Hey folks!! Argh, delay again, thanks to PC and family outings (-4°...yeah, guys, it's winter in Germany...we're all happy, are we?). Dunno, my computer has the interesting habit to throw me outta the net after five minutes which makes posting a bit...complicated. After Christmas everything will get better *smirks*...

Anyways, thanks so so so so so so so so much for not killing me after my lame start, I appreciate and hope that you still enjoy the story, I promise, it'll be coming up speed from now. Also THANK YOU for looking over my mistakes...I've got a spelling/grammar program, but I'm slowly getting the feeling that its English is even worse than mine. Actually it takes more time to re-read than to write the stuff (once I get it written), and I still miss mistakes. It's depressing, all I can do is still beg you for patience. I'm going to America in January...maybe I'm gonna learn how to communicate there...

******

As Mark took his second sip from the first coffee in the lounge this day, he all of sudden became aware of the approaching man in straight black suit with a tightly knotted tie, who carried an expensive brown leather attachè case through the corridors. By the time he had reached the door of the lounge, Mark had already figured the unknown person's job, without that it had taken him a lot of guesses. He could smell laywers wherever they appeared.

"Dr Sloan?", asked the the correctly dressed man in the door frame and Mark nodded wearily. Actually he was not in the mood for answering any kinds of questions. But again he was amazed how fast news travelled. Not even three hours had passed since Amanda had reported the real cause of Jimmy Harris' death, and even though Mark had been the first one to know besides the medical commission it seemed as if almost at the same second the invasion of the men in black had begun.

"My name is Walter Day, I'm appointed by the medical commission to find out what exactly are the circumstances of Jimmy Harris' death. I'm sure that I don't have to explain to you the role that your colleague Dr Travis plays in our investigation..."

Mark rolled his eyes. He hated this arrogant tone. "No, I think I know what you're talking about...", he murmured, forcing himself to sound friendly.

Mr Day nodded satisfiedly as though happy that his guess had been right. "May I ask you a few questions about him?"

Mark looked up grimly, letting the man know that he wasn't pleased by the thought of an interrogation. "I believe Dr Travis would prefer to answer those questions himself first. Don't you think that's only fair?", he asked back.

Walter Day raised his eye brows. "Of course, I understand your concerns Dr Sloan, but in those cases I always like to know what exactly I am dealing with."

The older doctor frowned, not only at the posh lawyer lines which he hated so much. "What do you mean by 'those cases'?", he questioned, somewhat suspiciously.

Throughout their whole dialog the lawyer had remained standing and hadn't even made an effort to meet Mark's eyes. Even now he didn't focuss the doctor's face, but continued staring anywhere and nowhere at the same time. He waited a while until he gave an answer to that question, but he didn't make the impression to have thought about what he should say. "You know, doctor. I dealt with lots of those cases and I usually found out that they weren't any medical mistakes. It's mostly purpose. Some do it because they are too emotional, some are simply selfish and can't stand the sight of suffering people, sometimes there is family involved. And some even consider themselves as a kind of angel of mercy or so, that's why they do it...."

Mark didn't know if he was really understanding. "Do what?", he asked impatiently and now the Mr Day's look suddenly pointed on him.

The lawyer shrugged, almost indifferently. "Euthanasia...", he said.

Mark's eyes widened in shock. "Beg your pardon?! You are not here to tell me that you think that Dr Travis did..."

"Yes, that's exactly why I am here!", Walter Day cut in, sort of unfriendly now. "May I ask you some questions now, please?"

Mark heavily shook his head. "No way! What you are guessing is completely insane and I am not going to play such a stupid game with you", he said firmly, indicating Mr Day that he'd better be out of the room soon.

But young Mr Day still had something to say, he hadn't liftet his gaze from Mark so far. "You call it insane, Dr Sloan. Well, I wish I'd have such an undoubting attitude as you. Do you know yourself so well? Are you such a great naive doctor that you can't even consider the possibily that your friend was able to do something like that?...You must be a good friend Dr Sloan..." With these last questions Walter Day had left without waiting for the answers. Mark hadn't given any answers.

