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

Author's notes: Doctor Gavin Reed appeared in the Season Four episode "Delusions of Murder" (spoilers). Also major references to "Alienated" and minor ones to other eps.

Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews.

TRANCE.

Part Twenty-One.

Across the city at Community General, Amanda sat in silent vigil at Mark's bedside. Her dear friend looked as though he was sleeping peacefully, but she knew that the appearance was deceptive. Mark was heavily sedated, giving his body the chance to recover from the brutality that it had undergone.

His slumber – unnatural though it might have been – seemed peaceful and undisturbed by dreams. Amanda envied him that; though a part of her shied away from such selfishness. She should be grateful that he was enjoying such peace because he faced a nightmare reality when he awoke. And she shuddered inwardly when she wondered how he might react.

Her hand, again, strayed towards her swollen lip. She just couldn't stop touching it – even though it flared with pain each time that she did. The horrific scene insisted on replaying itself over and over again in her mind and she was having a hard time believing that it had ever been real. The pain reminded her that it was.

But still she was lost in turmoil. She didn't want to believe that Jesse would ever be capable of such a heinous act – and yet she had seen it for herself.

Unlike Steve, she didn't descend instantly into anger. Instead, she was lost in bewilderment. And, whenever she had been faced with a seemingly unsolvable mystery before, she had turned to her friends for assistance. Together they would sort through the facts, bounce around the ideas and – eventually – reach a conclusion. But one of her friends was in jail; another was the cop who'd arrested him; and the third…

She bit back a sigh and returned her attention to Mark. Nothing had changed and he still rested peacefully. Again, Amanda felt a surge of jealousy. She thought that she would never enjoy such a luxury again.

Jesse walked meekly back to his cell, guided by a surprisingly gentle hand on his elbow. After the ferocity he had faced from Steve, he hadn't expected to encounter any form of kindness. After all, most of the cops at the precinct knew Mark and wouldn't be impressed that an attempt had been made on his life.

As he trudged automatically along, his mind was whirling – replaying exactly what he had done and trying to put some feeling to the memory. It was frightening; almost as though he were replaying a scene from a movie because, though there was no longer any doubt in his mind that he had done what he'd been accused of, there was no emotion there either.

He must have felt something. There had to be some emotion driving him to such ferocity. He could even see himself striking out at Amanda and then struggling with Steve – but his feelings remained totally detached.

And he couldn't answer the one question that Steve had repeatedly thrown at him. He couldn't say why he'd done it. He couldn't even say what had been going through his mind – that memory wasn't there. If it weren't for the fact that he could see his own hands locked around Mark's throat, then he would have sworn that the whole thing was a mistake.

But he could see it. He could see every last damning second.

Thinking about it was only adding to the pain that pounded in his head. The nausea that accompanied it reminded him that he had also apparently gone on a drinking binge and now he was paying for it with the mother of all hangovers. But wherever he'd gone and whatever he'd done before his arrest – which was another frightening blank in his memory – remained totally elusive to him.

Sergeant Liam McPherson – known as Mac to all of his colleagues – swung the cell door shut behind his prisoner and locked it, worry deepening the creases on his lined face. Something was definitely wrong with the young man and he had been a cop for too long to just ignore the bad feeling that he had.

Jesse Travis didn't look like a potential killer – despite what Mac had witnessed for himself; despite the memory of how the kid had struggled and fought with Steve until it had taken a hefty punch to stop him. It still didn't feel right, mostly because of Travis's reactions – or lack thereof – since he'd regained consciousness. There had been no hint of the murderous rage that had seemingly possessed him; not even remorse, or fear or confusion. In fact, there had been absolutely nothing. And Mac had been left guarding the broken shell of a man that now stood on the other side of the bars.

At first, the seasoned cop had been furious with Travis – Mark Sloan was a familiar face around the precinct and was known to be an all round good guy. But he also knew Travis. Though not as frequent a visitor as Steve's dad, he had been around the precinct often enough for them to develop a nodding acquaintance – and his knowledge of the ebullient, if sometimes overly-excitable, young man didn't sit right with what he had witnessed. And Mac knew that if Steve just stepped back for long enough, then he would see the same thing.

So the seasoned officer successfully pushed his anger to one side and then quickly found that it turned into worry. The young man stood just inside the door of the cell – and it had taken a firm hand in the small of his back to get him that far – looking lost and bewildered, as though he had no idea as to where he was or what he should do. He hadn't even acknowledged the removal of the handcuffs. His arms had fallen limply to his sides and he had made no move to rub at his abraded wrists as would have been the natural reaction.

"Hey, kid," he said – unwilling to just leave him standing there like a zombie. "Why don't you try and get some rest? At least sit down."

Haunted blue eyes rose to briefly meet his, but the contact was fleeting and the dead gaze again lowered to the ground. But, much to Mac's relief, Travis did drift over to the bunk and lowered himself onto it.

The cop turned away, fully intending to head back to the desk to hand over his shift, but something about that momentary eye contact halted him in his tracks. He turned and peered back into the cell.

