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, then realized why the doctor was so fond of the bland hospital food.
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?"
A/N: Triage dialogue borrowed without permission from ER transcripts, because lawsuits are Fun!