There were not even seconds between Day's leaving and the voice that startled Mark.

"You have doubts, haven't you?", asked someone, leaning in the door frame.

Mark almost jumped. "Jesse!", he cried out when he saw his friend coming towards him. The younger man looked more vulnarable than usual, his glance was flickering and weary, his motions seemed less agitated, yet there was another awkward expression about him that his friend couldn't recognize. It wasn't anger, neither it was guilt. Mark wasn't sure. Instead of answering he had a question himself. "How long have you been listening?"

Jesse slumped into the couch and shrugged. "Long enough to know that the witch hunt has begun. Get your forks out, folks, but be cautious that no one will transform you into frogs...", he mumbled bitterly.

In despite that he had been thinking something similar a few seconds ago, Mark shook his head. "You're exaggerating, Jess! No one's accusing you!"

"No, not yet!", Jesse laughed out sarcastically, but grew instantly earnest again. "You haven't seen those guys out there, Mark!" He changed his voice into posher one, imitating Mr Day's tone. "They indeed have their doubts...including you!"

"You're talking crazy! I know you wouldn't even think of something like that...", Mark replied, raising his voice a little to get through to his friend's sensible mind. In the meantime, he was sure to have realized what it was that had changed in Jesse's expressions. It was contrariness. And by now Mark even realized it wasn't the first time he saw it. Yesterday he had also seen it as Jesse had pulled away from him. The older doctor suddenly froze, thinking of the argument the day before. Since then there had been something wrong and now he was slowly able to figure out what. He had doubts. He didn't even know why, but there was this uneasy feeling inside of him that he wasn't sure. And that truly scared the hell out of him.

Jesse's head sunk onto his shivering hands. He had known it and he could see it in Mark's eyes. There was kindness and friendship, but there was also a spark of doubt of which Jesse had hoped so much that he wouldn't find it there.

"Jesse!", Mark said loudly. "Jesse, look at me! You wouldn't think of doing that?" Then out of a sudden impulse he felt the urge to ask furtherly. "Or would you?" Unsettlement packed him, shook him, just didn't let him off the hook.

"You really don't believe me...", the younger man stated merely, seemingly unmoved.

"Would you think of doing that?", Mark heard himself asking. He couldn't stop himself from seeking acknowledgement, he acted faster than he could react, his tongue revealing his doubts faster to the world outside than his mind could reveal it to himself. "Would you, Jesse?"

The younger doctor looked up as though he was awakened from a dream. "Please don't ask me that...", he said with a raspy voice, more choking than speaking actually. It was the last thing he told Mark before he left.

********

In the Los Angeles Police Departement there was still no change in the game that had been played in the interrogation room for hours. Steve halfly leaned, halfly sat on the edge of the table, not letting his focus off of Mr Harris. Mr Harris was handcuffed to prevent him from attacking anyone, but his hands lay loosely on the plate anyway. Steve had no intention to open the cuffs. He was too angry.

The uncomfortability that was displayed in Harris' otherwise cool gaze, showed that he could pratically feel the lieutenant's sharply watching glance bouncing on him. However, he wouldn't speak.

Steve took a sip from his coffee. "Mr Harris", he started out, his voice tensed. "You won't make it any better this way. We know what happened. I know it, you know it and I'm sure that everybody in this town, who's bought the LA Times today, also knows it. So why won't you spare us a lot of trouble, the goverment a lot of money and the press a lot of digging, of which I'm sure that neither you nor your family would appreciate it, and just make a confession."

This would be his last attempt Steve had sworn to himself. If Harris didn't talk now, he would have someone else deal with it. The lieutenant himself would have preferred to beat it out of this bastard, the confession that he'd thrown a candlestick after his wife and thereby "accidently" hurt his kid, but then Steve figured that that wasn't quite the right way. The arrested man did nothing apart from staring stoicly at the door. As he moved his lips, he only announced:"I won't say anything until my lawyer has arrived here!"

