Hi! This is the second part of "Cookie Hell" and madness still doesn´t take
it´s toe ...
There are even no cookies in it now. But cocktails!
Yeah, knew you´d like that, too.
Okay, enjoy the White Russians then.
Thanks for the reviews, by the way. Specially StrangePenguin! Obst rules!
All disclaimers still the same.
If bored doctors made him nervous, being bored himself drove him crazy.
Steve Sloan sat in his car, having experienced the one day in the year where there had been absolutely nothing to do, not even paper-work to get done, and felt the nagging thought, that something really terrible simply just had to happen on a day like this, scratching on the inside of the back of his head. He scratched the spot himself, trying to make it go away.
He was on his way to "BBQ Bob´s" to close it up - and what a task it was for a bored man!
Actually it´d been his partner´s task today, but having seen the patient being carried in the ER that day, Steve doubted that Jesse would show up.
That had to be understood, and , well, he did, but - "Why of all people does my business-partner have to be a doctor?! And not one with an office or stuff, no, course not, it has to be an ER-doctor who´s to work on every of his turns of bar-dutys!
Why do I have to drive there and close up the damn bar? It´s not my turn. I could be at home by now. Watching sports. Reading." He sighed. "Continue being bored. There are a lot of things I could do ´sides working and ... Oh, gee, who am I trying to kid? There´s nobody here. Now I´m talking to myself!"
The realization of said fact didn´t keep him from continuing till he reached the bar and parked in a side street.
He was still murmuring to himself, when he opened the door. The sign on it already had been turned to "closed".
"`kay, I´m here," he called, "Sorry I´m late, traffic´s murder. Thanks for waiting. You can go now."
No response.
Out of reflex, the hairs on Steve´s neck started to stretch out to their full size.
"Great," he thought, "I just knew something was going to happen. Me bored and reality don´t mix."
It was a simple reflex to reach out for his gun while he slowly stepped forward into the bar.
"Hello? Someone there?"
"Hey."
Jumping, the detective whirled around, gun in hands.
"Woah!" The supposed intruder´s hands came up in a rush, while there was already a grin forming on his lips. "Ah ..." he added, as he saw his partner starting to regroup himself, "don´t shoot. Please."
"Give me one good reason," Steve sneered, lowering his weapon and putting it away again. "Don´t do that to me, Jesse, it´s not funny."
"Pretty funny from here," Jess grinned.
Steve simply scowled at him, running a hand through his hair. He really had to stop being bored. It made him ...
"Kinda jumpy, are we?" Jesse finished his thought and went behind the bar, still grinning brightly. "Maybe you should consider not carrying your weapon, when ..."
"That´s enough, Jesse. I know I´ll never gonna hear the end of this, but for now, just leave it alone, `kay? What´re you doing here, anyway?"
"Ah, close the bar?" Jesse answered, frowning at his obviously confused friend. "My turn, remember?"
"I thought you had a patient?"
"That happens," he joked, while producing some bottles from behind the bar, putting them on it next to the ice he´d get from the cool-house when Steve had entered. "Yet, I wouldn´t neglect my duties, now, would I?"
"Oh. `kay," Steve said, observing Jesse´s task with his head lifted to one side as he would with something that crazy, he wouldn´t even mention it. "But the place should be closed since twenty minutes."
"It is. Just because detectives can´t read "closed"-signs, doesn´t mean everything not locked up isn´t closed."
Steve was getting really irritated. "Ahm ... But - what´re you doing here?"
"Mixing cocktails," the young doctor replied with a smile, as if he´d just waited for Steve to ask. "Want one?"
"Yes."
"Sit down."
Obeying, Steve sat down on the bar, watching Jesse preparing White Russians. "I didn´t know you could do that."
"Hey," Jesse said, hurt, "I´ve been to college."
Smiling at that, the detective decided to leave it and waited for his friend to shove the glass over the bar.
"Cheers."
They drank.
"You know, this is actually ... good," Steve told surprisedly.
"Why does that sound like you didn´t expected it to be?"
"´cause I didn´t."
"Yeah, thought so."
They sat in silence for a while, both enjoying the quiet atmosphere of their own bar, till Steve shot his friend an uncertain look, asking: "Hey, ahm, you´re okay?"
For a reason Steve couldn´t make out, Jesse sighed deeply.
