Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Thank you very much to those who reviewed the last chapter; as always, all comments are extremely appreciated and valued. I know this story isn't exactly like what I generally write, but I'm looking forward to doing something different as a bit of a challenge, so I really hope you'll give it the time, and let me know what you think. I'll say this here as well as on the other stuff I've updated lately – due to the amount of stories I've got on the go at the moment, I'll generally be giving precedence to whichever story gets the most reviews, which doesn't mean to say I'll be abandoning anything, just the more you click on that little button, the sooner you get the next chapter. (NB. Please see my profile for an appeal for inspiration I'm launching.)

Despite his warm introduction, Ray received little more than a glower and a grunt in return, so he deliberately repeated his question, not letting him get away with not giving a proper answer. 'Sorry, I didn't catch that, you're Jake Ford?'

'Yes,' the boy said sullenly, after a short pause.

'Well, good to meet you man,' Ray returned in a friendly voice. He had a feeling this one was going to be hard work; he had a tough look about him but there was something childish and scared in his eyes that set him apart from the procession of hardened kids that came through here on a daily basis. It was as if he wanted to be helped, even if he didn't know it yet. There was some quality about him that caught Ray's attention and made him want to work at it a bit, not just patch him up and send him on his way, as he knew he was all too guilty of doing at times.

'Likewise,' Jake replied. For a moment, Ray thought he was being serious, then he caught the sardonic smile and the bitter tone to his voice and realised that there wasn't an ounce of friendliness in the boy's reply.

Taking the rebuff in his stride, Ray put the chart down and moved towards the bed a little. 'Right then, I take it you've been in the wars a bit.'

'If that's what you want to call it,' he muttered, half under his breath.

'Okay, let's have a look at you. I'm just going to examine your chest and abdomen all right, to check to see if there's any internal damage.'

'Fine, do what you have to do.'

Ray listened to the boy's chest first, which was clear, then began to roll up the gown so he could have a look at what he was dealing with. He felt almost physically sick at what he saw. He had seen the results of plenty of bad beatings before, even been on the receiving end of one or two, but he only just managed to hold in his gasp of shock when, amongst the many other bruises and scrapes, he saw a perfect bootprint, etched out in a sickening purple colour, stretching across his stomach. It looked truly horrific on the boy's young body.

Ray watched him very carefully as he gently began examining his abdomen, guessing that this kid wouldn't show any signs of pain unless he could help it.

As he scanned Jake's face for a reaction, Ray took in his appearance. He had messy brown hair, the sort that always looked like a hairbrush wouldn't have the slightest effect on its chaotic style, and was fairly tall, and was clearly thinner than nature had intended him to be. His clothes, dumped in a pile next to the bed where they had been discarded when he put the gown on, were dirty and ripped, although Ray wasn't sure if they had been like it before, or it had happened as a result of the beating. It was only his eyes, a hazel brown colour, that offered a window into a softer, more vulnerable personality than the set jaw and permanent scowl suggested.

As his hand moved over the lower left hand part of his stomach, he saw Jake wince suddenly, then battle with himself to return his expression to that cold sort of neutrality that he had fixed upon since Ray had been there. He was biting his lip against the pain.

'Did that hurt?'

Jake shrugged non-commitally.

Ray rolled his eyes in frustration. 'Come on dude, you're going to have to help me out a bit here. You obviously want to get fixed up, else you wouldn't have spent half a day sitting in the waiting room with a bunch of screaming kids and crazy drunks, so just tell me where it hurts.'

Jake stared intensely at him for a moment, a flash of opposition in his eyes before he gave up and caved in. 'Okay, it hurt on the left there, and higher up at the toe of the boot as well.'

'Thank you,' Ray said quietly, a flicker of satisfaction alight in his chest that he had managed to break down, even if only a little, some of the boy's defences. The poor kid must be in agony. Although the stomach injury, the bootprint, was clearly the worst he had suffered, his jaw and eye were also bruised and swollen, with a cut, caked in dried blood above his eye, his knuckles grazed and scraped, and Ray was sure he must be in quite a bit of pain.

Once he had finished his examination, he pulled up a stool and perched himself on it, making sure he was talking to the boy down on his level. 'Right,' he began to explain. 'I want to do a CT scan on your belly, just to have a look and make sure you don't have any internal bleeding or a ruptured spleen or anything. I'm pretty sure you don't, your blood pressure is good and you don't seem,' he raised an eyebrow questioningly, showing that he wasn't taken in by the determined display of indifference, 'to be in the sort of pain that would indicate a serious problem, but I've got to check it out, okay?'

Jake nodded, and Ray could tell that even though he was pretending not to be interested, he was listening intently.

'And according to your chart, you've got a temp of 99.8 so it looks like you're running a bit of a fever as well, so I'll get a nurse to come and take some blood and send it for a couple of tests. Probably just a touch of flu or something, have you been ill lately?'

'A bit of a cold,' he admitted.

