Oh yeah, I'm back, I'm still alive. Sorry it took so long to get this part
up, I was on an exchange in England and should be able to speak English
now. Urm...aaahhh...well, please don't laugh at me!! ;-)
Again I wanna thank all of you for the kind reviews and for the mails, I grew inches of proud because of them! You're lovely. Hope, you enjoy this chapter, please review. Thank you so much.
And heyyyyyyy, Wuemsel, finally spoken to you! Obst, Obst, Obst, I looooove you, missed you and the Harveys and das Obst and die Oberhelden-Mails. See you zur nächsten Blooperbesprechung (ey süß, der lacht sich ja echt tot!) COOKIE HELL vor!
Regina, this is for you, you rock kid!
Before I get too over-excited about being back, I will shut up and finally let you read, what you wanted to read! Have fun!
Cause I don't think I'm brave enough
To admit I'm breaking up
And when the pain just tears you up
The only thing you need is love
So just get yourself back on it
Another day is gonna come
Keep on praying for it
It's all just people talking
Does it really matter what they say?
Whatever gets you through the day
That's your way
'Cause I don't care who's right sometimes
I wish they'd all just go away
Whatever gets you through the day
That's your way
Taken from the song "Whatever gets you through the day", published by the 'Lighthouse Family' on the Album "Whatever gets you through the day"
When Mark walked onto the deck of the beach house on the next day, Steve had already poured some coffee for his father. He himself sat, still in T- shirt and Jeans, at the table, trying to manage both reading the sports part of the LA Times and stirring in his mug. But the steady wind from ocean, that was showing itself particularly beautiful on this early morning in the Californian late fall, didn't make the job much easier for him as it tattered the thin sheets of paper in Steve's strong hands.
As the part with the classified ads was carried away by the breeze, Steve finally gave it up. He put the remains of the newspaper under his coffee mug to save those at least and smiled at his father. "Good morning, dad. Why have you got up so early?"
Mark yawned and shrugged slightly. He had to admit that he felt the lack of sleep. Movements seemed to be slower, thoughts seemed to be heavier, but after all he was a doctor and used to that. But he was also not the youngest any more. "I couldn't sleep..." he yawned again.
"Uhu...", mumbled Steve, grinning amusedly as he noticed his fathers widely open mouth. "When did you come home?"
Mark gave his son an indignant look. "I am the father here, not you...it was about four o'clock a.m. ..."
"And then you couldn't sleep..." Steve asked gleefully.
"I...", Mark shot his son another confused look. "Why are you interrogating me?!"
Steve grinned. "A homicide detective from the NYPD has called me around 6 o'clock today. I think Steinberg was his name. He told me that a doctor named Mark Sloan phoned Robert Bakins early in the morning..."
Mark held up his hands as though his son had caught him in the act of doing something illegal. "Ok...ok...I phoned him, I was about to tell you anyway..."
"It's ok, dad, no hard feelings about it. Was just wondering if you'll learn somewhen to leave the investigation stuff to me..." Steve smiled. He knew that it was senseless to tell his dad not to meddle. He always found a way to do that anyway and Steve had to admitt that he was a big help. But a little less curiosity wouldn't have done much harm either. "I'm going...have a nice breakfast!" He threw the blazer over his shoulders and was about to leave, when he heard his fathers muffled voice through the pieces of a sandwich.
"Wait, I'm gonna join you! Maybe we'll find out something that will help to catch that guy who drove the car... "
Steve rolled his eyes friendly. "Well, I'm a homicide detective and you the most curious doctor on this side of the Mississipi....we certainly will!"
Mark laughed at his son's dry comment. "Then let's go!" He got up from his chair and together they went to their cars after locking the doors.
"So, Johnny, what are we gonna do after the dinner?", asked a female and giggeling voice through the reciever, which made the young man's eyes sparkle mischievously.
"Well, I have something in my mind..." he whispered meaningly and heard her agreeing with a passionate humming.
The red-blond-haired man in the early twenties had leaned back in the chair, wobbled and stretched his fairly long legs on the desk. Considering that this wasn't his place normally, he had made himself quite comfortable. He was playing with the telephone cable in his hands and took a sip from his coke from time to time. No one either seemed to notice that Johnny was firstly not where he was supposed to be, nor that secondly he had already spent fourty minutes on the phone, which was, judging by its content, not really a call of high importance for the running police investigations.
"Shouldn't you be working?", asked the voice at Johnny's ear, halfly teasing, halfly anxious.
Johnny grinned wryly and looked up at the ceiling. "I've been ready for two hours and waiting for someone to tell me what to do next. And since no one seems to be interested if I am actually doing anything or not, we can also..." Johnny was interrupted by a bump and then only the sound of a dead line was audible for him. The young police officer stared at the receiver in disgust, believing that it had been the reason for this aprupt ending of his daily chat to Tina, his girlfriend, and was about to complain, when he realised some long fingers, belonging to a big male hand, resting on the cradle of the phone.
Within two seconds Johnny Danfield's usual self-confidence and calmness had changed into an uncontrolled jumpiness, mixed with the look of a beaten dog. He hurried to get out of the chair, whereby he almost tipped over, and stood now in his whole height of about six feet and six inches eye to eye in front of his supervisor and mentor, trembeling and smiling emberassedly.
"Mr Danfield, if you feel bored, I'd love to give you something to do!"