"Yes, I´m okay. What is it with you guys today? Can´t I consume anything ´cept coffee without sending off the alarms in your heads?"
Steves´s brows had risen at this, now he added a smile to complete the perfect "Slow down"-look. "Kina edgy, are we?" he mocked his friend´s former question.
"At least I don´t point a gun at somebody when I am. Coming to think about it, I never do."
"Ooookay," Steve gave in, holding up his hands in defense. "You win. Now, bartender, care to make `nother one of those?"
"Hm. Wasn´t that your car I saw beeing parked across the road?"
"No, took a cap."
"Oh. Then."
Once again silence settled about the scenery, just two friends in a bar at night. "Hopper´d be delighted," Stebe thought and grinned contendedly.
It was then the door was opened slightly, a shy-looking nose being peeked in. "Ahm, hello?"
"We´re closed," the owners called out simultanously, without even looking at the door.
"Then you´re sign is correct," came a friendly voice from the now fully opened door.
Steve turned and saw a man of medium hight standing in the entry, smiling at him. He was in his mid-thirties, slim, and obviously nervous, referring to his clenching and unclenching hands at his sides.
"Can we help you?" Jesse asked, having also turned to look at the stranger.
"I don´t know," the man replied, then smiled again. "Or, no, I do know. It´s just ... Ahm, I´m your new neighbor. Sort of." He made a pause, then laughed softly, holding out his hand. "I´m sorry. Seamus Zeesley, hi."
Steve smiled and shook the man´s hand. As did Jesse.
"Steve Sloan," the detective introduced himself. "And that´s Jesse Travis, my business-partner."
"Hi. I, ah, I hired that book-shop across the street. We´re planning on opening tomorrow, and there were still some shelves to be filled, so I worked on it till now, to get it done, you know. But now everything´s closed, and, ahm, I just moved to LA ..."
He trickled off, giving them a sick-puppy-look Jesse could have been proud of, then smiled again, waving his hand. "You know, it was stupid to come here. I´d better be off and ..."
"No, wait," Steve called him back and smiled assuringly. "I´m sure there´s something left in the kitchen. There usually is."
"Yeah," Jesse agreed, "have a seat. I´ll go looking." He headed for the the kitchen.
"Wow, thanks," Seamus Zeesley bursted out and sat within a second. "I´m starving."
"Care for a drink, too?"
"Ahm, yeah. Great. Thanks."
"Bartender!"
"That are the second-best ribs I´ve ever eaten, really," Seamus Zeesley stated an hour, a few ribs and two drinks later.
In union, the two bar-owners´ eyes narrwoed.
"Beg your pardon?" Steve asked.
Smiling brightly at them, Zeesley nodded, as if the two looked liked they couldn´t believe the generousity of this compliment.
"No, really," he confirmed them, "they´re great."
"We know," Jesse told him.
Looking at one after the other, realization suddenly hit the poor man, and he laughed slightly. "Oh. Oh, now I ... ah, yes. Well, you ever been to Chicago?"
"Don´t tell us they make better ribs in Chicago," Steve warned him. "It´s not true."
Slightly drunk, as they all were, he glanced over the bar to get the support he expected from there. But it wasn´t exactly support shown in Jesse´s eyes. Irritated, the detective tried the verbal way. "Right, Jess?"
"Right," Jesse answered quickly, then bowed his head, stuttering, "not right. See, there is this place in Chicago called "Adam´s Ribs", and ..."
As Steve stared his young friend into the ground, Zeesley grinned triumphantly, pointing at his witness. "See? Listen ta the kid. Maybe you should go out more often, Steve."
"Maybe somebody should work on his loyalty," Steve suggested, still looking at Jesse who avoided his glare, till the detective gave it up and turned to Zeesley again. "And "Adam´s Ribs"´s a film, not a bar. It´s one of my dad´s favourites."
"But it´s also a bar ..." Jess started, but hushed when confronted with Steve´s look-to-kill again.
"Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy," Zeesley said and sighed. "Great movie. Saw it four times."
"You like this old stuff?" Steve made a face.
Zeesley smiled warmly. "I generally like old stuff."
"Old books."
Waving at Jesse, the man nodded. "Right. That´s why my shop´s called "Moriaty´s"."
"After Professor Moriaty," the detective guessed and earned a cheers- gesture.
"Who´s that?" the non-reader asked.
While Zeesley laughed in amusement, Sloan shook his head in disbelief.
