was soon leaning against the shower wall in order to remain upright. At this rate, he would never get to work on time.

“Work!”

Jesse jumped as he was thrown back into reality. He had to be at the hospital in… well, he didn't know how long, but it was soon. He would have to skip breakfast in order to get there on time.

Jesse left his warm haven and quickly dried off and got dressed. His knee strongly protested to bending at all today, and it even looked a little swollen. “Great,” Jesse muttered, sinking onto the closed toilet in order to pull his pants on over an unbending leg. “Just one more day, I promise,” he told himself. “Then I'll sit on the couch and watch TV the whole time I'm off. Just get me through today.”

Poker faces were hard to keep in place when every time you put weight on your knee, it threatened to drop you to the ground. Frustrated, in pain, and late for work, Jesse snatched the bottle of prescription medication and dry-swallowed two pills.

“Maybe some coffee will help,” Jesse murmured as he passed through the kitchen.

Slick the goldfish agreed whole-heartedly.

Jesse grabbed his keys and opened the front door. “See ya later Slick,” he called over his shoulder.

'I'll be here.'

Jesse left his apartment with every intent to reach Community General and it's horrible, strong coffee as soon as possible.

Slick stared after him, then began swimming laps around his bowl.

~o0O0o~

“One, two, three- lift!”

“We got stab wounds to the left neck and chest, and two more to the belly. Right and left upper quadrants.”

“Number 8 ET tube.” Jesse rattled off instructions without much thinking. “What's her BP?”

Jessica fumbled with the equipment as three other nurses swarmed around the bleeding and unconscious young woman. “Hold on, pulse ox is low, 82.”

“That's why I'm tubing her. Get me a blood pressure.”

“Chest tube tray?” another nurse asked from somewhere behind Jesse.

“No, start a central line.” Jesse swayed a little and tried to cover the loss of control. The dizziness and other symptoms suddenly returned and had picked the worst possible time to do so.

“BP is 90 over 50.”

Jesse swallowed thickly, fighting to remain in control over his failing body. “Give me 4 units of O neg, hang two on the rapid infuser.”

He watched through graying vision as Jessica struggled in her efforts to intubate their emergency patient. Bile was starting to creep up his throat and his body itched all over. Whatever had been plaguing him was attacking at full force, seemingly coming to a head. “Give me some cricoid pressure,” he said, trying in vain to shake off his stupor.

Jessica was looking at him now. “You okay, Dr. Travis?”

“Yeah,” Jesse lied and the concern was dismissed. He had never felt more not-okay. His heart was hammering in his chest, leaving him short of breath and sweaty. It was hard to keep focusing his bleary eyes on the patient before him. He was drooling now, and very close to vomiting again. “Start the central line now,” he ordered and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. “Betadine and a sterile drape.” The injured woman needed surgery. Jesse felt his knees begin to buckle.

With a sickening feeling of resentment, Jesse locked gazes with Jessica. “Get someone else to operate- I have to go.”

Jesse spun on his heels and fled from the suffocating emergency room, barely conscious of the startled outbursts from his nurses. He hadn't bothered to see who the second doctor on the floor was today, and at the moment it was the last thing on his mind.

Later, Jesse wouldn't remember how he had made it down the hall and into the bathroom. What he would remember though, was the nausea that overwhelmed him the minute his shoes touched the cool tile, and the helplessness of not even making it to the toilet to vomit. Jesse couldn't feel the cold porcelain sink under his fingers, but he definitely felt the burn of bile and regurgitated coffee as the black liquid splashed into the white sink. He vomited until his chest hurt and he couldn't catch his breath, then he heaved some more.

To say Jesse felt awful was to say the Grand Canyon was just some ditch. The lights were suddenly too bright and even his skin was reacting this time. He was hot and cold and sweating and trembling all at the same time. He felt like death warmed over. Five times.