"Whatever you want me to, Detective Sloan...", Johnny replied, standing back slowly as he saw Steve glaring at him.
Steve swayed his head into the direction of a couple of boxes which stood in a corner. Johnny also looked at them and gulped. "No...", slipped it out his mouth together with a desperate sigh.
Steve nodded. "Yes! My paper work of the last three months...I want all files sorted and listed by name, date and car registration number!"
"Can't I just list them by one of that?", asked Johnny, but he recognised that contradicting furtherly would probably cost him his head. And he actually liked his head.
"I can also saw you up and send your remains to South Africa in those boxes, if that hits your kind of taste more..." Steve offered, getting impatient. "By the way that's how we usually sort and list our files. By name for the criminal card index, by date for the archive and by car registration number to make the trainees understand that a phone on a detective's desk is for important calls and not for their personal delightments!" Steve folded his arms over his chest and shot Johnny a look he shouldn't forget for a very long time.
Danfield bit on his lip and bowed his head. "I probably deserve that...", he muttered with a self-amused honesty in his tone.
"I'm sure you do!", replied Steve calmly and then pointed at his father. "But before you start with your work, I want to introduce my dad to you..."
Mark, who had been watching the scene with a wry and friendly smile, reached out his hand. "Hi Johnny, pleased to meet you. Especially after all the things Steve has told me..."
"You couldn't wait to meet the most awful troublemaker the departement has had since the year of 1978...", Johnny finished the sentence and reached out his hand to shake Mark's, chuckeling slightly self-concussious.
"Well...yeah..." agreed Mark, grinning. Somehow he was reminded of the past, the years he had taught interns and what had become of them.
"Well then...", Johnny scrutinised the load of boxes and frowned. "I think I have some work to do...oh, the other stuff is on your desk by the way...", he informed Steve. "Took me some time, but we got the owner of the car, which hit that woman. No finger prints in it and no other stuff that would give us some information about the driver. I checked everything over three times. But the thief was sloppy, though. The lock of the car was completely broken, he couldn't have used it anymore. And from the way he linked the cables I can tell that he doesn't have much idea of cars. He certainly didn't steal it to cannibalize it and sell its single components."
"I see..." mumbled Steve, watching his assitant in silent astonishment.
"I'm gonna find someone to help me carry them into a room where I have more space..." Johnny had already three boxes in his hands and, saying that, he didn't pay any attention to where he was going and ran against a near standing desk. The boxes and their contents fell onto the floor "Should eat more fruits...", he muttered, scratching his head and looking ashamedly at the mess he had caused. Then he bent down to collect the things together again.
Mark and Steve watched him leaving finally, while he tried to keep his balance under the weight of the cardboards.
"Nice boy...", Mark remarked.
Steve nodded. He really liked his new protegè. "Though he can be quite..."
"Annoying?", laughed Mark.
His son shook his head sternly. "No! Do you remember CJ's teletubby phase? That was annoying. Johnny is the walking apocalypse."
Steve sighed, slumped into his chair and started to bring some order into the the files on his desk, which had been messed up by the movements of Johnny's feet earlier. Mark took place on the chair for visitors, knowing that Steve wouldn't tell him to have a seat at first.
"Dad, how do you manage to teach interns in your hospital and keep your patients alive?!", Steve exclaimed and then frowned at his father. "What's so funny?"
"Where's your sense of humor, son?", asked Mark, enjoying to drive his offspring crazy once again.
"Bet you never had interns like Johnny Danfield, otherwise you wouldn't be smiling that evily...", Steve hissed playfully, what made Mark laugh out.
"Well", the older doctor made a dramatic pause and continued prudently:"One of the most annoying ones has a well-running private praxis in Colorado by now and the definetly most annoying one is one of the best ER surgeons the CGH has ever had."
Steve looked at him in disbelief. "Jack...Jesse, no! I mean, Jack was only used to the street life and Jesse is a kid, but even both could never beat Johnny!"
"I was only trying to tell you that people are not always what they seem like at the first sight. And those people who seem like an open book to us are the most complicated ones. And -and Jack and Jesse are an absolute proof for that- the most capable ones. And Johnny is, too. Believe your old father, Steve..."
Listening to the words of his father, Steve had to agree silently. He had seen many police officers in his life, but Johnny Danfield was different. He was clumsy and annoying, of course, but, as they had just seen, he was also clever and had, especially for his age, lots of courage.
Mark knew that Steve was thinking about his advice and so he used the time of the relaxing silence between them to give himself up to his own memories for a short moment. He had helped Jack, a street kid from the ugliest parts of Brooklyn, to make his dream of the life as a caring doctor come true.
And he had taught and sharpened Jesse's youthful and keen mind quite successfully. Jesse hadn't lost any of his enthusiasm with which he had come to the CGH years ago. The more Mark was depressed that he couldn't do much for him now. It always made him sad if he couldn't help in a medical way, but it really hurt if he couldn't even ease any pain by listening. Jesse, as friendly and talking as he usually was, always hid himself when he should talk about his problems, he seemed to be curl up in a small corner somewhere deep inside of himself.
As his friend Mark also knew that the best aid for Jesse was time. Time heals wounds, yeah, the good old proverbs still hadn't lost any of their truths. But no one ever seemed to realize that it was mostly the coincidence which broke these old scars up again. The cruel and unpredictable life always found a way to destroy that well-build wall of surpression in a fraction of the time you had needed to put it up.
"Dad?", asked Steve for the third time now, trying to catch his fathers eyes.
