Sorry this whole story developement got a bit messy. I'm trying it again
with the 6th chapter. Enjoy!
Mark sadly looked down at the small figure in the hospital bed. Jesse was as pale as chalk, his face and body were covered with a thin film of sweat and he breathed as though a pile of stones was laying on his chest. His blonde hair was wet and his shirt, which was practically stuck on his burning hot body, as well.
Mark felt also rather sick, but for other reasons than his young friend, it was a sickness, which was caused by feelings of guilt and anger about how someone was able to this to a human being. And somehow it was also his fault. Jesse was completely innocent.
Mark got up from the uncomfortable chair and settled down at the edge of the bed. Scrutinisizing the young resident, he suddenly realised how much he felt for this man. It was as though his own son was laying there. Checking on Jesse's pulse, which was weak and racing, Mark saw some small scars on the inside of his arm. They weren't elongated like those you get from cuts, but little circles, which looked a bit like stings, which one had scratched too often. For someone who didn't know that they were there, they were not to recognise, but Mark knew that they were and how Jesse had got them. The deadly red marks from then had left their traces.
Mark sighed deeply. "That's all my fault!" he muttered and added, shaking his head "And I don't even know what I've done!" That's was actually the most awful thing about this. Mark only knew that someone had wanted to punish him, but he had no idea for what. He only knew that it should be him in that bed, not his friend. He felt so damn guilty. How often had he dragged his friends and his son into dangerous situations. For what? To meddle in things, just to proof that he was smarter than everyone else? Was such a witess hobby really worth risking the life of the people who meant the world to him?
Jesse groaned and mumbled something in his drugged sleep. Probably he was fantasizing.
Mark didn't believe that Jesse was able to hear him, but he had to tell him something. "I'm sorry, really, Jess. Please don't give up. You're probably going through the hell, but I know you're gonna make it." He was silent for moment and watched Jesse, who didn't react in any way. Each of his breaths seemed to be taken with his whole remaining strength.
A flash illuminated the room for a few seconds with a scaring blue light and shortly after that the noises of thunders could be heard from far away. Mark and Jesse both winced at the first bang. Jesse curled up under his covers and started to shiver. Maybe he was having a nightmare, at least he was sweating more than ever.
Mark stroked him. "It's ok, Jess, calm down, I'm right here..." Then Mark paused for a moment and looked down to the floor. Something was nagging him and he wanted Jesse to hear it. Mark had tried to repress this odd feeling but deep inside he knew that, if Jesse would...would die...he would regret that he had never said this to him. He wasn't sure how much Jesse was able to understand in his delirious condition, it was certainly not much, but he had to talk to him. Jesse was much calmer now, almost a bit too calm, Mark assumed that he was getting weaker. That illness was slowly gaining the upper hand.
"When Alex rushed into this damn conference to tell me that something was wrong, I firstly thought that Steve had been hurt. Then I was told that it was you and...god, seeing you on the couch, seeing you now...that hurts. It is as though my own flesh and blood would be laying there. I know that I am not your dad and that you are not my son, but you mean the same to me. And I know that you are like a brother to Steve, he doesn't show it, but he loves you very much. You and Steve and Amanda and I, we're a team, you can't let us down..."
Mark couldn't speak furtherly. He didn't want to start crying, but he was very close to it.
Suddenly Jesse opened his eyes for a moment and looked at Mark. His eyes were painful and a little glazed, but Mark believed to see a bit of amusement in them. "That was said nicely...", croaked Jesse and coughed.
"How...how long have you been listening?", Mark asked, a bit surprised.
Jesse grinned weakly. "Long enough to make you feel considerably emberassed..."
Mark chuckled. "Yeah, but I meant what I said..."
Jesse nodded. "I know...thanks!" He watched Mark for a moment. This man had always been there for him, always listened to him, always paid attention to him, thought that was certainly not his duty. Jesse had never told that anybody, but secretly he had always felt a bit ashamed because Mark had injected himself Jesse's blood in order to find an serum against that smallpox virus. He hadn't known Mark really well at that time. They had been friends and colleagues, of course, but was that enough of a reason to risk your life for the other one? What if Mark had also died?! Jesse had often wondered if his own life would have really been worth that. But he hadn't wanted to ask. He sensed that this was somehow silly.