As if fighting to just remain upright weren't bad enough, he suddenly realized what he had done. He had walked out of his emergency room in the middle of a crisis. That was the cardinal sin, and Jesse was going to Hell for sure now. He might even lose his job.

Jesse looked up sharply, panting, and briefly wondered who had replaced the simple wall mirror with a dizzying funhouse version. He had to get back to work. 'Shake it off,' he ordered his rebelling body, but his muscles only convulsed in response. The sterile walls of the bathroom swirled around him, causing Jesse to teeter to the side if he tried to move from his death-grip on the sink. What if he was stuck here, immobilized, forever? What if he were dying? If Jesse were in control of his mind a fraction more, he would have ran through the list of everything possible that could be plaguing him. Heck, maybe he had the plague. He still couldn't catch his breath, and the lack of oxygen was causing his vision to darken around the edges.

He would not pass out in the bathroom of Community General! With a sudden burst of mad energy, Jesse straightened and balled his fist, then pulled back and swung at the mirror with all his might.

The glass shattered, spider-webbing out from the point of impact in a somewhat beautiful display, then rained to the floor in a shimmering, tinkling shower of broken silver shards.

The sting in Jesse's trembling hand spread quickly from his knuckles and quickly enveloped his arm up to the elbow. He realized blankly that he had probably just done one of the stupidest things in his young life. The following silence echoed as loud as thunder through the large room. His ragged gasps burned in his lungs and raw throat and Jesse suddenly could not remain still any longer. Caught within a violent internal whirlwind, Jesse pushed off from the sink that was supporting him and stumbled through the doors.

He felt like he was navigating through a kaleidoscope. People faded into shapes and shadows that twisted nightmarishly. The floor became the walls and amplified his vertigo, sending Jesse careening into immovable objects again and again. His brain was melting, he was sure of it, and his only hope was that he would stumble across a secluded mop closet to die in private. Jesse half ran, mostly staggered through the never-ending halls until at last, sunlight could be seen filtering in through the glass doors of the main entrance. Voices shouted in the background but their words were jumbled and meaningless. Jesse's goal was growing larger, which meant he was getting closer, and once outside, he would be free.

Like an exghausted runner breaking the finish line, Jesse burst through the hospital doors and exploded into the fresh air, sucking it into his lungs as fast as he could. For all his efforts, it was not enough- he still felt drained and leaden as he stumbled onto the blacktop roadway.

A very loud horn pierced his muddled mind, but it was too late. Jesse turned his head just in time to see a small metal Jaguar speed towards him, it's front legs extended and it's silver body glistening in the sun. Then a force slammed into Jesse with enough power to take his legs out from underneath of him and he fell, slamming against a hollow metal surface before bouncing upwards. His shoulders exploded in pain as a horrible crunching sound filled his ears, then he was rolling, then falling and bouncing once more, then the doctor landed with a sickening thud against the unforgiving ground.

Darkness seized Jesse greedily as the pain became unbearable and a small, disgraced whimper left his horribly split lips. Suddenly, the world slammed on the brakes and everything fell still and silent.

At least Jesse had made it outside to die.

~o0O0o~

“Alright Katie, how's that broken leg healing?” Dr. Mark Sloan grabbed the wheeled stool and sank onto it, moving closer to examine his young patient.

“It doesn't hurt anymore,” the ten year-old beamed. “Will you take off the cast now?”

Mark smiled at her as he opened his mouth to reply, but the good news was interrupted by one of the ER nurses. Mark recognized her from the other day… Jessica, wasn't it?

“Sorry for interrupting, Dr. Sloan- we need you immediately.”

Katie's face fell, as did her mothers'. However, concern quickly blossomed in Mark's chest. “Is everything alright?”

Jessica's eyes darted between the doctor and the patient. “Please- it's an emergency.”

Mark was on his feet. “Of course.” He turned back towards Katie, glancing at her mother in an apology. “Will you excuse me for a moment? How about when I come back, we get that ugly old cast off, okay?”