"Uh...?" It took ages until Mark finally reacted.
"Where have you been?", inquired Steve, smirking.
"Time journey...", grinned Mark, being now pulled completely back into the present.
"I know...me too." Father and son grinned at each other knowingly, then laughed out shortly, remembering the things they had experienced, in very different ways, but still it had taught them the same, the same passion, the same love and the same faith. And the awareness that friendship was the most important thing in this world.
"We should return to the case!", Steve suggested, becoming serious again and Mark nodded his head.
Jesse woke up on the couch, feeling dizzy and numb and barely able to get onto his feet. Quite surprisedly he noticed that he had spent the night in the doctors lounge, he hadn't even made it to the sleeping room. He could remember Mark sitting in the chair next to him and he could also remember that for the first time in years that he hadn't mind someone keeping an eye at him. He had always been someone who hated to be watched in any kind of way. For him a curious pair of eyes had always been a threat, he felt that he had to control himself in front of them.
And being watched while sleeping was yet another thing. There was no way you could control your sleep, your movements. Often the best psychiatric report you could get about someone was watching that person sleeping. If they were turning around or lying still, breathing calmly or restlessly, muttering or snorring, all that was so telling that it was almost frightening.
Through the window the sun beams fell into the room and had warmed up Jesse's back terribly, he felt sweat running down his spine and he was cold though. The light blinded him, it was unusually bright and piercing, that kind of light the sky only shows us at the end of summer.
Suddenly his pager went off. Recalling the last time he had heard that sound, Jesse started to shiver. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to hear it again without thinking of how fast your life and your feelings could change in less than twenty-four hours. How often had Jesse told people that their beloved ones were dead, in a coma or paralysed? How often had he looked into scared eyes, had tried to comfort in every possible way, had he known that he had done everything and felt that he hadn't, though? How often had he said "I'm sorry..."?
That had never been a lie, but still not the whole truth. But it seemed as though people instinctively knew that no one was able to feel the despair they experienced at that moment. It was something everyone had to feel on his own and no one expected more from a doctor than these simple words:"I'm sorry..." It was better than nothing. Then they had what they wanted and could walk away with their sorrow, not thinking about the doctor they left behind, why should they anyway? Doctors had decided to do that job, but no one ever decided to lose a member of his family.
To Jesse it had always seemed like he could somehow feel with those people, those who broke down in front of him, started to cry, begged that all that was not true and those who just tried to look into his eyes controlledly and seemingly unmovedly. That he could share their pain at least a little. But now he knew that that imagination had been naive. What he usually felt was the loss of a human being, that sadness that creeps up in everyone of us when we see that we're not able to help, that selfish desire to make the world a bit better just to feel the joy and the relief.
At the moment he felt as though the ground under him was drifting away, that he had nothing left that would help him to find a sense behind all this. A reason why it was happening to him. Why Susan? Why him? And there it was again, that anger, the urge to hit his fist against the wall, only to make sure that he was still alive and not caught in this invisible big bubble.
With trembeling fingers Jesse switched off his beeper and crawled from the couch.
The young doctor pushed the curtain aside and scrutinised the tiny woman who had taken place on the examing table. Her left eye was framed up with a bloody red wound and swollen. She only looked up at him as he entered curtain area, frowned worriedly at his dirty scrubs, in which he had also slept, and then let sink her head again.
Jesse approached cautiously. She seemed frightened and winced as he cleared his throat to say something. "Mrs Miller?" he asked, reading the chart.
She nodded shyly. "Yeah..."
"I'm Dr Travis..." He came closer and examined her eye carefully. "That's looks worse than it is. But tell me, how did that happen?" he questioned, starting to clean the wound.
"I...I...I fell...I stood on a leddar, cleaning the windows, and...fell..." she stammered and sounded as though she needed to be conviced of that herself.
Jesse frowned. "Really?" His look scaned her arms, her neck and he didn't need much time to recognise the small scars and bruises which she tried to hide under the sleeves of her shirt. Bigger and smaller ones, some were black, some had already adopted a pale blue, but were still predominating on the likewise pale and seemingly transparent skin. Other scars were circular with white regular margins, typical traces that were left by put- out cigaretts. Dr Travis had seen those kind of wounds more often than he liked to admitt and sadly also knew how patients reacted to those questions as he had just asked. And whatever Mrs Miller was going to say, it would be a lie. A simple, scared lie that he wasn't going to believe. He would treat her and she would go home and they would meet again, sooner or later.
"Really...", she affirmed slowly. As he had assumed. The simpliest lie of all. Most women didn't realize that those could cost them their lifes.
"Mandy? Mandy?! Oh my God, what happened?" A man suddenly ran through the ER and rushed towards the doctor and the victim of a window-cleaning.
The man was about ten years older than Jesse's patient, unshaved and dressed in working clothes. Once he had reached his supposed wife, he hugged her and kissed her gently. She didn't fight against that, but Jesse saw her apathetic glance, how reserved and scared her small and thin body leaned against her husband and almost unrecognisable tried to pull away from his firm and strong grib at the same time.
"Mandy is my wife...What happened?", inquired the tall, black-haired man and stroked her shoulder.
She winced one more time. "Fell off the leddar...", she mumbled.
"But you are ok, aren't you? Is she ok, doctor...?"
"Travis. Dr Travis. The wound isn't that bad..." Jesse glared at Mr Miller's out-reached hand and didn't shake it.