"That´s the guy who killed Sherlock Holmes, Jess."
"Wow, Sherlock Holmes died?" the poor kid was obviously shocked.
Steve decided to simply ignore him and asked: "Why him? "Sherlock´s" woulda been nice, too."
"I liked Moriaty better. I always liked the bad guys better. They´re more ... interesting." He took a sip of his drink. "And with Holmes being high all the time ... I wanted the name to be a statement. "No drugs". It has children´s books in it, you know." He bowed his brows in an uncly way.
"Sherlock Holmes took drugs?"
"Forgive my young friend, Seamus, he doesn´t read."
"Hey, I do read. A lot. Just not ... recently. And I don´t like crime stories, anyway."
"No?" Zeesley asked surprisedly. "Why not?"
Steve chuckled, patting Jesse´s head. "He never reaches the conclusion before the ending."
"That´s it, no more Russians for you."
While the two friends continued teasing each other by simply shooting looks, Zeesley watched them amusedly.
"So, how long you two been doing this? It´s a great place by the way. I always wanted to have a bar in Chicago, but my wife didn´t like the idea. She likes to read, though."
"That´s a good reason," Steve said comfortingly, sipping at his drink, mumbling: "And Chicago sucks."
"I heard that. Just because we have better ribs ..."
"But no beaches," Jess interrupted, then thought it over. "Okay, yes, a beach, but ... no waves. And it´s cold."
"Sears Tower."
"Hollywood."
"Bulls."
"Ah ... Did I mention the weather?"
"Indirectly," Zeesley nodded. "But you´re right, it´s that good, it counts twice. LA wins. That´s why I moved here."
"Then you have to forget about this other place," Steve said, finally feeling like he´d defended his place´s hornor.
"What place?"
"Good boy. Jess," he ordered, pointing at Zeesley´s glass.
"We´re out of milk."
"So?" "Ah, yes," the smaller one nodded in understandment and put the bottle of vodka next to Zeesley´s glass.
Zeesley looked at it, uncertain. He obviously remebered that he had to open a shop the next morning. "Uh," he said, but was interrupted by Steve filling his glass.
"Doctor´s orders."
"Huh?"
"That´s me," Jesse stated, finger up, "I´m the doctor. Drink it."
"Oh. So you´re not only ..."
"No, we have regular jobs," Steve grinned. Zeesley shot him a look.
"And you´re ...?"
"Police detective," Sloan told him.
"Watch out, he has a gun."
But Zeesley´s eyes had grown wide at the sound of that. "Wow. You´re a real cop? In LA? Like Marlowe ... no wait, he was a private. But, hey, like Columbo!"
"Well, ah, sorta like that ..."
"Hey, there are famous doctors on TV, too."
"D´you really solve murder cases and stuff?"
"What about Quincy?!"
"Yes, I do."
"Wow, that´s so cool. See, I´m writing a book. A novel. A crime novel. It´s set in a city and ... You know, may I ask you some questions at time? About your job? Just things you´re allowed to tell, nothing, like, classified or stuff."
"Sure."
"Thanks." Impressed, Zeesley swalloed his vodka. He was so excited, he even forgot to make a face.
"That´s typical. Is there no doctor in your novel? He´s wow, ´cause he´s the cop, but I´m just a doctor."
"Oh, no, one of the character´s a doctor," Zeesley assured him.
"Really?"
"Yeah, he´s the bad guy."
Steve laughed so hard, he almost fell off his chair. Zeesley simply grinned.
"Funny," Jesse stated. "That´s so funny. Whoever invited you over, anyway?"
"Y-you know," Steve tried to say through his giggles, "I wanna have a copy of that novel, Seamus."
"Sure thing. Call me Shay."
One thing about hospitals: They were far too bright. And noisy. Couldn´t this people be a little considerate? They were doctors and nurses. They were supposed to be considerate, for god´s sake. But no, they were just loud and didn´t care wether they might bump into a colleage who´s head just might happen to be at the risk of exploding any second.
"You know, you look exactly like Steve did this morning, only his eyes were closed most of the time."
"Hm," Jesse replied, meaning that he wasn´t in the mood to be insulted. He figured "hm" would satisfy.
But Mark Sloan being Mark Sloan he enjoyed this far too much to let it go by that soon. He hadn´t done with his son, either.