That was the moment the door was opened from the outside and a guard let in a man in gray suit, the beige of his tie only about matching the color of his dressing clothes. Everything about this guy seemed to be gray as Steve noticed. His hair was gray, his brief case was gray, even the color of his eyes was more gray than blue. When he marched in, the man grinned confidently at Mr Harris. "I guess that you are Mr Harris' lawyer..." Steve stated the obvious and looked grimly at the two smiling men. He had never liked lawyers.

"Indeed, Lt. Sloan, indeed...I am James Barlow...", the gray man introduced himself.

Steve's eyes grew wide for a second. "James Barlow? The James Barlow?" 'Oh great', he thought. Barlow wasn't only a lawyer. He was one of the best lawyers.

James Barlow laughed out, however, it sounded somewhat ridiculing. "Yeah, the James Barlow. I figure that you've heard of me..."

Steve shrugged. "If someone claims on a national radio show that Nixon could still be president in case he would have had you as a lawyer, there won't pass five minutes until everyone has heard it..."

"Yeah, Watergate would have been a child's play then...", Barlow retorted self-confidently, but Steve remained unimpressed.

"I see that modesty isn't a hobby of yours...", the lieutenant remarked dryly. "Now would you please tell your client to finally confess what everybody knows anyway by now?"

"I am actually here to tell my client that he is released on bail...", the lawyer announced and twinkled in the direction of Harris.

Steve gasped. "What?! That's impossible, I have witnesses..."

"You have only one witness to be exact. And unfortunately Mrs Harris isn't in the psychological state to give any kind of evidence that Mr Harris can be charged for physical abuse of his child or anybody else. After all her son died this morning..."

"What?!", it was now Mr Harris turn to exclaim in shock. He had jumped from his chair, but almost lost balance as he still was handcuffed.

Barlow patted his client's shoulder gently. "I know this must be horrible for you, Mr Harris. But it may be good for you to know that there is already an investigation running against the doctor in charge."

"That little bastard...", mumbled Harris, his nostrils were shaking.

Steve took a deep breath. He knew who the doctor in charge was. It took him some seconds to realize that James Barlow held Harris' arms accusingly towards him. "Now, lieutenant Sloan, would you please finally free my client. There is nothing that keeps him here..."

Reluctantly Steve pulled out the keys and opened the handcuffs. He had no choice, but he made a mental note to call the CGH as soon as he would get out of here, and ask what was going on.

Rubbing his wrists, Harris's gratefully glanced at his lawyer. Barlow raised one eyebrow, then sneered at Steve. Before heading off, he turned around once and said calmly: "You know, Lieutenant, modesty is something mediocre. And, as Madonna once said:'It's pure waste of time to do something mediocre...'"

Waving a good-bye, Mr Harris and James Barlow left the interrogation room.

*********

With the painkillers inside his system the world outside, momentarily consisting of his hospital room, seemed like a huge bubble to Phillip Morton, who struggled to move his head when the door opened quietly. During his rounds Jesse hadn't met a lot of friendly faces and he wasn't sure what exactly expected him in this room. He had entered with mixed feelings. Morton smiled weakly as he finally came to recognize the young man. "Hey...", he coughed. "Hiding from them?"

Jesse's heart sank rapidly. Also Morton knew it. "News travel fast...", he simply answered, but at the same time nodded his head. He looked around, confusedly. He neither wanted to be in this room, nor outside. But he pushed away that thought. "How are you feeling?", he inquired instead, somehow sensing the irony behind it.

"I think we both know very well how I am, question is, how are you?", Phillip replied.

Jesse shrugged. "Everybody seems to be scared of me..."

"Are they right?"

He shook his head, smiling bitterly. "No, they aren't. "

"What's your problem then?"

Jesse rolled his eyes. "Isn't that obvious? They think that I'm a killer, that's my problem... I didn't murder anyone. I'm not like...like..." He trailed off, realizing what he was about to say.

