"Mark."

Mark heard the voice a long way away, but decided to ignore it. He was so tired.

"Mark, come on. Mark!" The voice was more emphatic now, accompanied by a shake to the shoulder. "Mark, I think he's coming round."

That brought everything back in a sudden rush, and Mark jerked upright, his eyes slitting open. "Jesse?"

"Yeah." The hand stopped shaking his shoulder and patted it instead. "Glad you caught a few winks, but he's stirring - think he might be coming round. Thought you'd want to know."

Mark rubbed his face, clearing his eyes enough to let him take in the small cubicle around him. "Oh, thank you - I didn't mean to sleep…" He hadn't really realized he had dropped off - it had been restless and uncomfortable rest anyway, troubled by tense and brooding dreams. He gazed anxiously at the figure on the bed next to him, saw a hand twitch, reached forward to rest his own on top of it. He grit his teeth. Earlier it had been so cold and lifeless. Now it was hot and dry. "Steve," he called softly.

Steve turned his head slightly toward the voice; Mark watched his Adam's apple bob in a swallow. He noticed that the oxygen mask had been replaced with a nasal cannula. He couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not, but it was nice to be able to get a better glimpse of his face. Steve's eyelids shivered, were still again.

"Steve," Mark repeated more insistently. He watched Steve's forehead crease, felt the hand in his try to lift, fighting his grasp. "You're in the hospital, son. You had an accident. You're going to be fine." Liar, he mocked himself silently. You don't know anything of the kind.

This time Steve's face turned all the way toward him and his eyes parted just fractionally, closed again quickly, wrinkling in discomfort. "Dad?" The voice was a soft croak, barely audible, but Mark thought it was the best thing he'd heard in a long time.

"That's right. Jesse's here too. Just take it slow. Do you remember what happened?"

Steve was quiet a moment as if gathering his thoughts. Finally, he shook his head slightly.

Mark swallowed. "Do you remember being stabbed?" he ventured anxiously.

There was a longer pause, and Steve tried opening his eyes again. He managed to keep them open a little way this time. After a second, he nodded. "Oh. Yeah…"

"Good news." Jesse moved so that he was in Steve's line of vision. "Think you can answer some questions for me?"

Steve blinked slowly at him, then nodded slightly again, his eyes sliding closed. "Robbed," he croaked after a second.

"Yeah, I know, buddy." Jesse was watching the monitor readings. "But right now we're going to talk about how you feel."

"Like…hell…"

Jesse had to lean in to catch the faint rasp, but it made him smile anyway. "Funny thing - you pretty much look like hell, too. But I was hoping for something a little more specific. Can you tell me what hurts?"

Steve moved a little, gave a smothered cough. "What's…on my chest…?"

"Your chest?" Jesse reached for his stethoscope, slipped it into his ears. "Right now, nothing but a really fetching hospital gown. Lucky you've got the legs for these things - not everybody can pull that look off. Tell me about your chest."

"Hurts…"

The voice was so faint this time that Jesse looked closely to make sure he hadn't gone under again. He rested his stethoscope on one side of Steve's chest, just over the lung, then tried the other side. Mark watched him questioningly. When Jesse drew back, he wasn't smiling.

"Can you describe the pain to me, Steve?"

Steve turned his head slightly, coughed again, as if trying to clear his throat. He didn't answer, and after a second Jesse prodded, "Come on, Steve - I know you're tired, but if you hang in there with me for a few more seconds, I think I can make you feel better a lot faster. Can you describe the pain?"

Steve swallowed again, wincing slightly. "…heavy…" he decided after a minute.

Jesse nodded, patting his shoulder lightly. "Thanks. Sounds like you've got a little fluid building up in there. How's your side feel?" There was no answer, and he glanced up from the notes he was jotting down. "Steve?" Steve's lashes were still, his breathing slow and labored. Jesse glanced at the monitor readings again, sighed, patting him lightly again. "Okay, buddy. Get some rest."

He started to return to his chart, paused again when he noticed Mark watching him intently.

"How bad is the fluid?" he asked flatly.

Jesse shrugged uneasily. "Oh, well, you know - that's never good. I know it hasn't been twenty-four hours yet, but I'm thinking of beefing up the antibiotics anyway - trying something a little more aggressive, since his resistance is so low."

"He's starting pneumonia, isn't he?"

Jesse sighed. "He's - I think maybe we could still head it off at the pass. I'm sure gonna try." He glanced at the monitors again, frowned. "Think I'll order him a cooling blanket, too. I don't like this extreme change in body temperature when he's so weak. Want to see if I can't stabilize it." Mark didn't answer and Jesse looked up from his chart again, saw him staring fixedly at Steve's face. He put the chart resignedly aside. "Look, Mark," he said carefully. "You're exhausted. You got to see him come round, you got to talk to him - I'm afraid this is gonna be a long pull, and you won't be any help to Steve or anybody of you collapse yourself. Why don't you go to the on-call room or your office and grab a little real sleep and I'll call you if anything happens?"

Mark dragged his eyes away from Steve, seemed to just remember that Jesse was there. He flushed. "You're tired too," he pointed out.

Jesse grinned. "Yeah, but I'm still used to resident's hours. Besides, I'm gonna get Steve set up and then grab a little sleep in the on-call room myself. Nurse Trombley is on ICU duty and she's top notch. I can count on her to let me know if there's any change."

Mark hesitated. "I hate to leave him."

"I know." Jesse gave him a rueful grin. "But if he comes round and finds you dropping over, he's gonna have it out with both of us. You really want to have to listen to that?"

Mark almost smiled. "I wouldn't mind listening to anything he had to say about now," he confessed. He rose reluctantly to his feet. "I suppose you're right…" he said slowly. "I would tell anyone else the same thing…" He paused and touched Steve's cheek lightly, then let his hand drop. "You'll let me know right away…?"

"You know I will."

Mark nodded and made his way slowly toward the door. Jesse winced. It was almost the same gait Mark used when he was imitating an old man - to see him using it in actuality made Jesse's heart hurt.

*

Mark let the room door swing shut behind him, hardly aware that it bumped him in the back. He stood for a moment, trying to suppress a frisson of panic at the sudden separation. Stop it, he scolded himself. You're a doctor. You know better than this. Sitting there does not keep Steve alive.

Still, despite his words to Jesse, he felt much too keyed up to sleep. He stood a moment longer, trying not to dwell on the image of Steve, pale and still and helpless and lying in the pummeling rain, trying to shake it from his brain. But it slid stubbornly into the forefront of his mind, overlaying every other picture he tried to replace it with anyway.

He moved forward without thinking, as if trying to outrun the image, found himself at the nurse's station. Almost against his conscious volition he heard himself ask the nurse, "Do you have the room number of the boy who was brought in with Steve?"