"I take that as a "Please, Mark, sit down", " he grinned and sat down at the table in the Doctor´s Lounge, Jesse had chosen to place his head on. "Thanks. - Sooo, how´s it going?"
"Hm."
"Ah, yes, The patients are bleeding too loud, I expect?"
"Pleeeaaaaseeee ..."
But the world was out of mercy today. "You tried coffee?"
"No, adrenalin."
"Now you tell me. I should have given Steve some of it, too."
"I hope he´s not feeling any better than I do, or it´d be really unfair."
"Don´t worry, life´s fair enough."
"Good."
"He even managed to put his shirt on inside out, but he left the house, before I could tell him." Mark chuckled.
Involuntarily, Jesse checked his clothings. He´d almost decided to at least try to swalloe some coffee, when Amanda entered the Lounge.
"Hey," she greeted her friends and sat down. "How´s it ... Whatever happened to you?"
"I got hit by a truck," Jess mumbled, while attempting to stay up and get the coffee.
"At "BBQ Bob´s"," Mark explained. "With Steve."
"What were you doing there? I thought you´d gone home yesterday."
"Ahm ... I´m gonna get some coffee. Want some, too?"
Amanda smiled. "I don´t think you´ll be able to carry two mugs at a time."
The young doctor paused, frowned, then sighed. "There´s a perfect answer to that, and once my brain starts working again, I´ll give it to you." With that he shuffled along.
Amanda shook his head, glancing at Mark. "How´s Steve doing?"
"Pretty much like that. Seemed they met someone at the place last night. But I didn´t understand everything of his mumbling this morning. Something about books."
Amanda was about to give a statement about men and bars, when Mark´s cell phone rang. "Sloan? Steve! How´re you ... Yeah, he´s here. Hold on ... Jesse!"
Amanda eyed him questioningly, but he only shrugged. A second later, Jesse reentered the room, a steaming mug in both hands. "As a doctor you should know that noise, specially yelling causes a lot of invisible damage."
Ignoring the comment, Mark handed him the phone. "It´s Steve. He says it´s important."
Jesse frowned, then took it. "Hey Steve."
"Jesse, I´m at "Moriaty´s"."
" "Mor..."? That´s Shay´s shop. What ..."
"He´s dead."
"What?!"
"Someone shot him."
There are even no cookies in it now. But cocktails!
Yeah, knew you´d like that, too.
Okay, enjoy the White Russians then.
Thanks for the reviews, by the way. Specially StrangePenguin! Obst rules!
All disclaimers still the same.
If bored doctors made him nervous, being bored himself drove him crazy.
Steve Sloan sat in his car, having experienced the one day in the year where there had been absolutely nothing to do, not even paper-work to get done, and felt the nagging thought, that something really terrible simply just had to happen on a day like this, scratching on the inside of the back of his head. He scratched the spot himself, trying to make it go away.
He was on his way to "BBQ Bob´s" to close it up - and what a task it was for a bored man!
Actually it´d been his partner´s task today, but having seen the patient being carried in the ER that day, Steve doubted that Jesse would show up.
That had to be understood, and , well, he did, but - "Why of all people does my business-partner have to be a doctor?! And not one with an office or stuff, no, course not, it has to be an ER-doctor who´s to work on every of his turns of bar-dutys!
Why do I have to drive there and close up the damn bar? It´s not my turn. I could be at home by now. Watching sports. Reading." He sighed. "Continue being bored. There are a lot of things I could do ´sides working and ... Oh, gee, who am I trying to kid? There´s nobody here. Now I´m talking to myself!"
The realization of said fact didn´t keep him from continuing till he reached the bar and parked in a side street.
He was still murmuring to himself, when he opened the door. The sign on it already had been turned to "closed".
"`kay, I´m here," he called, "Sorry I´m late, traffic´s murder. Thanks for waiting. You can go now."
No response.
Out of reflex, the hairs on Steve´s neck started to stretch out to their full size.
"Great," he thought, "I just knew something was going to happen. Me bored and reality don´t mix."
It was a simple reflex to reach out for his gun while he slowly stepped forward into the bar.
"Hello? Someone there?"
"Hey."
Jumping, the detective whirled around, gun in hands.
"Woah!" The supposed intruder´s hands came up in a rush, while there was already a grin forming on his lips. "Ah ..." he added, as he saw his partner starting to regroup himself, "don´t shoot. Please."
