WARNING: THIS STORY DEALS WITH PERMANENT INJURY AND DISABILITY. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS IS LIKELY TO CAUSE OFFENSE OR UPSET.

Author's note: Okay, I'm starting off with a lengthy note because I'm really, really nervous about posting this fic. Some of you won't like this story and I agonised over only giving it a 'T' rating. It involves permanent, life changing, crippling injury. It also involves intense conflict – and I have been criticised for that in the past. In my opinion, such conflict is necessary to the plot and is therefore justified. Any seeming OOC-ness is also only brought about by the intense situations and emotions that the characters are dealing with.

I'm going to apologise in advance, because I know that this story won't go down well with everybody. All I can do is implore you to heed the warnings. If you don't like the subject matter, or the way that I deal with it, then please DO NOT READ THIS STORY.

That said, I'm going to repeat that warning one more time:

WARNING: THIS STORY DEALS WITH PERMANENT INJURY AND DISABILITY. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS IS LIKELY TO CAUSE OFFENSE OR UPSET.

Synopsis: A devastating accident destroys lives and tears friendships apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones I created.

ONLY HUMAN.

By

Helen Louise

A persistent noise dragged Jesse Travis from his sleep what felt like just minutes after he had collapsed into bed. He was nearing the end of what was quite possibly the busiest week of his entire career. The hospital was short-staffed and the casualties never stopped coming. The on-call room had, of late, become more familiar to him than his own bedroom. In short, he was exhausted.

Amanda Bentley had seen it when his eyes had drifted shut halfway through a conversation and she wasn't going to be fobbed off by him merely grabbing a catnap on the nearest available couch. His extended shift was over and she took him home herself, not trusting him to drive in the state he was in. He wasn't due back on duty for six hours and, grateful to his friend for her insistence, had intended to sleep for at least five hours and forty minutes – in comfort and in his own bed. The noise immediately put paid to those plans.

At first he thought it was his alarm. He had been completely wiped and there was a strong possibility that he had set it wrong. He reached out blindly to slap at the offending object, but the noise persisted. It invaded his sleep fogged mind and forced him back to wakefulness.

It was, he eventually realised, his phone. It was ringing constantly, jarringly and making it impossible for him to even consider ignoring. As he sat up, he glanced at the clock, wondering if he'd had more than even a few seconds slumber. What he saw had the same effect as a bucket of cold water and he was instantly wide awake. It was close to ten a.m. and he was late. His shift had been due to start an hour ago; no wonder they were so keen to get in touch with him.

Hauling himself out of bed, Jesse shook his head. His eyes still felt gritty, his limbs heavy. His rest had done little to ease his exhaustion. But he answered the phone anyway, knowing that he had no viable excuse for being late. He was on the verge of telling whoever it was that he was on his way, when Amanda's voice sounded in his ear.

"Jesse, you have to get to the hospital right away." She sounded frightened, almost panic-stricken and a cold knot of fear settled in Jesse's stomach. This was not merely a reaction to him being late.

"Amanda?" he croaked, his voice sounding alien to his own ears.

"There's been an accident." There were tears in the pathologist's voice that carried down the phone line. "It's Mark."

Yesterday's clothes still lay in a heap on the floor where he'd discarded them, but he didn't have time to find anything clean. Amanda's words echoed round and round his head and he cursed himself for choosing this day, of all days, to oversleep. He should have already been there. He should have been in the ER, ready to treat Mark the moment that he arrived. Instead he was scrambling to get dressed. Sick dread made him clumsy and it seemed like an eternity before he dragged on his jacket and slammed the front door behind him.

It wasn't until he got outside that he realised his car was still at the hospital, Amanda having driven him home the previous night.

It was lashing down with rain and the wind felt as though it was blowing at close to gale force. He had no choice but to brave the adverse weather and stepped out onto the sidewalk to peer up and down the street. Unsurprisingly, there wasn't a cab in sight. Pulling out his cellphone – and praying for a strong enough signal – he called for one. Luck was finally on his side and the storm-affected reception proved to be just enough. Then could only stand, huddled in the doorway of his building, willing it to arrive as the minutes dragged by.

Some forty minutes after Amanda's frantic call and close to two hours late, Jesse finally arrived at Community General. The first person he saw was the pathologist as she rushed over to greet him.

"Jesse, they've just taken him to the OR." Tears streaked her face. "Oh God, he coded, Jess. They only just got him back."

"What happened?" Though Jesse was loathe to delay getting to his mentor's side, he needed some history. He couldn't just walk in there blind.

"There was a smash on the freeway, a bad one. I don't know what caused it, but Mark was trapped for over an hour." Amanda swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice calm. "He had a bad chest wound and he'd lost a lot of blood. The broken glass…" She shuddered at the memory of the sight of her dear friend being wheeled into the ER. "His arm… It looked like his arm was almost severed."

"Steve?" He didn't have to elaborate on that question.

"He's upstairs, he went with him." Another swallow. "God, Jess, I don't think I've ever seen him so scared."