Katie's face brightened instantly. “Okay!”

Dr. Sloan earned a reluctant nod of dismissal from Mrs. Reese and he tipped his head graciously. “Sit tight, I'll be right back!”

Mark stepped into the hallway and gently pulled the door shut behind him. “What happened?” he questioned as he let Jessica lead them down the hall. He could not miss the haste in her step.

“Something happened to Dr. Travis,” she replied brokenly, forging ahead through the busy halls. “I don't know what happened-”

“Where is he now?” Mark asked, falling into step beside the young woman.

“Outside…”

Mark noticed as the closer they drew to the ER entrance, the thicker the crowd was becoming. By sheer cosmic luck, he spotted Amanda and called out to her. “Amanda! It's Jesse, come with me!”

Dr. Amanda Bentley fell into a trot as a worried look passed over her face. “What's wrong?”

“I'm going to find out.”

Mark shouldered his way through the mass of bystanders. Where had all these people come from? It was like they had been hiding in the potted plants, waiting for a gossip-worthy event to occur. Mark would be disgusted later, when he weren't trying to find-

“Oh my…”

The rest of Amanda's gasp was lost as the sight before him nearly dropped the senior doctor to his knees. Jesse lay crumpled on the ground in a heap of white lab coat and blood, his eyes closed and body unmoving. The smell of burnt rubber perfumed the air and a woman stood against a silver car, sobbing. As a couple doctors reached their fallen fellow professional, a small group of women began consoling the woman that appeared to be the car's owner. Mark's horrified gaze locked onto the large dent on the car's hood and the shattered and bloody windshield. It appeared to be an expensive car, too.

Was expensive.

Suddenly Mark was free from his shock-induced paralysis and he vaulted towards his still friend. “Jesse!” he called, dropping down to kneel on the pavement. Amanda was at his side, though Mark was wholly focused on the unresponsive young man before him.

There was a large cut across Jesse's temple which was bleeding profusely and pooling in a dark puddle near Mark's knee. A severe case of road burn had burned Jesse's exposed skin so raw that it was bleeding in some places. Lumps and bruises were already starting to rise, but Mark feared the injuries that weren't visible the most.

“Did anyone see what happened?” he asked as a stretcher was dropped to the ground beside Jesse.

“He just ran right out in front of that car!” a voice from the crowd shouted out.

“Some kind of doctors you got working here!” another voice added.

“He's gotta be strung out on something! He looked crazy!”

Mark let his eyes fall shut for the briefest of moments as the cruel remarks hurled through the air. Then, filled with a new determination, he centered himself on the task at hand- assessing and treating Dr. Jesse Travis.

“Alright, brace him and get him inside!” The order was unneeded, for the group of doctors and nurses were already transferring Jesse to the gurney.

The mass of white jackets and stethoscopes pushed through the throng of onlookers as Mark led the group into the hospital. He was vaguely aware of Amanda at his side, helping to clear the way. Someone announced their arrival and an emergency room was being cleared.

“Blunt trauma to the left side and head.”

“B.P.'s 80 Palp, pulse 110.”

The sickening triage was being rattled off behind Dr. Sloan, giving him a feeling of eerie detachment. “Get a trauma panel, U.A., type and cross for four,” he ordered as they pushed through the doors of an emergency room. This was Jesse's territory, it should be Jesse here and in charge. Mark had little time to be emotional though, as more rule-outs were called off.

“Fluid in the lungs, I need an ultrasound!”

“Get an X-ray up here for a portable chest!”

“Pulse ox 92.”

Nurses whirled about the room and Mark was no longer sure which words had left his mouth. Time was racing, taunting them with the very life of Jesse Travis. Broken ribs had puncture a lung, or two, and there would be more damage to find as more and more life monitors were attached to the now-bear body.

“We need to intubate. Nine…”

“All right, we're in. Hook me up.”