'Right, that's what it'll be then. Are you taking anything for it, Tylenol or something?' He shook his head and Ray made a couple of notes on the chart before looking at him again. 'Is there anyone you want me to call, your parents or a relative or someone?'

'No.' His answer was quick, a little too quick, and he knew it. He tried to cover. 'They're out of town, my grandmother's ill and they've gone upstate to see her for a couple of days.'

'Are you at home on your own?'

'The neighbour looks in on me. It's fine,' he insisted.

Ray looked at him shrewdly. If the story was true, he didn't think that situation was too much of a problem, a fifteen year old, clearly sensible kid, was perfectly capable of looking after themselves for a couple of days if there was an adult on hand to check on them and turn to if there was a problem – it wasn't something he would generally see as worth bothering Social Work with, but there was something about it in this particular incidence that didn't ring true. This kid was definitely hiding something. He had been altogether too reluctant for his parents to be contacted, and any fifteen year old who came in having taken a beating like that had to be in some kind of serious trouble.

'I don't think it is fine actually. I really think your parents should be called.'

At that, Ray noticed Jake began to get fidgety. His eyes flickered around the room, as if he was assessing the possibility for escape. 'Jake,' Ray pressed, 'what is it that you're not telling me?'

Jake looked down, refusing to meet Ray's eyes. After a long silence, he muttered something very quietly, which Ray didn't quite catch. 'I'm sorry man, I didn't hear that. What did you say?'

'I said, it's just me,' he repeated, only fractionally louder than before. This time, Ray heard him, and tried to rearrange his face into a smile, hoping the boy wouldn't be offended by what he intended to be empathy rather than sympathy. He did his best not to look too pitying but he didn't think he succeeded. All he could think of was those kids that he and Neela had seen on the news that morning and how desperate they must be. He had an idea, then, of why Jake might be in the state he was in, how he had gotten the beating.

'Jake, do you live on the streets?' The lack of answer, combined with the stolid refusal to meet his gaze was all the reply Ray needed to confirm the truth.

Ray allowed a silence to fall between them, sensitive to Jake's feelings. There were tears in the boy's eyes, and he knew that Jake would do anything to prevent anyone from seeing him cry, so Ray gave him the time to regain control, even if that meant that his barriers would be back in place.

Eventually, he said, 'I want to get someone to come and talk to you Jake.'

'Who?'

'A social worker.'

'No!' he shouted instantly. 'No damn social workers.' Whatever happened, he wasn't going to be talking to any social workers. They were a bunch of useless do-gooders who couldn't care less. In fact, they were worse than that, they pretended to care, which in Jake's eyes was the worse crime of all.

He had spoken to enough of them over the years to know that all they trotted out was lies and false hope. He had had quite enough of that.

Ray carefully noted the boy's reaction, but pushed a little harder, trying to work out how far he could go in trying to help this kid. 'One of the social workers here, she's very nice, and –'

'Were you not listening to me? I said, no social workers,' he repeated angrily. He sat up, and hauled himself out of bed, a hand clutched to his stomach as he stood hunched over in pain. 'I gotta get out of here. I'm off if you're getting those guys involved.' His voice had gotten a little panicky, and before Ray could get around to the other side of the bed to stop him, Jake had pulled on his jeans and threw his hoodie on over the hospital gown. He jostled past Ray, bumping into him heavily, and Ray was surprised at his strength given his injuries. He reached out and grabbed the boy by the shoulder.

'Woah there buddy. You're not going anywhere. I've still got to fix you up.'

Jake struggled hard to pull himself free from Ray, with the advantage of three or four inches in height, as well as ten years in age, soon managed to get the upper hand. Trying not to exacerbate the injuries in any way, he forced Jake back towards the bed.

'Fine. No social workers.' The boy had completely flipped out, but as soon as Ray promised to keep the social workers out of it, he seemed to calm down to a degree, and stopped fighting Ray's efforts to get him back into the bed.

Just at that moment, Chuny poked her head around the door, and Ray called out to her. 'Chuny, could I have a suture kit in here please, and get Jerry to order a decent meal to be sent in as well. And when I'm done with my needlework, could you take some blood, I want a CBC done.'

'No problem.'

When Chuny returned with the suture kit, he set it up while she took the blood that was needed. He put on a pair of surgical gloves and returned to the bedside. 'Okay then, I'm going to give you a small shot of local anaesthetic to numb your eyebrow while I'm stitching you up. Do you want me to numb where I put the needle in?' It was an option Ray would definitely have taken every time. He would have had to shut his eyes as well – imagine a great big needle coming straight at your face.

But Jake seemed unperturbed. 'No thanks, just get on and do it.'

Ray worked in silence until he was about to put the last stitch in. Before he did so, he leant back from the bed and looked Jake straight in the eye. 'So, if you're not going to tell a social worker what's going on, how about telling me instead?'

Jake blinked in surprise. It had been a long time since he'd met anyone who cared enough to ask. 'Long story,' he said, in the sort of tone that practically begged for someone to question him further.

Ray smiled grimly. 'Try me.'