His prisoner was perched on the edge of the bunk, staring at nothing. Mac didn't like his expression one little bit. He'd seen it before, on prisoners who'd been driven by God only knew what to commit heinous crimes that their families hadn't believed them capable of. They looked as though they'd died on the inside – and when someone was dead on the inside…

Mac heaved out a sigh and quickly dragged a chair into the corridor outside the cell containing the young doctor. He made a quick call on his radio and then settled himself down for the duration. His shift was officially over, but he wasn't willing to simply walk away.

Suicide watch wasn't his favourite duty, but it went with the job.

A glance at the arrest records, a few words with the dispatch officer and the glowering presence of Captain Newman soon had Steve talking – via radio – to the two cops who had arrested Jesse the previous night. Unfortunately, the conversation was proving to be a difficult one.

Eddie Lewis and his partner, Linda Newbury, had both instantly gone on the defensive at what they saw as Steve's implication that they had somehow deliberately harmed the young man they had picked up drunk and almost comatose. So Steve was forced to hurriedly back-pedal and rephrase the question which, he reluctantly admitted to himself, might have been worded a little gruffly.

"Okay, listen," he said, his tone much calmer than it had been. Antagonising his colleagues was not the way to get answers. "All I want to know is whether you needed to cuff him. Yes or no – that's all."

"Cuff him?" It was Newbury's voice that responded. "That guy didn't need handcuffs. Hell, he fell asleep in the back of the squad car. If anything's happened to him, it happened…"

"Before you found him," Steve murmured, mostly to himself. "I don't suppose you noticed…"

"Lieutenant Sloan, he was a D&D." Lewis's more aggressive voice cut in. "We picked him up and were gonna book him. It was the custody officer who insisted on calling you first. We were by the book."

"No-one's doubting you were, Lewis," Steve answered on a sigh. His talk with the uniforms had only raised even more questions in his tired mind.

He was horribly aware of Newman still hovering over him and quickly sought a plan of action that might get the investigation moving.

"I need to talk to Jesse again," he eventually said, inwardly wincing in anticipation of the protests that were bound to follow.

"No you don't." Newman's response was utterly predictable.

"I said 'talk to' not 'interrogate'." Steve had his argument already planned, even though he feared it would be futile. He was right.

"And I said no." Now there was unmistakable annoyance in the Captain's voice. He had cut his detective a lot of slack over the past few hours, but that was about to change. "It's not open for discussion."

Steve was tempted to push his luck just a little further but, after a brief internal debate, common sense prevailed. He knew Captain Newman well and also knew exactly how far he could push him. And it was clear that he had reached – if not already overstepped – that limit. But nor could he just switch off, go home and then try to pick up the pieces some other time. That wasn't who he was.

But, as Steve knew his Captain, so Newman knew him in return.

"Travis isn't going anywhere," he said into the silence. "And I don't see anything that's changed that will make him more talkative right now. I'll get the doctor to look in on him and then we'll start afresh when we have more information."

"You're taking a kinda hands-on approach to this, aren't you?" Steve muttered dourly.

"Sloan, your father might be a bug up my butt most of the time, but we go back a long way. I don't like the idea of someone trying to kill him – and damned near succeeding." Newman paused to glower at his star detective. "And if you ever tell him that, then I'll have your badge."

The Captain personally ensured that Steve actually left the precinct. He knew what his man was capable of and wouldn't have put it past him to try and go behind his superior's back. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time.

Then he collected the on-duty doctor and made his way down to the holding cells, where he realised that any attempt by Steve to sneak in unnoticed would have been futile anyway.

"Mac?" he queried, as the Sergeant got to his feet – surprised to see him still on duty.

"Just keeping an eye on him, Sir," the seasoned officer shrugged. "He seemed a bit… I dunno, but I figured it wouldn't do any harm."

Newman nodded in tacit approval. Mac was a veteran, even if he had chosen never to rise up very far through the ranks, and the Captain was happy to trust his judgement if he considered Travis to be a suicide risk: "How's he doing?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the cell.

"Hard to tell." Mac shrugged again. "He hasn't moved since I put him in there."

After another nod towards the custody officer, Newman turned his attention towards the doctor – Leighton Farthing.

"Ready, Doc?" he asked, watching Mac unlock the cell door. Then, noticing Farthing's frown, he explained: "The last time this kid was alone with a doctor, he tried to kill him. I'll be going in with you."

"I heard about Doc Sloan…" Farthing suppressed a shudder. He had heard of both of the doctors involved – even knew them, though not familiarly. The entire situation seemed impossible and he knew that he had no reason to fear Jesse Travis. Then he sighed. Stranger things had happened – even if he was hard pressed to think of one offhand: "After you, Captain."

Newman led the way into the cell – aware that Mac was also accompanying them. He made no comment. He had heard how violent Travis had been and was far too prudent to refuse extra back-up.

Travis didn't even glance up as they approached. In fact, he gave no sign at all that he was even aware of their presence. He just continued to stare at the stained concrete floor between his feet.