Even as they were talking, they had entered the elevator and, when it arrived at its destination, Jesse could see the detective. He was pacing restlessly, pausing frequently to look at his watch.

"Steve!" Jesse greeted his friend, but then found that he didn't have anything to say to him. He couldn't simply say that everything would be alright, not when he knew so little about the situation. "I…" He gestured vaguely in the direction of the OR. "I should get scrubbed up."

Steve's glance towards him was distracted and he didn't answer the younger man. Shock had taken a firm hold of him and, as Amanda slipped a comforting arm around his waist, Jesse left them alone and hurried to where he prayed he could do some good.

Steve had stopped pacing about an hour after Amanda had managed to get him into the doctors' lounge. Two hours after that, she almost found herself wishing that he would start again. But he just sat at the table, staring at his hands that he held clasped in front of him. Nothing she said could get through to him and he had not so much as glanced at the constant mugs of coffee that she placed in front of him.

As the time dragged by, Amanda began to pace in his stead. She glanced frequently between the clock on the wall and the door. She just wanted to know that Mark was going to be alright. She, too, was not far removed from being in shock. She had seen Mark lying lifelessly in the trauma room; she had prayed as the shocks were run through his body, trying to restart his failing heart; she had genuinely thought that he was going to die.

And there was no-one to comfort her. She had sought to comfort Steve, believing that they could offer one another support during the indeterminable wait that lay ahead, but Steve had retreated deep within himself. She wanted to talk through her fears, prepare for the worst, offer some hope. But all of that was bereft from her and so she paced.

Eventually, though, she collapsed into the chair next to Steve and joined him in his silent contemplation of nothing. They sat like that for hours – for what felt like days – before the door quietly opened.

Amanda's head snapped up and Steve stood so quickly that his chair clattered to the floor as Jesse stepped into the room.

"How..?"

Steve's hoarse, fearful voice trailed off after only one word. Amanda couldn't even bring herself to speak as she took in the appearance of their friend: his pale face, the sadness in his eyes, the desolation that he had carried into the room with him. Suddenly she found that she wanted to run away. She wanted to hide, or just cover her ears so that she wouldn't have to hear what he had to say.

"He made it through surgery." Jesse offered them that reassurance first, but the words were spoken dully and held no hint of hope.

Steve wanted to scream at him, to demand what was so wrong, to force Jesse to say the unspoken 'but' that hung in the air between them. But his voice failed him. Like Amanda, he found that he preferred ignorance. What had gone wrong? Brain damage? Spinal injury? Paralysis? Steve didn't think he could bear to live with any of those. But this was his father they were talking about – who now lay in recovery – how could he not ask?

"What?" He croaked the word out, surprised by how difficult it was and a new sense of dread filled him as Jesse briefly closed his eyes. When they opened again, they were bright with unshed tears.

"I did everything I could." There was a pleading note in the young doctor's voice that chilled both Steve and Amanda to the very core. "God, I tried. Honestly, I tried everything, but the damage to the devascularized tissue..." He trailed off, remembering that it was Steve who he was talking to and sought some way to explain without descending into medical terminology. "I couldn't take the risk of toxicity from the tissue damage..." It was impossible. "The blood loss alone…"

Steve stood where he was, listening in complete incomprehension. He was being told something – something about his dad – and he couldn't understand. He saw Amanda sway slightly, saw the look of horror on her face and his frustration at having waited for so long manifested itself as anger.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded, crossing swiftly to where Jesse stood, but stopping short of actually grabbing hold of him. "Speak English, dammit!"

"Steve, I'm sorry. I…" Jesse forced himself not to flinch, nor to look away in the face of Steve's wrath. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't save his arm."

Jesse watched in silent horror as Steve staggered away from him and fell into the nearest chair. Amanda had also sunk into an empty seat and seeing the shock on both their faces only reinforced the guilt that he was already feeling. Making the decision to amputate Mark's left arm had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. But he had done it himself. It was such a drastic step, such a massive responsibility, that he wouldn't let anyone else do it. The consequences of the surgery would be borne by him alone. And seeing the devastation of those closest to him made his stomach clench with dread as he wondered how his mentor would react.

"You cut off his arm?" Steve's voice was a harsh, devastated whisper.

"I had to perform what's called an elbow disarticulation." Jesse moved to sit at the table alongside his best friend. "It means that he'll still have rotation…"

"You cut off his arm!" This time there was an accusatory note in Steve's voice and the look that he levelled at Jesse was murderous. "How could you do that?"

"Steve, I had no choice." Jesse's mouth was dry. He still hadn't got over his own shock at what he'd been forced to do. "The arm was almost severed and…"

"You finished the job!"

"No, Steve." Jesse fought to hold on to his composure, when all he wanted to do was weep at the injustice of it all. He glanced towards Amanda, but shock had seemingly robbed her of the ability to speak. He felt that he owed them both more of an explanation and, he realised, he needed to say the words aloud in order to justify it to himself. "There was no chance of reattachment, he was trapped for so long that the decay…"

"I don't wanna hear your excuses." Steve leapt to his feet, no longer able to control his fury. His father had lost an arm and he could see nothing beyond that fact. "You crippled him!"