“Oh man…”

A sudden sound of disappointed awe prompted Mark to focus on the ultrasound.

“Chest full of blood.”

“Pressure is down to seventy, it's an artery.”

The room grew very cold and Mark felt numb. “Call OR and get a room.”

“There's more than a liter here.”

“Prep him and move,” Mark ordered and stepped back. His world suddenly narrowed to the young man lying pale and still under the hands of skilled doctors. Mark had confidence- you had to have confidence- but the frantic movements and alarming amount of blood only burned into Mark's mind in the form of painful images never to be erased. Jesse had somehow snuck into Mark's heart and claimed a piece as his own. The young doctor was like a son.

Jesse was injured grievously, but there was no way that this young life would be lost under Dr. Sloan's watch.

Not now, not ever.

~o0O0o~

“Here,” a female voice said firmly. “Anyone that saves the life of Jesse Travis deserves a medal, but you'll have to settle for this stale coffee.”

Mark smiled as a warm cup was pressed into his hands. He looked up into Amanda's worried face and knew the worry wasn't for him. He patted her hand. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” she replied quickly but her voice was solemn. “Tell me again.”

Mark knew she had been there, watching the operation through the window. He had felt her eyes on him the whole time he had been in the operating room. Perhaps she wanted a friend's recount, instead of a doctors'.

“I thought we were safe. The blood had been suctioned and the artery stitched with transmural hemostatic suture. Everything was dry, we were about to close up. Then his pressure crashed. Ultrasound of the belly showed more blood. We should have checked it all along- it was his liver.”

Mark paused and Amanda closed her eyes briefly. He debated on continuing when she looked at him once more. “It's alright, you got him back.”

“Repaired the hepatic vein with an atrial-caval shunt. He's got a concussion and plenty of broken bones. Then there's his knee.”

“His knee?”

Mark sighed and resisted rolling his eyes at Jesse's neglect of his own body. “He had been surfing at my house a few nights ago when apparently he fell. He told Steve and I that it was a sprain.” Mark shook his head, unable to hide his irritability. “It was more than that- I should have forced him to have it looked at. Instead, I prescribed some Ibuprofen and sent him on his way.”

Amanda smiled. “Jesse is stubborn like that.”

Mark glared at her and set his coffee on the table. That was no excuse. “His medial lateral ligament was torn, I suspect from the impact of the car…” Mark took a calming breath before continuing. “It was most likely sprained before hand. We had to do a cruciate repair. I don't know how he got around so well with an injury like that.”

“Like I said,” Amanda grinned, her hand on his, “Jesse is a stubborn man.”

“It'll be a long recovery, but Jesse will be fine.”

“Thanks to you.”

Mark allowed himself a smile. It was true; in time, Jesse would be back to hounding the nurses and running a smooth ER. Mark looked longingly at the dirty lab coat he had snatched off the floor earlier. Jesse's name was stitched over the breast.

“Excuse me,” a nurse interrupted, leaning around the door frame of the doctor's lounge. “Here's the blood work you wanted.”

“Thank you,” Mark replied as the nurse approached and set the file on the wooden table.

“If there's anything else I can do for you, just let me know.”

Mark winced at her overly-sympathetic voice. “That'll be all for now.”

Within moments, Mark and Amanda were alone again. Mark righted the manila file and opened it as Amanda poured another cup of coffee. The numbers that greeted him nearly stole his breath.

“What in the…” he trailed off, reading and rereading the figures.

“What's wrong?”

“Look at this,” Mark said, moving the papers so they both could see. His mouth hung open, unable to explain.

Amanda grabbed the file and flipped through it. After reading the summary, she looked up at Mark with pain and confusion. “Why are there traces of an anti-psychotic in Jesse's blood?”

The question burned the air. Their gazes remained locked for several long moments.

