I can only apologise for the lengthy delay in updating. Of course, there were the holidays – and I hope everyone had a wonderful time – but work has also gone to hell recently and the weather has been playing havoc with every aspect of my life.

Secondly, I need to apologise because this chapter is a little shorter than previous ones (see above for the reasons), but I hope to get back on track very soon – and I hope this is up to standard... Thanks for your patience and, even more, for your reviews and your Private Messages. I'm aware I owe some responses – but, please, bear with me.

As always, please heed the warnings (see chapter one). They are there for a reason.

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.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Amanda almost cursed in frustration as a voice on the end of the phone told her that Sheriff Harvey had left the office – and she didn't have any idea as to when he might be back.

Amanda then asked after Jesse, without holding out much hope that she'd get a positive response. If the receptionist didn't even know where the Sheriff was then what chance was there?

"Jesse?" the woman exclaimed. "Doctor Jesse? The one who saved Millie? Yes, he's with the Sheriff. I think I heard them talk about him going home?"

"Home?" Amanda repeated, numbly. "How?"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but they left ten minutes ago and I can't tell you any more than I already have."

"Alright, thank you." Unseen by the receptionist, Amanda shook her head, completely bemused.

Slamming her finger to the disconnect button, she dialled Jesse's cellphone number by heart – but it went unanswered.

Her shoulders sagging as she realised she was pretty much out of options, she dialled the airfield. If Jesse had found another way home, then the least she could do was inform them. It would save a plane being tied up unnecessarily – reserved for someone who was never going to show up.

Unlike Jesse's cell, this phone was answered on only the second ring and a chirpy voice thanked her for her call.

"Yeah, um... Sorry..." Amanda interrupted the clearly stylised greeting – most likely read from a script. She hadn't reached a receptionist before; but had spoken to a gruff man who had eventually accepted her attempts to reserve a flight. She rubbed at her brow and figured her previous call had just coincided with the woman's break. "I have a booking for a light aircraft, but there was no flight time..."

Then she was abruptly cut off: "Oh, you're calling about the doctor guy? Derek's on his way over with him now."

"I'm sorry," Amanda said, faintly. "Derek?"

"Sheriff Harvey. Sheriff Derek Harvey," the woman said with impatience – as though expecting Amanda to know who 'Derek' was.

"Oh... Okay," Amanda murmured. "I spoke to him..."

"He radioed in before and reckons they'll be ready to fly within the hour."

"Why are you doing this?" Jesse glanced sidelong at Sheriff Harvey as he asked the question.

To his relief, he was seated in the front of Harvey's patrol car – again paranoid that he might still yet be culpable for something – but the Sheriff's only word to him had been a gruff c'mon.

So he was left to wonder why the Sheriff was insisting on driving him to his cousin's airfield. The storm had only recently passed and, surely, the man had more important things to be taking care of.

But Harvey merely returned a sideways look of his own.

"We're about a fifteen minute drive from Gilbert's place and there's still a lot I don't know," he eventually drawled. "You can look out the window, but the scenery don't change much." He settled back in his seat, but his relaxed demeanour was belied by the tension in his features: "We also need to make a stop along the way."

"A stop? No." Jesse's protest was automatic and he never even considered what the stop might be. "No, just let me out and I'll call a cab."

"Three things." The Sheriff shot him another glance: "One, you don't know where the airfield is – so you could hardly direct a cab to it. Two, Gilbert won't be taking you anywhere without the say-so from me – so your cab ride would just be a whole waste of money. And three..." He put his foot down on the accelerator for effect: "I'm not stopping."

Jesse slumped back in his seat and turned his gaze to look out at the passing scenery. Much to his chagrin, it was as monotonous as the Sheriff had suggested it would be.

He heard Harvey mutter: 'I told you so.' But he didn't directly press Jesse any further. The ensuing silence fulfilled that task for him.

After only a few minutes, Jesse heaved a heartfelt sigh and began to talk.

He was not at all sure of exactly what he was going to reveal to the Sheriff – but he needed to say something. After all, the man was directly responsible for him being able to go home – even if the trip was seemingly going to be delayed. And he couldn't blame him for his curiosity. It was a trait that they both had in common.

"You said you were having a hard time seeing where all the blame was coming from," he murmured into the silence. "And it's hard... It's impossible..." He paused, not wanting to delve too deeply into self-analysis – worried by what he might find. He aimed to put it in more simplistic terms – for his own benefit more than Harvey's: "But it's like the most important person to you in the whole world; your closest friend or dearest family member; the one you'd do anything or give anything – anything – to help. And then you realise you can't. You have to let them down."

Jesse kept his eyes downcast as he spoke, feeling tears mist. In a strange way, trying to put his feelings into words was having an almost cathartic effect. It was helping him find some sense; some order.

"Mark is... was... He was this larger-than-life character." A smile touched his lips at the absolute truth in that description. "Not only the Head of Internal Medicine at Community General, but a consultant with the LAPD as well. He loves a mystery and has solved more crimes than..." He bit his lip and risked a glance at the Sheriff; realising he was just about to potentially risk insulting the man.