"Steve…"

But the detective was beyond hearing anything else that Jesse said. He was suddenly assailed by memories of his dad. From when he was a little boy, Mark had always been there for him. He was strong and vital and lived life to the full. All of that was about to change. He'd be forced to quit the job he loved; who had ever heard of a one-armed surgeon? And how would he get around? He wouldn't be able to drive, he'd lose his independence. In short, his whole life was about to change – and none of it for the better.

Steve's anger was replaced by overwhelming sorrow and he slid back into his chair, feeling a sob rise in his throat. He didn't even try to suppress it, but covered his face with his hands and gave in to his grief.

Jesse couldn't just sit back and watch his friend suffer. The harsh words that had been flung at him, the unjust apportioning of blame, were forgotten as he watched Steve disintegrate before his very eyes.

Getting quickly to his feet, he crossed to where Steve sat and dropped into a crouch at his side. He laid a gentle, reassuring hand on his forearm.

"Steve, I understand how you must feel." Jesse's voice was soft and filled with compassion. "I know…"

"You know nothing." Steve's hands fell away from his face and he glared at the younger man, perversely satisfied to see him flinch away. "You butchered my father."

Jesse tried to find the words to explain why he had done what he had, but he could see nothing beyond the loathing in his best friend's eyes.

Then Steve seemed to realise that a slender hand still rested on his arm and he looked down at it. That hand had removed one of his father's. Suddenly, he couldn't bear the contact.

"Get the hell away from me," he snarled, pushing outwards to jerk his arm free.

Jesse, unbalanced in his crouch, fell backwards just as Steve got to his feet again. The detective's hands were balled into fists and he looked taller than ever from the doctor's prone position. He also looked terrifyingly angry and Jesse flinched as Steve towered over him.

"You stay the hell away from me from now on," Steve spat. "You stay away from me and my father."

Jesse scrambled to his feet, feeling too small and vulnerable down on the floor. He had never been afraid of Steve, but at that moment, the detective looked more than capable of physically attacking him. He reached out a supplicating hand, but it was batted viciously away.

"Get out of here, Travis. Get out of here and don't come back."

Fresh tears filled Jesse's eyes and his heart filled with despair at Steve's contemptuous use of his surname. Unable to do anything else and hurting more deeply than he'd ever thought possible, he fled the room.

After Jesse had gone, Steve allowed himself to give full vent to his tears. He had forgotten that he was still not alone. An invasive hand touched his hair and then followed when he tried to pull his head away. Moments later an arm was slipped around his shoulder and he unconsciously leant into the embrace, knowing from her scent that it was Amanda who held him.

"Steve," she whispered. The confrontation between Steve and Jesse had pulled her out of her stupor, but too late to intervene. Then she had watched Jesse flee, saw Steve break down completely and wondered which one needed her the most. It was the sounds of heartbreak that made her decision for her. Steve rarely cried and she had never heard him sob. She found that, no matter how much Jesse might be hurting, she couldn't abandon the detective.

"'Manda…" Steve raised his head and his face was ravaged by tears. "God, my dad… He… My dad…"

"I know, honey." Amanda's own voice was shaking and she wondered how she could possibly comfort the man when she could barely believe what had happened. "I know."

"Amanda? What's gonna happen now?" His voice was small, almost childlike and Amanda's heart ached at the sight of her friend looking so vulnerable.

"I… I'm not sure, Steve." She thought about the little that Jesse had told them. An elbow disarticulation. That meant his entire forearm was gone. "The important thing is that he's alive…"

"The important thing is that he's a cripple!" Steve retorted, his fury once again winning the battle of his emotions. He saw the shock on Amanda's face and was instantly contrite. "Oh God, I'm sorry." Fresh tears seeped from his eyes. "But… God… I don't know what to do."

Amanda was feeling equally helpless. She wanted to suggest getting a room for Steve, administering a mild sedative and trying to find some way to give him time to come to terms with what had happened. But she knew just how that suggestion was likely to be received. She couldn't even suggest that they go and visit Mark. He would still be in recovery, restricted from visitors and he would still be unconscious. And, when he did begin to come around, his awakening would have to be handled with infinite care. He was going to be faced with unbelievable trauma. She didn't envy Jesse that task one little bit.

Jesse. She had heard the cruel words that Steve had flung at the doctor and had wanted to leap to his defence, but had been unable to find the words. Now it was too late and Jesse, who had been forced to perform the surgery, must have been hurting as much as they. But how could she leave Steve in the state that he was in? The dilemma was resolved for her by the detective himself.

He raised his weary, tear-ravaged faced: "I need… I need to be alone for a while… to think, you know?"

Amanda nodded in silent understanding. Steve was strong and stoic and had always struggled to give voice to his feelings. He needed solitude in order to give full release to his emotions – something that he would never do in front of witnesses.

She gave his arm a final squeeze, but Steve had buried his head in his hands again and Amanda knew that nothing she could say would offer him any comfort. He would be held by his shock for a long time to come. She would be there for him when he was ready to talk. In the meantime, there was another of her friends who desperately needed her.

TBC