"I want to drive her home!" ordered the guy, looking anxiously. Jesse clenched his hands around the clipboard as he looked disgustedly into the angular face, that false pity, that artificial worry.
"If she wants to join you, she can go after that wound has been fixed..." mumbled Jesse through gritted teeth and threw the girl a pleading glance. Maybe she would have the courage to defend herself against her husband, that man she obviously was afraid of, that man who seemed so understanding now, although Jesse could see that brutal glare in his eyes, the obsession of violence burning in them.
His heart sank as the girl nodded again. An obsequious shy nod, hardly to recognise.
Probably nothing would have happened. Probably Jesse just would have headed off. Probably he would have been cursing his job and his helplessness for the rest of this day.
If not....
"I'll take care of you!", whispered the man into his wife's ear.
Hearing those words, Jesse, who was about to leave, whirled around again. Something in his mind had just snapped. How could men actually do that to women? Playing the role of a good friend perfectly on the outside and batter them at the same time? What kind of people did that? Jesse didn't want to imagine what this man had done to his wife already and what he was about to do. How long did you have to beat people until they ran out of proud, out of fighting-spirit and out of soul?
"No, you won't!" Jesse shouted suddenly,
"Sorry?" Mr Miller got up, his eyes sparkeling threateningly.
"I said you won't take her home!", Jesse persisted, calmer now, but with a firm voice.
The tall man came towards him, forming fists with his fingers. "And what, doctor, is gonna obstruct me?" he asked and grinned amusedly. "You?"
Jesse took a deep breath. He was frightened, but he had the feeling that he would never be able to look into a woman's eyes again if he gave up now. "Do you think I didn't see the scars?!", he hissed. "For how long have you been beating her up? Since your marriage? Or did you wait until you were back from honeymoon?" He looked into the other's face humorlessly.
Miller's lip started to tremble in bare rage. "I love my wife. That is pure impertinence!" he shouted in rage, stepping closer to the young doctor.
"I agree with you there!", shot Jesse back, his blue eyes sparkeling with pure hatred. "And you love her, yeah? Look at her, she's scared of you!"
In the ER it had suddenly become very quiet. Everything focussed on the two men in the middle of the curtain area, everybody watched them glaring at each other and didn't know if they should be impressed by Dr. Travis' courage or shake their heads about his stupidity to make a pointless attempt to help somebody who didn't want to be rescued. As an employee at a hospital he should have known better than to meddle in those things.
So they just watched the scene in breathless excitement, the more-than- angry, tall Mr Miller, the thin fragile woman and the short, normally good- natured and patient doctor, whose stubborness was written all over his face. Was this guy only determined or just tired of life?
"What?!", screamed now Mr Miller, trying to force Jesse to stay back, but the doctor didn't move only one inch.
"Gentlemen, what's going on?" No one had realised Brandon Dawn who had pushed himself between the two arguing men.
"Who are you?", asked Miller harshly.
"Hospital administration, may I ask if you have any problems?" questioned Dawn politely.
"In fact, I have one, yeah!", snorted Miller. "Or does it belong to the usual service here that your residents insult hard-working men?"
"I am sure that this is a misunderstanding, right, Dr Terner?", Dawn shot the ER surgeon a look, begging him silently to nod his head.
"Not at all! Or is it usual that men beat up their wifes?" Jesse retorted provokingly.
"That's unbelievable!" shouted Mandy Miller's husband and one could see that he wasn't far from beating up someone else.
"Dr Taylor!" warned Dawn, feeling awkward and by the way didn't know what to believe.
Whatever he had said wrong, he very soon noticed that it had pushed the young resident kinda to far.
"Travis, damnit, my name is Travis!" Jesse wasn't able to prevent his outburst. He just couldn't. "Why are you meddling anyway? Do you have any idea of that stuff? What do you think are you doing? Annoy the people who try to work, with that stupid adminstration stuff. You don't even know their names! It might sound strange to you, but here are people who have serious problems, so why don't you just shut up and leave me alone!?"
Brandon Dawn wasn't used to the knowledge that everyone had mistakes, neither he liked his being shouted through the half part of the hospital. Only the fact that he also wasn't used to rebellious doctors kept himself from replying anything.
"And you..." Jesse pointed his finger a Mr Miller, pausing one moment as though he was searching for the right words. Dawn, the Millers and the remaining nurses and interns saw the sharp look in those usually so soft blue eyes.What they couldn't see were the by now still well-hidden tears in them. Then Jesse laughed out sarcastically."You ain't even worth this shouting..."
The following silence lasted for ages. No one dared to say something, to move or even to breath. They seemed like a life-size statue, though none of them knew what they were actually performing.
Jesse nodded weakly and looked around, his empty gaze striking each of them. "The show is over...", he mumbled and turned to go. No one tried to hinder him. As he passed by Amanda who had been watching the scene stunnedly, she sensed to hold him back, had already reached out her hand after his wrist when she was reminded of the last time she had done that. "Don't Amanda. Whatever you're up to say, please don't!"
When the resident was finally out of sight, Mr Miller whirled around to face his wife. "Mandy, get up, we're going!" Not even waiting until she was standing on her feet, he grabbed her hand roughly and dragged her away. Again she didn't fight against it, she just looked even more distraught than before.
"Believe me, I'm terribly sorry!" Dawn had found his tongue again, but as no one seemed to listen to him any more he swallowed his words and sighed. He would talk to Dr....whatever his name was....later. Right now he could do without a row very well for a while.