"Alright, Travis," Newman snapped, stopping just short of the prisoner. "The doctor's gonna take a look at you now." He almost added a warning as to what would happen if he were to try anything – but it was pointless. The young man seemed virtually catatonic. With a mental shrug – this really wasn't his area of expertise – he stood to one side.

Farthing didn't say a word, but just dropped into a crouch in front of the young man. He reached out and gently turned the blonde head to one side; scrutinising the bruise that coloured his temple. Another gentle touch raised the prisoner's head and brought into view more discolouration around his jaw. With a slight shake of his head, the older doctor reached for his penlight. Even shining the thin beam into flat and empty blue eyes didn't provoke any more response than the reflexive dilation of the pupils.

"Is this everything?" Farthing asked, glancing up at Newman.

"Not by a long shot, doc," the Captain growled in response. "On his body, too."

Much the same way as Steve had, Farthing carefully eased the young man's jacket open. His tattered shirt did nothing to hide the ugly marks that marred his torso.

There was complete silence in the cell for a long moment as the three men looked at the vivid burns and cuts. Then Farthing hissed out a breath.

"What the hell happened to him?"

"We were hoping you could tell us that, doc," came Newman's sardonic response.

Steve didn't go home – there was no force on this Earth that could have made him. Instead, he drove straight to the hospital, despite the fact that it was now mid-afternoon and his recent lack of sleep was beginning to weigh heavily on him. But even his exhaustion couldn't stop his mind from buzzing with questions and trying to process the little information that he had.

His anger still lurked, just below the surface, as he couldn't shake the images that were constantly being replayed in his head. Jesse had tried to kill his father. That was a fact – and the only fact that did not hold even the slightest hint of doubt. He had witnessed it; he had prevented his father's murder. He could still feel the impact of his fist slamming into Jesse's jaw. And it was that one solid, unshakable fact that was blinding him to everything else.

Yes, there was more going on than Jesse simply losing his head and attacking Mark. Yes, there was still a mystery to be solved. Who had hurt Jesse so badly? And why? And how had they driven him into taking such drastic action against a man who he had once confessed he wished was his own father?

Steve was grimly determined to get answers to his questions, but a small part of him felt that – at the end of the day – those answers didn't really matter. A truth would emerge eventually; reasons would be found; an explanation given. But none of it would take away the simple fact that kept returning to plague him: the fact that it had actually happened.

Nothing would ever take that away.

Walking into the hospital was something of a strange experience for Steve. He had been awake for hours – and to see the general everyday bustle in the corridors of Community General threw him for something of a loop. His body kept insisting that it was time he went to bed – but his eyes, were telling him otherwise.

He ignored his own needs and headed straight to his dad's room. Even though there was a strong possibility that Mark would still be sleeping under sedation, he needed to see him. He arrived there just as Doctor Swanson was coming through the door.

"Doc?" Steve asked, not knowing why he was surprised to see him there. "My dad?"

"Still resting comfortably," Swanson responded – but there was an edge to his voice that warned Steve not to change that status quo. "So is Doctor Bentley. She finally fell asleep about an hour ago."

"I won't wake them." Steve easily interpreted the underlying message in the doctor's words. "I just… I just need to take a look in on him."

"I understand." Swanson's attitude softened slightly. He knew how close father and son were. "But please, don't disturb them."

"I won't." It was easy for him to make that promise, because it was the last thing that he intended to do. God knew, his dad needed to recover – and Amanda had been on the go almost as long as he had.

With a reassuring smile, he eased the door open and slipped inside.

The room was in darkness, the blinds drawn and the lights turned down low. Steve quickly closed the door behind him to prevent too much of the harsh light of the corridor from spilling into the room.

Even in the dimness, he could easily make out Amanda's form, curled up on an armchair and covered with what looked like a standard hospital blanket. Steve smiled faintly at the sight. An armchair wasn't a standard piece of furniture in Community General's rooms and he figured that Ray Swanson might have had something to do with his friend being able to rest so comfortably – instead of attempting to sleep in one of the torture devices that laughingly passed as hospital chairs.

Then he idly wondered why no-one had ever done the same for him.

He'd kept bedside vigils before, but it had always been on one of the too-small, plastic chairs. But then he figured that he never kept such a vigil with any intention of sleeping and he would have refused such comfort even if it had been offered to him. The fact that he sometimes had dozed off – and then paid for it through his stiff neck and aching spine – was completely beside the point.

Steve quietly moved one of those very chairs closer to his father's bed. Then he turned it around and straddled it, resting his arms against its back as he looked at the older man.

Older. Steve fixated on that one word. His dad looked older than he'd ever seen him before. Even under sedation and out of immediate danger, there was a greyness to his face that he had never noticed before and a vulnerability about him that shocked him to his very core.

Mark Sloan was anything but vulnerable. He was strong and vital and always so alive. Except that very night, they had been cruelly reminded of his mortality. Again.

For the time being at least, the circumstances didn't even matter. A second heart attack might have been triggered by anything – and at any time. It was just a stark reminder that his father wouldn't live forever, even if he did seem larger than life sometimes. And that in all likelihood – unless his chosen career took him first – Steve would have to mourn him one day.

TBC…