Steve was becoming accustomed to his new temporary surroundings. He had infiltrated the hideout of Joey Spinelli as a sort of make-shift doctor in case of any "altercations." He knew enough about medicine to get by. He was a bit surprised, though, at how readily he had been accepted, but he was pretty sure that Spinelli and his slightly less than bright henchman didn't suspect him. Steve hadn't found any listening devices in his quarters, and they seemed to like him pretty well. He was keeping a journal of his time in the hideout, mostly because it was part of his assignment. He knew it was important to the files and perhaps future cases. But it was so boring! Perhaps we'll take a look at it some other time. But for now, let's get back to the action. This assignment wasn't as tough as Steve had originally thought it could be. All he had done was collected vital information about the crime guild. And stopped an attempted murder. No big deal. All he had to do now was arrest Spinelli. But Captain Newman wouldn't let him until they had more "incriminating evidence."

Steve scrawled down the rest of his day in the journal. If Newman was going to make him do this, he figured he would have fun with it, making his boss sift through the worthless facets of everyday life to get to the important stuff. He realized he had been hanging around Jesse too long. Just as Steve was finishing up documenting his last restroom visit, he heard Spinelli call for him.

"Eh doc! Come 'ere a minute!"

Steve put up his notebook, warily walked out of his room and, at the horribly unexpected sight of his very pale best friend lying on the floor, had to choke back a "Jesse!?"

"Doc, I need ya to take a look at what Bernie dragged in."

Steve tried not to run over to his, shall we say, fallen comrade. He knealt by Jesse's side and quickly looked him over.

Steve was the last person Jesse expected to see leaning over him. One of the factors that helped keep him quiet was that he thought he was hallucinating.

"Uh, I-I'll just take him back to my room to look him over." Steve carefully lifted Jesse and took him to the back room.

A billion things were racing through Steve's head. He was, of course, worried. Jesse didn't seem to recognize him. He only hoped his young friend was alright. But he was also rather angered with the doctor that he had gotten involved when he wasn't supposed to be. "Jesse, what is going on?" Steve demanded as he not terribly carefully lay him down on a cot.

Jesse winced, both from the pain and from the anger evident in his friend's voice. Yep, it was definitely Steve. "It's a long story. Oh, just so you know, I have amnesia." He continued despite an even angrier look from Steve. "Just play along."

"Jess, how do you manage--"

Jesse started to cower. "Let's just say I got in way over my head, which is really killing me right now, along with my shoulder and side, so please, just don't get mad at me." He looked absolutely pathetic. "By the way, what are you doing here?"

Steve walked over to the cabinet and took an armful of medical supplies. "If you happen to remember correctly, I was the one who was assigned to the case."

"Yeah yeah, save the lecture, please!" He began to shed his shirt for the examination, then realized how painful it was to undress with a wounded shoulder.

"Okay, this time, I'm the doctor," Steve reminded. "Now where does it hurt?" he quipped.

"Everywhere," Jesse snorted, then got to business. "I have a gunshot wound to the shoulder, I think I have a concussion, 'Big Bob' out there gave me quite a kick in the ribs, to wake me up I assume, and to top it all off, I may as well be dehydrated. You wouldn't happen to have any painkillers lying around anywhere?"

Steve finished pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the dresser. "Way ahead of you." He helped Jesse lift his head an he swallowed the pills, along with the rest of the water, obviously very grateful.

"Jess, I don't understand it." Steve tried not to be frustrated with his friend, at least until he recovered. "I'm the cop. How do you always manage to get in trouble?" he asked, waving his finger in front of Jesse's face, checking for a concussion. He then lifted Jesse's head and looked at the wound, as gently as possible washing it out.

"Hey, what can I say? It's a talent." He carefully lowered his head. "How's it look, Doc?"

Steve gave him a little glare. "Well, as far as I can tell, you have a concussion, and I don't think it's mild this time." He dressed the wound, albeit rather sloppily, and moved down to the shoulder, ripping off the rest of the sleeve. "Ooo. That looks painful."

"Yeah, I bet. How do you think I feel?" Jesse winced. "I've lost a lot of blood, too. You wouldn't happen to have any transfusions lying around, would you? Type O?" he tried.

"Sorry Jess, that's gonna have to wait." After carefully washing out the wound, he asked, "Do I need to take the bullet out?"

"Oh please no! Sorry Buddy, but I don't exactly trust you to do surgery yet." Jesse closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Well, as deep as his swollen ribs would allow. He was absolutely exhausted from all the pain and blood loss. His head was pounding and he just couldn't focus. "Just clean and dress it."

Steve followed his orders and then moved down to the ribs. "Do you think any of them are broken?"

Jesse tried to look down at the large purple bruise on his ribcage. "That's why you're here." He gave Steve one of his cheeky grins. "I think they're just bruised."

"Yeah, that's what you said about your ankle when it looked like that," Steve grunted.

"Hey. Ankles can be tricky. I think I can tell with the ribs."

"Mm-hm." Steve wasn't quite convinced, but who was he to argue with an MD degree? "So what do I do with them?"

"Nothing. Just put some ice on it."

"Alright. Can I get you anything to eat while I'm in the kitchen? You must be starving."

Only then did Jesse realize how hungry he was. "You know what, I am. I don't care, just get me some food. Oh, and don't forget -- I have amnesia."

"Right." Steve quietly closed the door behind him. He was really worried about Jesse. He didn't care how he had gotten himself into this. He just hoped that they could both get out alive.

"Hey Oscar, how's the stray?" Steve found Joey's new "term of endearment" for Jesse absolutely degrading. Well, it was kinda funny… Not that his own alias was much better. "He's still not remembering anything. I'm getting him an icepack for the bruised ribs." Steve hurried into the kitchen, trying to avoid the crime boss for more reasons than one. Once there, he quickly made an icepack and a ham sandwich and hurried back to Jesse.

"Hey Jess, ham sandwich okay?" The only answer Steve got was a heavy, even breathing. He walked over to his friend, who had fallen asleep as soon as Steve had left the room. He gently positioned the ice pack over the bruised ribs. Jesse didn't even stir.

Now I'm sure that you, as the poor suffering reader, are wondering what the heck happened to Jesse! Come on, you knew he had to get into trouble! So, let's see just how he did it this time.

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. . .Coming up in the next chapter! Hey, a bit of a longer chapter this time! My muse is on her way back, and she better help me out with this Scarlet Letter paper I have to write. Anyway, you guys better be happy, I got in trouble for working on my stories during Spanish class today! Tehe! "Como?" and a simple "Si" doesn't go over too well when trying to answer a question in Spanish. I admitted to doing an "otra cosa" and had to put my notebook away. ANYWAY, at least she likes me... don't you all wish you cared? Anyway, don't worry, I'm still trying to work on both stories, and I've even got the next chapter started! So, thanks for reading, and please continue to review! It really helps! Thanks, and God bless!