Jesse's torn and dirty lab coat fell to the tile floor and landed with a rattle. Mark reached down and retrieved the garment before replacing over the back of the empty chair next to him. “I fear the only one who could answer that is Jesse himself,” he replied, once more settling in his seat.

“You don't think he was being drugged, do you?”

Mark cringed inwardly. The though of more foul play being brought against the young doctor made his heart ache. “I really hope not.”

Amanda took a shallow breath before continuing, “Well he wasn't doing it to himself.”

“Of course not.”

“I'm off in a couple hours. I'll head over to his apartment and see if I can find anything.”

Entering Jesse Travis's small apartment was never a hazard. In all his inexperience, Jesse kept a spare key taped to the back side of one of the brass numbers on his door. Mark nodded. “I'll call Steve.”

Amanda rose and poured the bitter coffee down the sink. “I gotta get back, I call you later.” Mark felt her hand linger on his shoulder as she walked behind him. “We'll get to the bottom of this.”

Mark nodded and smiled after her. After she was gone and he was left in silence, he pulled out his cell phone.

~o0O0o~

Amanda tugged again on the stubborn number eight adorning Jesse's apartment door. Her hands slipped and she yelped, feeling a fingernail bend painfully and break.

She swore under her breath as she squeezed the pain from her finger.

Amanda looked around the empty hallway once more before again trying to pry the piece of brass from the door. At last, it came free and she fumbled with it, catching the number before it fell to the floor. Amanda quickly removed the silver key that had been hidden and let herself into the apartment.

Amanda kicked the door shut and tossed the irritating '8' to the floor where it landed with a satisfying thud. She sighed.

After carefully stepping over a pile of rumpled T-shirts and board shorts, Amanda moved into the kitchen. “He can perform an emergency tracheotomy,” she mumbled, stepping over disregarded and despondent clothes, “But God forbid the man should wash his clothes before the life forms growing there invent the wheel.”

Amanda passed the couch, barely taking notice of the lone goldfish in a typical round bowl. She searched the countertops, the cabinets, even the refrigerator for anything out of the usual. In all her searching, Amanda counted a quart of milk, ranch salad dressing, six packs of Ramen noodles and a suspicious-looking can of creamed corn.

“Oh Jesse, how can you live like this?” she muttered aloud. Her voice echoed through the barren kitchen.

Amanda passed by the fish again and entered the bedroom. If the situation were not dire, she would not be caught dead in this private room. Whatever quirks the young man had were his to keep. Amanda quickly checked the surface of the dresser and the nightstand before moving into the bathroom. Which didn't make her feel any better.

Trying not to view the room with a mother's critical eye, Amanda thoroughly searched the rather skimpy medicine cabinet.

She grabbed the box of Shrek band-aids and eyed them wearily.

Amanda rolled her eyes and continued searching.

~o0O0o~

Mark moved about the room, unable to sit for fear of his emotions catching him. Jesse lay limply on the sterile hospital bed, still on a ventilator as fluids and pain-killers dripped into his veins. Rhythmic beeping filled the room and for that consistency, Mark was glad.

Still, it would've been nicer to hear Jesse's voice.

He had called Steve earlier and done a good job of upsetting the detective. Steve promised to arrive soon, against Mark's protests that there was no need. It was hard to keep these two separated, as Mark was learning more every day.

He finally came to a stop next to Jesse, letting his hand rest on Jesse's bare arm. Mark savored the contact, reassuring himself that Jesse was safe now. It had been too close for comfort. Mark would be more than happy to never have his hands inside Jesse's open and bleeding abdomen again.

“Wake up Jess, tell me what's going on here…” Mark trailed off, not getting any response from his patient. Patient. The word tasted bitter in his mind.

“Hey, you okay?”

Mark jumped and spun on his heels. “Steve, don't sneak up on an old man like that,” he said, exasperated.

Steve smiled. “Sorry.” His eyes moved to Jesse. “How's he doing?”