"Give me one good reason," Steve sneered, lowering his weapon and putting it away again. "Don´t do that to me, Jesse, it´s not funny."
"Pretty funny from here," Jess grinned.
Steve simply scowled at him, running a hand through his hair. He really had to stop being bored. It made him ...
"Kinda jumpy, are we?" Jesse finished his thought and went behind the bar, still grinning brightly. "Maybe you should consider not carrying your weapon, when ..."
"That´s enough, Jesse. I know I´ll never gonna hear the end of this, but for now, just leave it alone, `kay? What´re you doing here, anyway?"
"Ah, close the bar?" Jesse answered, frowning at his obviously confused friend. "My turn, remember?"
"I thought you had a patient?"
"That happens," he joked, while producing some bottles from behind the bar, putting them on it next to the ice he´d get from the cool-house when Steve had entered. "Yet, I wouldn´t neglect my duties, now, would I?"
"Oh. `kay," Steve said, observing Jesse´s task with his head lifted to one side as he would with something that crazy, he wouldn´t even mention it. "But the place should be closed since twenty minutes."
"It is. Just because detectives can´t read "closed"-signs, doesn´t mean everything not locked up isn´t closed."
Steve was getting really irritated. "Ahm ... But - what´re you doing here?"
"Mixing cocktails," the young doctor replied with a smile, as if he´d just waited for Steve to ask. "Want one?"
"Yes."
"Sit down."
Obeying, Steve sat down on the bar, watching Jesse preparing White Russians. "I didn´t know you could do that."
"Hey," Jesse said, hurt, "I´ve been to college."
Smiling at that, the detective decided to leave it and waited for his friend to shove the glass over the bar.
"Cheers."
They drank.
"You know, this is actually ... good," Steve told surprisedly.
"Why does that sound like you didn´t expected it to be?"
"´cause I didn´t."
"Yeah, thought so."
They sat in silence for a while, both enjoying the quiet atmosphere of their own bar, till Steve shot his friend an uncertain look, asking: "Hey, ahm, you´re okay?"
For a reason Steve couldn´t make out, Jesse sighed deeply.
"Yes, I´m okay. What is it with you guys today? Can´t I consume anything ´cept coffee without sending off the alarms in your heads?"
Steves´s brows had risen at this, now he added a smile to complete the perfect "Slow down"-look. "Kina edgy, are we?" he mocked his friend´s former question.
"At least I don´t point a gun at somebody when I am. Coming to think about it, I never do."
"Ooookay," Steve gave in, holding up his hands in defense. "You win. Now, bartender, care to make `nother one of those?"
"Hm. Wasn´t that your car I saw beeing parked across the road?"
"No, took a cap."
"Oh. Then."
Once again silence settled about the scenery, just two friends in a bar at night. "Hopper´d be delighted," Stebe thought and grinned contendedly.
It was then the door was opened slightly, a shy-looking nose being peeked in. "Ahm, hello?"
"We´re closed," the owners called out simultanously, without even looking at the door.
"Then you´re sign is correct," came a friendly voice from the now fully opened door.
Steve turned and saw a man of medium hight standing in the entry, smiling at him. He was in his mid-thirties, slim, and obviously nervous, referring to his clenching and unclenching hands at his sides.
"Can we help you?" Jesse asked, having also turned to look at the stranger.
"I don´t know," the man replied, then smiled again. "Or, no, I do know. It´s just ... Ahm, I´m your new neighbor. Sort of." He made a pause, then laughed softly, holding out his hand. "I´m sorry. Seamus Zeesley, hi."
Steve smiled and shook the man´s hand. As did Jesse.
"Steve Sloan," the detective introduced himself. "And that´s Jesse Travis, my business-partner."
"Hi. I, ah, I hired that book-shop across the street. We´re planning on opening tomorrow, and there were still some shelves to be filled, so I worked on it till now, to get it done, you know. But now everything´s closed, and, ahm, I just moved to LA ..."
He trickled off, giving them a sick-puppy-look Jesse could have been proud of, then smiled again, waving his hand. "You know, it was stupid to come here. I´d better be off and ..."
"No, wait," Steve called him back and smiled assuringly. "I´m sure there´s something left in the kitchen. There usually is."
"Yeah," Jesse agreed, "have a seat. I´ll go looking." He headed for the the kitchen.
"Wow, thanks," Seamus Zeesley bursted out and sat within a second. "I´m starving."