Phillip smiled. "You are not like me. Is that what you wanted to say?" Jesse didn't answer. Of course, Phillip was right. His former teacher went on. "You are right, Jesse, you are not like me. You have to keep that in mind."

There was a knock on the door, but neither Phil nor Jesse paid attention to it. Jesse simply stared at Morton, who still wasn't finished. "It's no crime to lose faith in what you do. Everybody does that from time to time. You only have to regain it..."

There had been a second unheard knock on the door, then someone just rushed into the room. Jesse cried out in pain, as he was completely taken by surprise, when a tall security guard grabbed his wrists and twisted Jesse's arms on the back. The strong fingers bored into the flesh of his arms that he felt his blood pounding in them as it was trying to make its way to his hands. His shoulders hurt so much that his whole body was paralysed, but he guessed that this was the guard's intention.

Walter Day and Brandon Dawn ran into the room and build up in front of the doctor who had been dragged away from the hospital bed as far as possible. Jesse was still struggeling against the tightness around his hands, but he realized that the two men seemed to demand his attention and the sooner they'd get it, the faster his arms would probably be free again.

Brandon Dawn looked excusingly at the man in the bed. "Has he been trying to do anything to you?", he asked and frowned almost disappointedly as Phillip shook his head. "No...we were only chatting..."

"What's going on?", Jesse managed to say between two gasps. He felt how his hands became numb.

Walter Day scrutinized Jesse sternly. "Dr Travis, as long as the investigation concerning you lasts, I recommend to you that you'd better keep away from the patients..." A cruel smile flickered over his face. "We don't want anybody to get hurt."

"But, you can't..."

"Dr Travis!", Dawn cut in strictly. "You can make your choice. If you walk out yourself, you will spare all of us, including you, the effort and the emberassment to make you walk!"

*********

Jesse fumbled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the apartement door. He had made his decision. He had walked out himself. As he pulled the key out of the lock when entering, he could see the red marks around his wrists, the prints of the guard's fingers were nearly visible on his skin.

He closed the door behind himself and leaned against it, slowly letting himself sink down along the wooden plate until he sat on the floor, his knees drawn to his chest. He couldn't imagine that it was much worse being a killer than everybody treating you as though you were one. Everyone seemed to be hysterical, when had they started to be?

He wouldn't sit on the ground for ages. Somewhen he pushed himself up, and went over to his bed room door. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget, only forget what was happening and why it was happening. When Jesse walked into the bedroom, a shudder ran down his spine. At first he didn't know what had caused it until he saw that the window was widely open. He frowned. He hadn't opened it. Neither before he had left, nor in the night before. No one in Venice was crazy enough to leave his bedroom window open while he was sleeping or not at home.

As he went to close the window, Jesse threw a quick glance around. Nothing was messed up or missing. And outside in the darkness there wasn't anybody to be seen. Still watching the black night in front of him, Jesse all of sudden became aware of an image that seemed to be reflected by the pane.

There was his own image and behind it there was...by the time he had realized that someone had sneaked up behind him, the young man had no chance to turn around quickly enough. He felt two fingers wrapping around his neck and being pressed into his collar bone, not even seconds later a pain shot through his body, so overwhleming that he couldn't even scream.

Harrs had been waiting behind the open bedroom door, unseen by Jesse who had directly headed for the window. The doctor couldn't have noticed anything until the time the other man's large thumb dug into his flesh.

Feeling how the hurt slowly took his conciousness, Jesse was now pretty sure that he could recognize the face that looked at him from the window pane. And by the time he was was already on his knees, struggling to breath, he knew it was Mr Harris. From the very first second he'd seen him, he had known it wouldn't be the last time.

The strong painful grip forced him onto the floor, even groaning was impossible. Mr Harris waited another few moments in caution, then smiled to himself. Dr Travis lay motionlessly on the ground, hardly breathing. And hardly was still too much.