Again I wanna thank all of you for the kind reviews and for the mails, I grew inches of proud because of them! You're lovely. Hope, you enjoy this chapter, please review. Thank you so much.
And heyyyyyyy, Wuemsel, finally spoken to you! Obst, Obst, Obst, I looooove you, missed you and the Harveys and das Obst and die Oberhelden-Mails. See you zur nächsten Blooperbesprechung (ey süß, der lacht sich ja echt tot!) COOKIE HELL vor!
Regina, this is for you, you rock kid!
Before I get too over-excited about being back, I will shut up and finally let you read, what you wanted to read! Have fun!
Cause I don't think I'm brave enough
To admit I'm breaking up
And when the pain just tears you up
The only thing you need is love
So just get yourself back on it
Another day is gonna come
Keep on praying for it
It's all just people talking
Does it really matter what they say?
Whatever gets you through the day
That's your way
'Cause I don't care who's right sometimes
I wish they'd all just go away
Whatever gets you through the day
That's your way
Taken from the song "Whatever gets you through the day", published by the 'Lighthouse Family' on the Album "Whatever gets you through the day"
When Mark walked onto the deck of the beach house on the next day, Steve had already poured some coffee for his father. He himself sat, still in T- shirt and Jeans, at the table, trying to manage both reading the sports part of the LA Times and stirring in his mug. But the steady wind from ocean, that was showing itself particularly beautiful on this early morning in the Californian late fall, didn't make the job much easier for him as it tattered the thin sheets of paper in Steve's strong hands.
As the part with the classified ads was carried away by the breeze, Steve finally gave it up. He put the remains of the newspaper under his coffee mug to save those at least and smiled at his father. "Good morning, dad. Why have you got up so early?"
Mark yawned and shrugged slightly. He had to admit that he felt the lack of sleep. Movements seemed to be slower, thoughts seemed to be heavier, but after all he was a doctor and used to that. But he was also not the youngest any more. "I couldn't sleep..." he yawned again.
"Uhu...", mumbled Steve, grinning amusedly as he noticed his fathers widely open mouth. "When did you come home?"
Mark gave his son an indignant look. "I am the father here, not you...it was about four o'clock a.m. ..."
"And then you couldn't sleep..." Steve asked gleefully.
"I...", Mark shot his son another confused look. "Why are you interrogating me?!"
Steve grinned. "A homicide detective from the NYPD has called me around 6 o'clock today. I think Steinberg was his name. He told me that a doctor named Mark Sloan phoned Robert Bakins early in the morning..."
Mark held up his hands as though his son had caught him in the act of doing something illegal. "Ok...ok...I phoned him, I was about to tell you anyway..."
"It's ok, dad, no hard feelings about it. Was just wondering if you'll learn somewhen to leave the investigation stuff to me..." Steve smiled. He knew that it was senseless to tell his dad not to meddle. He always found a way to do that anyway and Steve had to admitt that he was a big help. But a little less curiosity wouldn't have done much harm either. "I'm going...have a nice breakfast!" He threw the blazer over his shoulders and was about to leave, when he heard his fathers muffled voice through the pieces of a sandwich.
"Wait, I'm gonna join you! Maybe we'll find out something that will help to catch that guy who drove the car... "
Steve rolled his eyes friendly. "Well, I'm a homicide detective and you the most curious doctor on this side of the Mississipi....we certainly will!"
Mark laughed at his son's dry comment. "Then let's go!" He got up from his chair and together they went to their cars after locking the doors.
"So, Johnny, what are we gonna do after the dinner?", asked a female and giggeling voice through the reciever, which made the young man's eyes sparkle mischievously.
"Well, I have something in my mind..." he whispered meaningly and heard her agreeing with a passionate humming.
The red-blond-haired man in the early twenties had leaned back in the chair, wobbled and stretched his fairly long legs on the desk. Considering that this wasn't his place normally, he had made himself quite comfortable. He was playing with the telephone cable in his hands and took a sip from his coke from time to time. No one either seemed to notice that Johnny was firstly not where he was supposed to be, nor that secondly he had already spent fourty minutes on the phone, which was, judging by its content, not really a call of high importance for the running police investigations.
"Shouldn't you be working?", asked the voice at Johnny's ear, halfly teasing, halfly anxious.
Johnny grinned wryly and looked up at the ceiling. "I've been ready for two hours and waiting for someone to tell me what to do next. And since no one seems to be interested if I am actually doing anything or not, we can also..." Johnny was interrupted by a bump and then only the sound of a dead line was audible for him. The young police officer stared at the receiver in disgust, believing that it had been the reason for this aprupt ending of his daily chat to Tina, his girlfriend, and was about to complain, when he realised some long fingers, belonging to a big male hand, resting on the cradle of the phone.
Within two seconds Johnny Danfield's usual self-confidence and calmness had changed into an uncontrolled jumpiness, mixed with the look of a beaten dog. He hurried to get out of the chair, whereby he almost tipped over, and stood now in his whole height of about six feet and six inches eye to eye in front of his supervisor and mentor, trembeling and smiling emberassedly.
"Mr Danfield, if you feel bored, I'd love to give you something to do!"
"Whatever you want me to, Detective Sloan...", Johnny replied, standing back slowly as he saw Steve glaring at him.