"Care for a drink, too?"
"Ahm, yeah. Great. Thanks."
"Bartender!"
"That are the second-best ribs I´ve ever eaten, really," Seamus Zeesley stated an hour, a few ribs and two drinks later.
In union, the two bar-owners´ eyes narrwoed.
"Beg your pardon?" Steve asked.
Smiling brightly at them, Zeesley nodded, as if the two looked liked they couldn´t believe the generousity of this compliment.
"No, really," he confirmed them, "they´re great."
"We know," Jesse told him.
Looking at one after the other, realization suddenly hit the poor man, and he laughed slightly. "Oh. Oh, now I ... ah, yes. Well, you ever been to Chicago?"
"Don´t tell us they make better ribs in Chicago," Steve warned him. "It´s not true."
Slightly drunk, as they all were, he glanced over the bar to get the support he expected from there. But it wasn´t exactly support shown in Jesse´s eyes. Irritated, the detective tried the verbal way. "Right, Jess?"
"Right," Jesse answered quickly, then bowed his head, stuttering, "not right. See, there is this place in Chicago called "Adam´s Ribs", and ..."
As Steve stared his young friend into the ground, Zeesley grinned triumphantly, pointing at his witness. "See? Listen ta the kid. Maybe you should go out more often, Steve."
"Maybe somebody should work on his loyalty," Steve suggested, still looking at Jesse who avoided his glare, till the detective gave it up and turned to Zeesley again. "And "Adam´s Ribs"´s a film, not a bar. It´s one of my dad´s favourites."
"But it´s also a bar ..." Jess started, but hushed when confronted with Steve´s look-to-kill again.
"Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy," Zeesley said and sighed. "Great movie. Saw it four times."
"You like this old stuff?" Steve made a face.
Zeesley smiled warmly. "I generally like old stuff."
"Old books."
Waving at Jesse, the man nodded. "Right. That´s why my shop´s called "Moriaty´s"."
"After Professor Moriaty," the detective guessed and earned a cheers- gesture.
"Who´s that?" the non-reader asked.
While Zeesley laughed in amusement, Sloan shook his head in disbelief.
"That´s the guy who killed Sherlock Holmes, Jess."
"Wow, Sherlock Holmes died?" the poor kid was obviously shocked.
Steve decided to simply ignore him and asked: "Why him? "Sherlock´s" woulda been nice, too."
"I liked Moriaty better. I always liked the bad guys better. They´re more ... interesting." He took a sip of his drink. "And with Holmes being high all the time ... I wanted the name to be a statement. "No drugs". It has children´s books in it, you know." He bowed his brows in an uncly way.
"Sherlock Holmes took drugs?"
"Forgive my young friend, Seamus, he doesn´t read."
"Hey, I do read. A lot. Just not ... recently. And I don´t like crime stories, anyway."
"No?" Zeesley asked surprisedly. "Why not?"
Steve chuckled, patting Jesse´s head. "He never reaches the conclusion before the ending."
"That´s it, no more Russians for you."
While the two friends continued teasing each other by simply shooting looks, Zeesley watched them amusedly.
"So, how long you two been doing this? It´s a great place by the way. I always wanted to have a bar in Chicago, but my wife didn´t like the idea. She likes to read, though."
"That´s a good reason," Steve said comfortingly, sipping at his drink, mumbling: "And Chicago sucks."
"I heard that. Just because we have better ribs ..."
"But no beaches," Jess interrupted, then thought it over. "Okay, yes, a beach, but ... no waves. And it´s cold."
"Sears Tower."
"Hollywood."
"Bulls."
"Ah ... Did I mention the weather?"
"Indirectly," Zeesley nodded. "But you´re right, it´s that good, it counts twice. LA wins. That´s why I moved here."
"Then you have to forget about this other place," Steve said, finally feeling like he´d defended his place´s hornor.
"What place?"
"Good boy. Jess," he ordered, pointing at Zeesley´s glass.
"We´re out of milk."
"So?" "Ah, yes," the smaller one nodded in understandment and put the bottle of vodka next to Zeesley´s glass.
Zeesley looked at it, uncertain. He obviously remebered that he had to open a shop the next morning. "Uh," he said, but was interrupted by Steve filling his glass.
"Doctor´s orders."
"Huh?"
"That´s me," Jesse stated, finger up, "I´m the doctor. Drink it."