The mild adrenaline surge faded and Mark relaxed. “He'll be fine. Although I'm afraid you've lost your surfing partner for a while.”

The detective's smile fell a little. “Obviously.”

Mark sighed and turned away from the unconscious form. “Let's have a seat in the break room. I think we need to figure out what's going on here.”

Steve nodded and followed his father from the hospital room. Soon they were in the doctor's lounge and Mark had gotten his son a cup of the ever-thickening black coffee. They sat at the table together as Mark informed the detective of his assumptions.

Steve sighed heavily. “There's no other way Jesse could have gotten this in his bloodstream?”

“He's one of the sanest people I know,” Mark replied. “He would never do this to himself intentionally.”

“Has Amanda checked in yet?”

“She's on her way back.” Mark sighed, then reached over to busy his fingers with the fabric of Jesse's lab coat.

“She didn't find anything.”

“No.”

Steve sighed, unaware of how many deep breaths they had taken recently. “When will Jesse wake up? Maybe he can tell us something.”

“Anytime now. He's on a high dose of pain control.”

Steve snorted. “Understandably.”

The jacket Mark had been fiddling with slipped off the back of the chair and fell to the floor with a muted rattle. As he bent to reach for it, Steve asked, “What was that?”

“What was what,” Mark replied, draping the jacket over the chair once more.

Steve rolled his eyes. “That sound, Dad.”

Mark glanced at his son before searching the pockets of the worn lab coat. He withdrew his hand slowly, clutching the prescription bottle. “It's the Ibuprofen I gave him for his knee,” he announced, setting the bottle on the table between them.

“Oh.”

Steve took a sip of his coffee. Father and son stared at the ineluctable bottle in silence. Then, almost simultaneously, their eyes narrowed in scrutiny and thought. Seconds ticked by slowly, much like the tense silence after a punch line and before the laughter.

Mark grabbed the bottle first. He twisted the cap off and poured a few of the pills out onto the table.

Steve's watched his father's face.

“This isn't Ibuprofen,” Mark breathed, but he wasn't sure how exactly he should feel. They might have the answer now, but could Jesse really not have paid any attention to what he had been swallowing?

Of course. This was Jesse Travis they were talking about.

“So we have the weapon, now where's our culprit?”

~o0O0o~

Mark shook his head sadly and dropped the papers to the table. The analysis of the Haldol he had found in Jesse's prescription bottle matched the drug that was in the young doctor's bloodstream. The grim findings raised urgent questions that could not be answered.

How had the medication been switched? Was it intentional? Did someone have a grudge against Jesse?

Why hadn't he noticed earlier?

Mark rose from the table and started for the door. If he wanted answers, than he would have to go out and get them.

Steve had gone back to the precinct to begin all the paperwork for this new case while Amanda had not yet returned from her search of Jesse's apartment. Although she had stated that she had surprisingly- but delightedly- found three of her good Tupperware containers and her missing Lord of the Rings DVD, Amanda had not found any signs of foul play.

Mark tried to think logically through the ordeal that weighed heavily on his heart. Somewhere, someone has to know something. Mark rounded the corner of the bright hallway, barely aware of his shoes clicking on the solid tile floor. The logical place to start this illogical interrogation would be at square one.

Mark Sloan strode purposefully towards the nurses station on the ER wing. This is where they had been when Jesse was given the bottle. Although he highly doubted that any of the hospital staff were fiendish enough to pull such a stunt, all the bases had to be covered. For Jesse's sake.

He stopped in front of the counter and placed his hands on it, patting the surface to make the nurse aware of his presence.

"Oh, Doctor Sloan, you startled me. What can I do for you? Is Dr. Travis alright?"

"Sorry for the fright, Carol," he replied with a non-threatening smile. Mark was very familiar with most of the hospital's personnel, and the middle-aged nurse before him was no exception. "Jesse is still unconscious, but recovering well. I came to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"I believe you were here a few days ago at the time Dr. Travis and I had been talking about his injured knee?"