Steve swayed his head into the direction of a couple of boxes which stood in a corner. Johnny also looked at them and gulped. "No...", slipped it out his mouth together with a desperate sigh.
Steve nodded. "Yes! My paper work of the last three months...I want all files sorted and listed by name, date and car registration number!"
"Can't I just list them by one of that?", asked Johnny, but he recognised that contradicting furtherly would probably cost him his head. And he actually liked his head.
"I can also saw you up and send your remains to South Africa in those boxes, if that hits your kind of taste more..." Steve offered, getting impatient. "By the way that's how we usually sort and list our files. By name for the criminal card index, by date for the archive and by car registration number to make the trainees understand that a phone on a detective's desk is for important calls and not for their personal delightments!" Steve folded his arms over his chest and shot Johnny a look he shouldn't forget for a very long time.
Danfield bit on his lip and bowed his head. "I probably deserve that...", he muttered with a self-amused honesty in his tone.
"I'm sure you do!", replied Steve calmly and then pointed at his father. "But before you start with your work, I want to introduce my dad to you..."
Mark, who had been watching the scene with a wry and friendly smile, reached out his hand. "Hi Johnny, pleased to meet you. Especially after all the things Steve has told me..."
"You couldn't wait to meet the most awful troublemaker the departement has had since the year of 1978...", Johnny finished the sentence and reached out his hand to shake Mark's, chuckeling slightly self-concussious.
"Well...yeah..." agreed Mark, grinning. Somehow he was reminded of the past, the years he had taught interns and what had become of them.
"Well then...", Johnny scrutinised the load of boxes and frowned. "I think I have some work to do...oh, the other stuff is on your desk by the way...", he informed Steve. "Took me some time, but we got the owner of the car, which hit that woman. No finger prints in it and no other stuff that would give us some information about the driver. I checked everything over three times. But the thief was sloppy, though. The lock of the car was completely broken, he couldn't have used it anymore. And from the way he linked the cables I can tell that he doesn't have much idea of cars. He certainly didn't steal it to cannibalize it and sell its single components."
"I see..." mumbled Steve, watching his assitant in silent astonishment.
"I'm gonna find someone to help me carry them into a room where I have more space..." Johnny had already three boxes in his hands and, saying that, he didn't pay any attention to where he was going and ran against a near standing desk. The boxes and their contents fell onto the floor "Should eat more fruits...", he muttered, scratching his head and looking ashamedly at the mess he had caused. Then he bent down to collect the things together again.
Mark and Steve watched him leaving finally, while he tried to keep his balance under the weight of the cardboards.
"Nice boy...", Mark remarked.
Steve nodded. He really liked his new protegè. "Though he can be quite..."
"Annoying?", laughed Mark.
His son shook his head sternly. "No! Do you remember CJ's teletubby phase? That was annoying. Johnny is the walking apocalypse."
Steve sighed, slumped into his chair and started to bring some order into the the files on his desk, which had been messed up by the movements of Johnny's feet earlier. Mark took place on the chair for visitors, knowing that Steve wouldn't tell him to have a seat at first.
"Dad, how do you manage to teach interns in your hospital and keep your patients alive?!", Steve exclaimed and then frowned at his father. "What's so funny?"
"Where's your sense of humor, son?", asked Mark, enjoying to drive his offspring crazy once again.
"Bet you never had interns like Johnny Danfield, otherwise you wouldn't be smiling that evily...", Steve hissed playfully, what made Mark laugh out.
"Well", the older doctor made a dramatic pause and continued prudently:"One of the most annoying ones has a well-running private praxis in Colorado by now and the definetly most annoying one is one of the best ER surgeons the CGH has ever had."
Steve looked at him in disbelief. "Jack...Jesse, no! I mean, Jack was only used to the street life and Jesse is a kid, but even both could never beat Johnny!"
"I was only trying to tell you that people are not always what they seem like at the first sight. And those people who seem like an open book to us are the most complicated ones. And -and Jack and Jesse are an absolute proof for that- the most capable ones. And Johnny is, too. Believe your old father, Steve..."
Listening to the words of his father, Steve had to agree silently. He had seen many police officers in his life, but Johnny Danfield was different. He was clumsy and annoying, of course, but, as they had just seen, he was also clever and had, especially for his age, lots of courage.
Mark knew that Steve was thinking about his advice and so he used the time of the relaxing silence between them to give himself up to his own memories for a short moment. He had helped Jack, a street kid from the ugliest parts of Brooklyn, to make his dream of the life as a caring doctor come true.
And he had taught and sharpened Jesse's youthful and keen mind quite successfully. Jesse hadn't lost any of his enthusiasm with which he had come to the CGH years ago. The more Mark was depressed that he couldn't do much for him now. It always made him sad if he couldn't help in a medical way, but it really hurt if he couldn't even ease any pain by listening. Jesse, as friendly and talking as he usually was, always hid himself when he should talk about his problems, he seemed to be curl up in a small corner somewhere deep inside of himself.
As his friend Mark also knew that the best aid for Jesse was time. Time heals wounds, yeah, the good old proverbs still hadn't lost any of their truths. But no one ever seemed to realize that it was mostly the coincidence which broke these old scars up again. The cruel and unpredictable life always found a way to destroy that well-build wall of surpression in a fraction of the time you had needed to put it up.
"Dad?", asked Steve for the third time now, trying to catch his fathers eyes.
"Uh...?" It took ages until Mark finally reacted.