But Harvey had a small smile on his lips, as he responded: "He sounds like quite a guy."

"Yeah, he is." Jesse swallowed heavily. "That's what makes it so hard. I know I did what I had to do, but I also know that I've changed his life forever. I've taken so much away from him..." His voice broke, but he still tried to finish his explanation: "I've wrecked his life and..."

"Hold it, son. You wanna back that up for a second?" Harvey's sudden interruption shocked Jesse – as did the newly emerged harshness in his tone. "Didn't you tell me your friend is still alive?"

"Yes... yes he is..." Jesse stammered; his deeper emotions being thrust aside as he was suddenly made to feel nervous by this abrupt change in the other man's demeanour. "But..."

"But nothing. You said he likes solving mysteries, solving crimes." The Sheriff let his eyes stray from the road long enough to give him an icy stare. "In my experience, that takes intellect and intelligence – maybe some guile and cunning. And Head of Internal Medicine, you said. That sounds like a mostly academic role to me. Am I right?"

"Yes," Jesse answered, faintly. He still didn't know what had happened to change the Sheriff's attitude so dramatically; but he had a feeling he was about to find out. And he was right:

"So do you wanna tell me exactly what it is you think you've taken away from him?" Harvey snapped, demonstrating his agitation by braking too sharply as he turned the next corner. "What, you think because you took his arm you also took away his ability to use his brain?"

"No! No..." Jesse shouted the denial – and then repeated it more softly, as Harvey's words forced him to take a mental step back. Was that what he'd been thinking – even if it was only subconsciously? Because the Sheriff was right. While Mark's life would change – there was no denying that fact – it wouldn't stop. He owed Mark more credit than that – much, much more. If anyone could overcome such an injury and carry on with life, then it was most definitely Mark Sloan.

He had done – and was still doing him – a complete disservice with is recurring belief that he had destroyed Mark's life. And he hadn't even taken a minute to talk to his patient. Instead he had run away.

It shouldn't have taken a man who'd never even met Mark to make him see; to make him understand. Mark Sloan was larger-than-life; as he'd so recently described him. It was in his personality, his character, his very essence. And he would continue to be Mark Sloan for as long as he lived.

Nothing: no accident, or illness, or life changing – but not life ending – injury could ever change that.

Which brought a new fear: Mark still had to overcome his latest infection setback. It was like a physical slap in the face to Jesse.

"Sheriff... I'm sorry..." He slumped back in his seat – a new kind of guilt settling over him. But this was one that he refused to wallow in. This one he could use to his advantage – and use to help Mark. And he owed Sheriff Harvey for making him see: "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Harvey retorted, with a shake of his head. "We're here."

Amanda couldn't say how long she sat staring at the telephone, long after her call had been disconnected. It felt like just a few minutes; though it might have been hours; but could have been just a few mere seconds.

She had completely lost the ability to track the passage of time. She was lost in the echo of the words she'd just heard:

Jesse was on his way home – and a smile lit her face so brightly, it threatened to split it in two.

She had to share the news with Steve and Mark. Though Mark might be unconscious, she hoped that – on some level – he could still hear her. The subconscious was an immensely powerful thing and the news of Jesse coming home could only be beneficial to his recovery.

She knew he had devastatingly noticed his absence.

As she ran down the corridor – protocol and decorum be damned – she mentally tried to calculate the flight time from Oregon to LA. She didn't have a clue – but figured it was a whole lot less than the half-day's drive time they'd otherwise have to wait for.

Then she neared Mark's room and her footsteps slowed.

Her own excitement had been nearing fever pitch – and she had to calm down. She couldn't go bursting into the room, shouting out her news. She had to remember that it was the ICU she was about to enter.

And she had to find her perspective again.

Jesse was on his way home – but that fact didn't lower Mark's temperature; didn't take away the infection raging within him. Maybe her news could help – but, in the meantime, he was still gravely ill.

Taking a deep breath and striving to maintain control of her breathing, Amanda opened the door and was greeted by the exact same sight she'd so recently left. Steve looked as though he hadn't moved a single muscle – and he didn't even start when she quietly walked in.

But he still knew she was there:

"No change," he muttered; his voice almost lost even in the hush of the room. "No change. What's that supposed to mean? They won't even tell me if he needs the operation or not."

Then Steve did move; reaching up with his bandaged hand, intending to rub at his tired eyes. But he was brought up, sharply, by the pain – and then slumped back into his previous position.

Her priority shifted and Amanda dropped into a crouch at Steve's side.

"Hey, 'no change' is good news," she said, keeping her voice as low as his had been. "It means he hasn't got any worse. And... and, Steve, I've got better news..." She paused, praying that it would still be received as such. Steve had been volatile – to say the least. "Jesse's got a flight home. He's coming home."

She inadvertently looked at Mark as she said those words, but he didn't move; didn't twitch so much as a muscle. But she held on to her prayer that somewhere – even deep in his subconscious – he had heard her.

TBC