Carol squinted in thought for a moment, then replied slowly, "Yeah, I remember that. Didn't you prescribe Ibuprofen? I think I recall how undignified Dr. Travis became," she finished with a smile.

Mark could not allow himself to get distracted. "Can you tell me what you remember of that time?"

Carol shrugged. "Not much to remember," she started. "You ordered Dr. Travis to follow your recommendations, then that emergency came in. I didn't see Dr. Travis for a couple hours after that."

"Do you remember what happened to the prescription?"

Carol's eyes wandered as she thought. "Uh, yeah. He set them down on the counter before he left. I put them on the desk here and then Dr. Travis picked them up on his way home."

Mark looked over the counter at the cluttered-but-organized-to-somebody desktop. "Were you the only one here?"

Carol nodded. "Just me. I was here the whole time."

Mark looked at her carefully before nodding. He wanted to believe her- after all, he could think of no reason for any of Jesse's nurses to be angry with him. Steve would question Carol more thoroughly later, that was certain. But for now…

Mark sighed in frustration. If his initial investigation had turned up nothing, he would have to follow Jesse's footsteps further. Carol said that Jesse had been going home, but Amanda had already been there and found nothing notable.

"Thank you Carol," he said sincerely.

"No problem."

Mark turned around and prepared to leave. Perhaps the locker room would turn up some evidence…

Dr. Sloan froze mid-step. There, up in the dark corner where the wall meets the ceiling, an innocent red light flashed rhythmically. It was not so much the light that held Mark captivated, but the security camera that it was attached to.

A new fire sprung to life inside of Mark Sloan as he walked briskly towards the security office.

~o0O0o~

Mark, Steve, Amanda and Frank the security officer watched the small black and white monitor in fascinated silence.

A seemingly disoriented man stumbled down the hallway and stopped in front of the nurse's station. The bottle was knocked to the floor and as the man bent down, he withdrew his own bottle from the pocket of his jacket. The medications were switched the bottles replaced. Then the man stumbled down the hall and out of the frame.

"I don't believe it," Amanda breathed, her hand over her mouth.

"Steve, can you-" Mark started but Steve was already speaking to Frank.

"I need you to zoom in on that man's face and get me a print out."

Frank started pushing buttons. "I'm on it."

Steve turned to his father. "We'll find him dad," he said, placing a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Don't worry."

Father and son looked into each other's eyes for a few moments before a knock interrupted the silence.

"Excuse me Dr. Sloan, but we need you," the nurse said, "Dr. Travis is waking up."

Mark was moving before he realized he was doing so.

He entered Jesse's hospital room without a word, quickly making his way to the younger man's side. Amanda and Steve hung back near the doorway, watching silently.

Jesse was just beginning to come to his senses as he winced and turned his head away from the light. Mark adjusted the IV drip a fraction to ease the young doctor's pain. "Hey Jesse," he spoke softly, encouraging him to regain consciousness.

Jesse swallowed visibly before cracking his eyes open. In the instant those blue eyes began to focus, Mark almost sagged with relief. A smile warmed his face as Jesse began to fight against the trach tube. "Hold still young man. You're gonna be alright. Just give me a second and we'll let you talk."

The nurse stepped forward as Mark placed a steadying hand on Jesse's chest. "Count of three, breathe out," he instructed, knowing Jesse would understand and cooperate.

After the clear tube was removed, Mark's hand remained steady as Jesse coughed the discomfort from his throat. He glanced at Amanda and Steve, who were smiling with triumph for their adopted younger brother. Amanda was the first to step forward. "Welcome back," she said warmly.

Jesse struggled to catch his breath while he looked up at her. "What happened?" he rasped.

Mark gently pushed his patient back into recumbancy. "You tried to play the hero again," he said.

Jesse licked his lips and relaxed against the white pillow. "Again?"