"Where have you been?", inquired Steve, smirking.
"Time journey...", grinned Mark, being now pulled completely back into the present.
"I know...me too." Father and son grinned at each other knowingly, then laughed out shortly, remembering the things they had experienced, in very different ways, but still it had taught them the same, the same passion, the same love and the same faith. And the awareness that friendship was the most important thing in this world.
"We should return to the case!", Steve suggested, becoming serious again and Mark nodded his head.
Jesse woke up on the couch, feeling dizzy and numb and barely able to get onto his feet. Quite surprisedly he noticed that he had spent the night in the doctors lounge, he hadn't even made it to the sleeping room. He could remember Mark sitting in the chair next to him and he could also remember that for the first time in years that he hadn't mind someone keeping an eye at him. He had always been someone who hated to be watched in any kind of way. For him a curious pair of eyes had always been a threat, he felt that he had to control himself in front of them.
And being watched while sleeping was yet another thing. There was no way you could control your sleep, your movements. Often the best psychiatric report you could get about someone was watching that person sleeping. If they were turning around or lying still, breathing calmly or restlessly, muttering or snorring, all that was so telling that it was almost frightening.
Through the window the sun beams fell into the room and had warmed up Jesse's back terribly, he felt sweat running down his spine and he was cold though. The light blinded him, it was unusually bright and piercing, that kind of light the sky only shows us at the end of summer.
Suddenly his pager went off. Recalling the last time he had heard that sound, Jesse started to shiver. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to hear it again without thinking of how fast your life and your feelings could change in less than twenty-four hours. How often had Jesse told people that their beloved ones were dead, in a coma or paralysed? How often had he looked into scared eyes, had tried to comfort in every possible way, had he known that he had done everything and felt that he hadn't, though? How often had he said "I'm sorry..."?
That had never been a lie, but still not the whole truth. But it seemed as though people instinctively knew that no one was able to feel the despair they experienced at that moment. It was something everyone had to feel on his own and no one expected more from a doctor than these simple words:"I'm sorry..." It was better than nothing. Then they had what they wanted and could walk away with their sorrow, not thinking about the doctor they left behind, why should they anyway? Doctors had decided to do that job, but no one ever decided to lose a member of his family.
To Jesse it had always seemed like he could somehow feel with those people, those who broke down in front of him, started to cry, begged that all that was not true and those who just tried to look into his eyes controlledly and seemingly unmovedly. That he could share their pain at least a little. But now he knew that that imagination had been naive. What he usually felt was the loss of a human being, that sadness that creeps up in everyone of us when we see that we're not able to help, that selfish desire to make the world a bit better just to feel the joy and the relief.
At the moment he felt as though the ground under him was drifting away, that he had nothing left that would help him to find a sense behind all this. A reason why it was happening to him. Why Susan? Why him? And there it was again, that anger, the urge to hit his fist against the wall, only to make sure that he was still alive and not caught in this invisible big bubble.
With trembeling fingers Jesse switched off his beeper and crawled from the couch.
The young doctor pushed the curtain aside and scrutinised the tiny woman who had taken place on the examing table. Her left eye was framed up with a bloody red wound and swollen. She only looked up at him as he entered curtain area, frowned worriedly at his dirty scrubs, in which he had also slept, and then let sink her head again.
Jesse approached cautiously. She seemed frightened and winced as he cleared his throat to say something. "Mrs Miller?" he asked, reading the chart.
She nodded shyly. "Yeah..."
"I'm Dr Travis..." He came closer and examined her eye carefully. "That's looks worse than it is. But tell me, how did that happen?" he questioned, starting to clean the wound.
"I...I...I fell...I stood on a leddar, cleaning the windows, and...fell..." she stammered and sounded as though she needed to be conviced of that herself.
Jesse frowned. "Really?" His look scaned her arms, her neck and he didn't need much time to recognise the small scars and bruises which she tried to hide under the sleeves of her shirt. Bigger and smaller ones, some were black, some had already adopted a pale blue, but were still predominating on the likewise pale and seemingly transparent skin. Other scars were circular with white regular margins, typical traces that were left by put- out cigaretts. Dr Travis had seen those kind of wounds more often than he liked to admitt and sadly also knew how patients reacted to those questions as he had just asked. And whatever Mrs Miller was going to say, it would be a lie. A simple, scared lie that he wasn't going to believe. He would treat her and she would go home and they would meet again, sooner or later.
"Really...", she affirmed slowly. As he had assumed. The simpliest lie of all. Most women didn't realize that those could cost them their lifes.
"Mandy? Mandy?! Oh my God, what happened?" A man suddenly ran through the ER and rushed towards the doctor and the victim of a window-cleaning.
The man was about ten years older than Jesse's patient, unshaved and dressed in working clothes. Once he had reached his supposed wife, he hugged her and kissed her gently. She didn't fight against that, but Jesse saw her apathetic glance, how reserved and scared her small and thin body leaned against her husband and almost unrecognisable tried to pull away from his firm and strong grib at the same time.
"Mandy is my wife...What happened?", inquired the tall, black-haired man and stroked her shoulder.
She winced one more time. "Fell off the leddar...", she mumbled.
"But you are ok, aren't you? Is she ok, doctor...?"
"Travis. Dr Travis. The wound isn't that bad..." Jesse glared at Mr Miller's out-reached hand and didn't shake it.