"Oh. So you´re not only ..."
"No, we have regular jobs," Steve grinned. Zeesley shot him a look.
"And you´re ...?"
"Police detective," Sloan told him.
"Watch out, he has a gun."
But Zeesley´s eyes had grown wide at the sound of that. "Wow. You´re a real cop? In LA? Like Marlowe ... no wait, he was a private. But, hey, like Columbo!"
"Well, ah, sorta like that ..."
"Hey, there are famous doctors on TV, too."
"D´you really solve murder cases and stuff?"
"What about Quincy?!"
"Yes, I do."
"Wow, that´s so cool. See, I´m writing a book. A novel. A crime novel. It´s set in a city and ... You know, may I ask you some questions at time? About your job? Just things you´re allowed to tell, nothing, like, classified or stuff."
"Sure."
"Thanks." Impressed, Zeesley swalloed his vodka. He was so excited, he even forgot to make a face.
"That´s typical. Is there no doctor in your novel? He´s wow, ´cause he´s the cop, but I´m just a doctor."
"Oh, no, one of the character´s a doctor," Zeesley assured him.
"Really?"
"Yeah, he´s the bad guy."
Steve laughed so hard, he almost fell off his chair. Zeesley simply grinned.
"Funny," Jesse stated. "That´s so funny. Whoever invited you over, anyway?"
"Y-you know," Steve tried to say through his giggles, "I wanna have a copy of that novel, Seamus."
"Sure thing. Call me Shay."
One thing about hospitals: They were far too bright. And noisy. Couldn´t this people be a little considerate? They were doctors and nurses. They were supposed to be considerate, for god´s sake. But no, they were just loud and didn´t care wether they might bump into a colleage who´s head just might happen to be at the risk of exploding any second.
"You know, you look exactly like Steve did this morning, only his eyes were closed most of the time."
"Hm," Jesse replied, meaning that he wasn´t in the mood to be insulted. He figured "hm" would satisfy.
But Mark Sloan being Mark Sloan he enjoyed this far too much to let it go by that soon. He hadn´t done with his son, either.
"I take that as a "Please, Mark, sit down", " he grinned and sat down at the table in the Doctor´s Lounge, Jesse had chosen to place his head on. "Thanks. - Sooo, how´s it going?"
"Hm."
"Ah, yes, The patients are bleeding too loud, I expect?"
"Pleeeaaaaseeee ..."
But the world was out of mercy today. "You tried coffee?"
"No, adrenalin."
"Now you tell me. I should have given Steve some of it, too."
"I hope he´s not feeling any better than I do, or it´d be really unfair."
"Don´t worry, life´s fair enough."
"Good."
"He even managed to put his shirt on inside out, but he left the house, before I could tell him." Mark chuckled.
Involuntarily, Jesse checked his clothings. He´d almost decided to at least try to swalloe some coffee, when Amanda entered the Lounge.
"Hey," she greeted her friends and sat down. "How´s it ... Whatever happened to you?"
"I got hit by a truck," Jess mumbled, while attempting to stay up and get the coffee.
"At "BBQ Bob´s"," Mark explained. "With Steve."
"What were you doing there? I thought you´d gone home yesterday."
"Ahm ... I´m gonna get some coffee. Want some, too?"
Amanda smiled. "I don´t think you´ll be able to carry two mugs at a time."
The young doctor paused, frowned, then sighed. "There´s a perfect answer to that, and once my brain starts working again, I´ll give it to you." With that he shuffled along.
Amanda shook his head, glancing at Mark. "How´s Steve doing?"
"Pretty much like that. Seemed they met someone at the place last night. But I didn´t understand everything of his mumbling this morning. Something about books."
Amanda was about to give a statement about men and bars, when Mark´s cell phone rang. "Sloan? Steve! How´re you ... Yeah, he´s here. Hold on ... Jesse!"
Amanda eyed him questioningly, but he only shrugged. A second later, Jesse reentered the room, a steaming mug in both hands. "As a doctor you should know that noise, specially yelling causes a lot of invisible damage."
Ignoring the comment, Mark handed him the phone. "It´s Steve. He says it´s important."
Jesse frowned, then took it. "Hey Steve."
"Jesse, I´m at "Moriaty´s"."
" "Mor..."? That´s Shay´s shop. What ..."
"He´s dead."
"What?!"
"Someone shot him."