"You should go home, Mark. You are tired and knackered. You don't need to worry about me!"
Mark shook his head sternly. "But I do, Jess! And still I'm in a much better condition than you are, my friend, and if you think I will just sit at home and wait for better weather, you've erred. But I'll take the offer and fetch some coffee for myself." He smiled as he got up.
"I promise I won't run away!" replied Jesse and tried to laugh. But every movement was an anguish for him.
As Mark stepped out into the dark hall, he almost struggled with the tears. Jesse was still so young. He was a capable doctor and a honest man, and he was tough. What he missed in respects of height and muscles, added to his stubborness and his fighting spirit. Mark really wished he could trade places with him at the moment.
Suddenly Mark heard the clicking of a trigger behind his back. "Dr Sloan, how are you?" said a low voice and by that Mark could feel the barrel of a gun, which got against his spine. He didn't answer the obviously rhethorically meant question, but stood completely motionless.
No one passed by, it was already late, most of the staff was napping somewhere or doing duty at the receptions of the different units in the hospital. Mark gulped. "What do you want?" asked he his stalker.
"To the emergency exit!" commaded the other one.
Mark slowly walked to the door at the end of the corridor. He didn't dare to turn around. Who was this? And what did he want from him? As Mark opened the door, he wanted to go downstairs, but the man with gun leaded him into the other direction. Mark could hear his nasty voice. "To the roof, doc. Always upwards!"
****Please clap your hands together, I got it: motionless!!! :-) Well, my little study is getting bigger and bigger: I know for sure that my maths teacher, my German teacher and my Latin teacher definetly don't like DM. Or maybe they just don't like it if I pay more attention to my spiral note pad than to their very interesting * yawn * lessons. Never mind, please review, though I know that this is quite short! :-s
Mark sadly looked down at the small figure in the hospital bed. Jesse was as pale as chalk, his face and body were covered with a thin film of sweat and he breathed as though a pile of stones was laying on his chest. His blonde hair was wet and his shirt, which was practically stuck on his burning hot body, as well.
Mark felt also rather sick, but for other reasons than his young friend, it was a sickness, which was caused by feelings of guilt and anger about how someone was able to this to a human being. And somehow it was also his fault. Jesse was completely innocent.
Mark got up from the uncomfortable chair and settled down at the edge of the bed. Scrutinisizing the young resident, he suddenly realised how much he felt for this man. It was as though his own son was laying there. Checking on Jesse's pulse, which was weak and racing, Mark saw some small scars on the inside of his arm. They weren't elongated like those you get from cuts, but little circles, which looked a bit like stings, which one had scratched too often. For someone who didn't know that they were there, they were not to recognise, but Mark knew that they were and how Jesse had got them. The deadly red marks from then had left their traces.
Mark sighed deeply. "That's all my fault!" he muttered and added, shaking his head "And I don't even know what I've done!" That's was actually the most awful thing about this. Mark only knew that someone had wanted to punish him, but he had no idea for what. He only knew that it should be him in that bed, not his friend. He felt so damn guilty. How often had he dragged his friends and his son into dangerous situations. For what? To meddle in things, just to proof that he was smarter than everyone else? Was such a witess hobby really worth risking the life of the people who meant the world to him?
Jesse groaned and mumbled something in his drugged sleep. Probably he was fantasizing.
Mark didn't believe that Jesse was able to hear him, but he had to tell him something. "I'm sorry, really, Jess. Please don't give up. You're probably going through the hell, but I know you're gonna make it." He was silent for moment and watched Jesse, who didn't react in any way. Each of his breaths seemed to be taken with his whole remaining strength.