"I want to drive her home!" ordered the guy, looking anxiously. Jesse clenched his hands around the clipboard as he looked disgustedly into the angular face, that false pity, that artificial worry.
"If she wants to join you, she can go after that wound has been fixed..." mumbled Jesse through gritted teeth and threw the girl a pleading glance. Maybe she would have the courage to defend herself against her husband, that man she obviously was afraid of, that man who seemed so understanding now, although Jesse could see that brutal glare in his eyes, the obsession of violence burning in them.
His heart sank as the girl nodded again. An obsequious shy nod, hardly to recognise.
Probably nothing would have happened. Probably Jesse just would have headed off. Probably he would have been cursing his job and his helplessness for the rest of this day.
If not....
"I'll take care of you!", whispered the man into his wife's ear.
Hearing those words, Jesse, who was about to leave, whirled around again. Something in his mind had just snapped. How could men actually do that to women? Playing the role of a good friend perfectly on the outside and batter them at the same time? What kind of people did that? Jesse didn't want to imagine what this man had done to his wife already and what he was about to do. How long did you have to beat people until they ran out of proud, out of fighting-spirit and out of soul?
"No, you won't!" Jesse shouted suddenly,
"Sorry?" Mr Miller got up, his eyes sparkeling threateningly.
"I said you won't take her home!", Jesse persisted, calmer now, but with a firm voice.
The tall man came towards him, forming fists with his fingers. "And what, doctor, is gonna obstruct me?" he asked and grinned amusedly. "You?"
Jesse took a deep breath. He was frightened, but he had the feeling that he would never be able to look into a woman's eyes again if he gave up now. "Do you think I didn't see the scars?!", he hissed. "For how long have you been beating her up? Since your marriage? Or did you wait until you were back from honeymoon?" He looked into the other's face humorlessly.
Miller's lip started to tremble in bare rage. "I love my wife. That is pure impertinence!" he shouted in rage, stepping closer to the young doctor.
"I agree with you there!", shot Jesse back, his blue eyes sparkeling with pure hatred. "And you love her, yeah? Look at her, she's scared of you!"
In the ER it had suddenly become very quiet. Everything focussed on the two men in the middle of the curtain area, everybody watched them glaring at each other and didn't know if they should be impressed by Dr. Travis' courage or shake their heads about his stupidity to make a pointless attempt to help somebody who didn't want to be rescued. As an employee at a hospital he should have known better than to meddle in those things.
So they just watched the scene in breathless excitement, the more-than- angry, tall Mr Miller, the thin fragile woman and the short, normally good- natured and patient doctor, whose stubborness was written all over his face. Was this guy only determined or just tired of life?
"What?!", screamed now Mr Miller, trying to force Jesse to stay back, but the doctor didn't move only one inch.
"Gentlemen, what's going on?" No one had realised Brandon Dawn who had pushed himself between the two arguing men.
"Who are you?", asked Miller harshly.
"Hospital administration, may I ask if you have any problems?" questioned Dawn politely.
"In fact, I have one, yeah!", snorted Miller. "Or does it belong to the usual service here that your residents insult hard-working men?"
"I am sure that this is a misunderstanding, right, Dr Terner?", Dawn shot the ER surgeon a look, begging him silently to nod his head.
"Not at all! Or is it usual that men beat up their wifes?" Jesse retorted provokingly.
"That's unbelievable!" shouted Mandy Miller's husband and one could see that he wasn't far from beating up someone else.
"Dr Taylor!" warned Dawn, feeling awkward and by the way didn't know what to believe.
Whatever he had said wrong, he very soon noticed that it had pushed the young resident kinda to far.
"Travis, damnit, my name is Travis!" Jesse wasn't able to prevent his outburst. He just couldn't. "Why are you meddling anyway? Do you have any idea of that stuff? What do you think are you doing? Annoy the people who try to work, with that stupid adminstration stuff. You don't even know their names! It might sound strange to you, but here are people who have serious problems, so why don't you just shut up and leave me alone!?"
Brandon Dawn wasn't used to the knowledge that everyone had mistakes, neither he liked his being shouted through the half part of the hospital. Only the fact that he also wasn't used to rebellious doctors kept himself from replying anything.
"And you..." Jesse pointed his finger a Mr Miller, pausing one moment as though he was searching for the right words. Dawn, the Millers and the remaining nurses and interns saw the sharp look in those usually so soft blue eyes.What they couldn't see were the by now still well-hidden tears in them. Then Jesse laughed out sarcastically."You ain't even worth this shouting..."
The following silence lasted for ages. No one dared to say something, to move or even to breath. They seemed like a life-size statue, though none of them knew what they were actually performing.
Jesse nodded weakly and looked around, his empty gaze striking each of them. "The show is over...", he mumbled and turned to go. No one tried to hinder him. As he passed by Amanda who had been watching the scene stunnedly, she sensed to hold him back, had already reached out her hand after his wrist when she was reminded of the last time she had done that. "Don't Amanda. Whatever you're up to say, please don't!"
When the resident was finally out of sight, Mr Miller whirled around to face his wife. "Mandy, get up, we're going!" Not even waiting until she was standing on her feet, he grabbed her hand roughly and dragged her away. Again she didn't fight against it, she just looked even more distraught than before.
"Believe me, I'm terribly sorry!" Dawn had found his tongue again, but as no one seemed to listen to him any more he swallowed his words and sighed. He would talk to Dr....whatever his name was....later. Right now he could do without a row very well for a while.