"Jesse, please tell me that you weren't aware you were taking the wrong medication," Steve spoke up.

Jesse's eyes snapped back into focus. "What?"

"It was Haldol, Jess." Mark noticed how the younger man's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "The pills had been switched. "

Jesse's eyes fluttered shut. "That explains… some things."

Amanda's face softened. "Alright everyone, out! Let the man get some sleep." She glared at Jesse dangerously. "When he wakes up again, he's got a lot of explaining to do."

With his last remaining strength, Jesse managed a frightened look to humor Amanda. After his eyes closed and his breathing evened out, the three quietly left their friend in a healing sleep, sure that the younger man was safe and on his way to recovery.

They couldn't imagine it any other way.

~o0O0o~

Epilogue:

One Month Later

Amanda placed a cold, sweaty glass of ice tea on the patio table in front of Mark Sloan. The sun was shining brightly, glistening off every available surface and warming the earth to a very pleasant temperature. Blue waves crashed to shore some distance from the friends and Amanda smiled as she sat beside the older doctor.

"It's good to see him out there again."

Mark looked up at her quickly and smiled. "It is. I didn't realize how quiet this beach was until there was no one to take advantage of it."

Mark and Amanda grew quiet, content to watch Jesse and Steve surf the somewhat tame Pacific waves. As predicted, Jesse's recovery had been long and hard fought, and three times a week he was attending therapy for his knee. The young man never complained, at least not where Mark could hear, but instead pushed himself to escape the confines of the hospital room. His tenacity was admirable.

Steve had, with the help of some of the hospital's residents, found the man responsible and brought him to justice. The results of his actions had been unintentional and now Eddie was a patient in a hospital where he could finally be cured. It was a satisfactory consequence for all involved.

Amanda broke the silence as out in the water, Jesse plunged into the crashing wave. "Are you sure it's alright for him to be out there?"

Mark smiled. "Steve is keeping an eye on him. Besides, you've kept him locked in his apartment since his release from the hospital." Mark looked at her. "You gotta let him out sometime."

She managed to look flustered. "I fed him, didn't I?"

"I know you like to mother him, but he's a big boy now," Mark chuckled.

"Well you wouldn't guess it by the way he takes care of himself," came the flat retort.

"I also think you've lectured him enough over that as well," Mark replied. Amanda had scolded and berated the young doctor for days after he woke up, badgering him about how none of this would have happened if Jesse had just taken a few says off and gotten some rest. Even the nurses knew the conversation by heart. Mark doubted Jesse would make that mistake twice.

A series of dull thuds brought Mark to awareness. Jesse quickly scaled the steps, followed closely by Steve.

"Hey guys," Jesse panted, sliding into the seat next to Amanda and quickly draining her ice tea.

Amanda snatched the empty glass away and placed it on her left side, away from Jesse. Steve took his seat beside his father and smoothly mimicked the thievery. "Beautiful day, huh?" Steve asked, trying to cover his actions.

Mark eyed his son and Jesse carefully. Maybe it was the sun, or the water, but it seemed that a mischief was alight in their eyes that made the senior doctor suddenly very weary. He looked to Amanda for help.

"It is a nice day," Amanda replied carefully, the way one does when the wrong words mean almost certain humiliation.

A certain inescapable dread crawled over Mark as the young men eyed each other suspiciously.

"It's a little hot though," Jesse said calmly, glancing into the sky. "Wouldn't you agree Steve?"

Steve nodded, a little too enthusiastically for Mark's liking. "I agree."

There was an eerie silence where no body moved.

Then, suddenly, Steve and Jesse simultaneously ducked and reached under the table, bringing up the largest water guns Mark had ever seen.

As Amanda's screams of protest and revenge filled the air, Mark darted towards the sliding glass door behind him. Even as hard jets of water soaked him to the bone, he wouldn't have traded this moment for anything.

His sons were back.

End

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