A flash illuminated the room for a few seconds with a scaring blue light and shortly after that the noises of thunders could be heard from far away. Mark and Jesse both winced at the first bang. Jesse curled up under his covers and started to shiver. Maybe he was having a nightmare, at least he was sweating more than ever.
Mark stroked him. "It's ok, Jess, calm down, I'm right here..." Then Mark paused for a moment and looked down to the floor. Something was nagging him and he wanted Jesse to hear it. Mark had tried to repress this odd feeling but deep inside he knew that, if Jesse would...would die...he would regret that he had never said this to him. He wasn't sure how much Jesse was able to understand in his delirious condition, it was certainly not much, but he had to talk to him. Jesse was much calmer now, almost a bit too calm, Mark assumed that he was getting weaker. That illness was slowly gaining the upper hand.
"When Alex rushed into this damn conference to tell me that something was wrong, I firstly thought that Steve had been hurt. Then I was told that it was you and...god, seeing you on the couch, seeing you now...that hurts. It is as though my own flesh and blood would be laying there. I know that I am not your dad and that you are not my son, but you mean the same to me. And I know that you are like a brother to Steve, he doesn't show it, but he loves you very much. You and Steve and Amanda and I, we're a team, you can't let us down..."
Mark couldn't speak furtherly. He didn't want to start crying, but he was very close to it.
Suddenly Jesse opened his eyes for a moment and looked at Mark. His eyes were painful and a little glazed, but Mark believed to see a bit of amusement in them. "That was said nicely...", croaked Jesse and coughed.
"How...how long have you been listening?", Mark asked, a bit surprised.
Jesse grinned weakly. "Long enough to make you feel considerably emberassed..."
Mark chuckled. "Yeah, but I meant what I said..."
Jesse nodded. "I know...thanks!" He watched Mark for a moment. This man had always been there for him, always listened to him, always paid attention to him, thought that was certainly not his duty. Jesse had never told that anybody, but secretly he had always felt a bit ashamed because Mark had injected himself Jesse's blood in order to find an serum against that smallpox virus. He hadn't known Mark really well at that time. They had been friends and colleagues, of course, but was that enough of a reason to risk your life for the other one? What if Mark had also died?! Jesse had often wondered if his own life would have really been worth that. But he hadn't wanted to ask. He sensed that this was somehow silly.
"You should go home, Mark. You are tired and knackered. You don't need to worry about me!"
Mark shook his head sternly. "But I do, Jess! And still I'm in a much better condition than you are, my friend, and if you think I will just sit at home and wait for better weather, you've erred. But I'll take the offer and fetch some coffee for myself." He smiled as he got up.
"I promise I won't run away!" replied Jesse and tried to laugh. But every movement was an anguish for him.
As Mark stepped out into the dark hall, he almost struggled with the tears. Jesse was still so young. He was a capable doctor and a honest man, and he was tough. What he missed in respects of height and muscles, added to his stubborness and his fighting spirit. Mark really wished he could trade places with him at the moment.
Suddenly Mark heard the clicking of a trigger behind his back. "Dr Sloan, how are you?" said a low voice and by that Mark could feel the barrel of a gun, which got against his spine. He didn't answer the obviously rhethorically meant question, but stood completely motionless.
No one passed by, it was already late, most of the staff was napping somewhere or doing duty at the receptions of the different units in the hospital. Mark gulped. "What do you want?" asked he his stalker.
"To the emergency exit!" commaded the other one.
Mark slowly walked to the door at the end of the corridor. He didn't dare to turn around. Who was this? And what did he want from him? As Mark opened the door, he wanted to go downstairs, but the man with gun leaded him into the other direction. Mark could hear his nasty voice. "To the roof, doc. Always upwards!"
****Please clap your hands together, I got it: motionless!!! :-) Well, my little study is getting bigger and bigger: I know for sure that my maths teacher, my German teacher and my Latin teacher definetly don't like DM. Or maybe they just don't like it if I pay more attention to my spiral note pad than to their very interesting * yawn * lessons. Never mind, please review, though I know that this is quite short! :-s