Oh gosh, I'm sooooo sorry, I really got over updaiting this time. I'm just doing an intership at the local radio station and what can I say, it's an absorbing and demanding job, so I'm always dead-tired when I get home. Anyways, thank you so much for the reviews. Sorry for the cliffhanger as well, but....I just love them. Oh, and, you'll see Mr Can't Get Used To Waiting For Back Up did call...it's just the question if it will help.

**************

Harris' hand still trembled from pulling the trigger. He wasn't used to guns, he had often heard one being fired, however, he had never done it himself. He peered down onto the street, saw the red-blue lights circling on the tops of the police cars which framed the road among him. The sharpshooters were aiming with their weapons at a point where they assumed the shot to have sounded from. Harris had found himself becoming so nervous that a warning shot had seemed as a good idea to him. Yet, he knew already that he was stuck. There was no way out.

Mark and Tanis Archer cautiously robbed over the pavement, facing each other glad to find themselves being okay. By the time the bullet had whizzed through the air, they had thrown themselves to the ground, anxiously expecting more to come. But there weren't any other shots, a fact that relieved Mark at least a bit. So far the weapon that Harris was obviously in possession of had been fired only once at the police men on the street. That meant that it had never been fired at Jesse or Steve. However, they still were in there, both of them, both of his sons, surgorrate or real were kept in there and Mark had no idea whether they were fine or not.

Tanis Archer stumbled to her feet and helped the older doctor up then. "You okay?", she inquired and he answered with a, yet slight, nod. In the meantime Tanis had started to doubt her decision to bring Mark here had been right. But when the precinct that received no further sign from Steve, after he'd called from his car, saying that he had an adress where he would find Harris, she had simply felt that she had to inform Mark about it. Maybe she had just wanted to feel a bit more save, too. She was worried about her partner, hell, she even worried about Travis and she had hoped for Mark's sharp mind to work something out how they could get Jesse and Steve out of there. But she should have known better than that. Ever since he had arrived, Mark had only been staring upwards on the top floors with an apathetic glance in his eyes as if he waited for the wizard of Oz to appear in the cloudy sky and advise him what to do next. So the minutes had passed, Tanis waiting for Mark, Mark waiting for old Ozzy and nothing had happened. But the bang seemed to have awakened their senses again.

Mark had to admit that he probably hadn't been able to give the help Tanis had hoped to get from him. He was cursing himself for not seeing any of this coming, damnit, he knew his son, he should have known what Steve was up to. He could have prevented all this. Not only what had happened to Steve, also what Jesse was going through. Jesse had only left the hospital because he had felt that he wasn't wanted there anymore. Not by the administration, not by the staff, not by the patients and not by his friends. Mark looked into the sky, small rays of light were shining through the huge gray clouds that had formed over LA during the past hour or so, it would surely start raining soon. 'If I had listened to Jesse, we maybe wouldn't be here..' Mark thought sadly.

The shot ranging out had sent a shudder down his spine, for a moment his heart had missed a beat. And to be exact, he hadn't thrown himself to the floor, Tanis had. Mark inwardly sighed heavily, hearing the bullet banging on the metal bodywork of a police car. No one had been hurt. Not yet.

Getting back to his feet, Mark decided that something had to be done before the next shot probably hit another, less resistable aim. Like a human being for example. All of sudden looking quite determined, he glanced at Tanis and at the same time pulled out his cellphone.

"Dr Sloan, there is no phone in there!", she reminded him, sensing to know what he was up to.

He, however, shook his head and for a moment she meant to see that typical Sloan grinning –friendly, yet somewhat knowing-it-all- hushing over his face. "If Steve still has his cellphone, there is phone in there..."

Tanis raised an eyebrow. She should have known that, how come that she hadn't wasted a thought about Steve's cellphone? But, so it crossed her mind, that was why they all loved Steve's dad for. Being an excellent theorist as much as a practice, Mark had the talent to think in every possible direction. He always thought of the most complicated solution to something, yet, never ruled out the easiest one. And mostly he was the one finding the hint in front everybody's noses. Where all the experienced police men got lost in traces, Mark had the right clue. A spontaneous idea which proved to be exactly what they needed. Tanis only prayed that this was no exception.

*************

Jesse gasped, his face twisted with pain. As much as he wanted to, he found it hardly possible to respond to Steve's gentle callings which should bring him back to consciousness. He was now lying on his side, this time the rough wood among him didn't bother him. He was only feeling the pressure in his chest. The pain that seemed to have taken all his other senses, he could barely see something, Steve's words echoed in his head as a pointless razzle dazzle of louds, it was as though he was drowning.

Steve swallowed his sickness that almost overwhelmed him at the sight of Jesse's lips turning slightly blue. "Jesse!", he whispered, noticing rather surprisedly that his voice shivered as though he was about to cry. Indeed, Steve's throat hurt from the big lump that seemed to be stuck there while he tried everything in his might to prevent Jesse from passing out. Carefully he slapped his friend's face, every time he did so feeling the sticky, halfly dried blood adapting to his hands. "Jess, don't dare to leave me alone here now!"

Jesse felt the urge to cough, still he was afraid of what it would possibly do. When he finally was in no state to supress it any longer, he was surprised that in the first second it seemed to steal away some of the hurt. Then, however, he horrorfiedly noticed what had actually happened.

Steve cried out, not really loud, yet, for the normally so straight lieutenant it was nearly hysterical. He had been kneeling in front of his friend again whilst trying to keep him awake. So his knees were the first parts of his body to notice the red liquid touching them, as Steve stared in pure shock at his retching friend. Out of Jesse's mouth was coming an eruption of blood that flooded the floor in front of him and colored Steve's jeans. Steve closed his eyes, partly because he wasn't sure if he could stand the sight of his blood covered friend any longer without vomitting, partly because he had to think. Quickly. It would be pointless to try to get of here, Harris would notice him and then probably kill him. Harris had shot at somebody outside. Maybe they were finally there and he had panicked. But even if back-up had arrived they didn't seem to be in hurry to come in. Steve could hardly hold it against them. They were just following the orders which would probably be something like "the most important matter is to keep the hostages save, so no one will do something thoughtless, for a start we will be waiting". But waiting was nothing Steve needed now. He needed to do something.

"Harris!!", he shouted, not knowing if the desperation had driven him nuts already or if this was really the smartest thing to do. After all, Jesse's state was Harris' so called "merit".

Harris came. He seemed to have been very near the door, maybe he had even been about to come in anyway. "What?!", he yelled, obviously far more nervous than he had been earlier. That was sign enough for Steve to know that back up had really arrived outside.

Harris stopped dead at the sight of the dark-red carpet that covered the floor. He hadn't been expecting to see something like that and he didn't know where it had suddenly come from.

Steve glared accusingly at him. "He's coughing blood! For how long are you intending to play that game for God's sake?!"

Harris had recovered already from the sudden shock. Now he almost felt delighted. He liked the doctor much better this way.

"Damnit, let him go! If you want, you can keep me here, but please let him go!", Steve felt like begging, though he didn't sound like it. It sounded like an order.

Whatever it was, it didn't work. Harris simply shook his head. "No way! So far it looks as though none of us is going to leave this building without being carried out in a box. And I have no intention to change that plan." He had made his plan. His decision. If this was what it cost to take revenge, he would pay the price. His life wasn't worth living anymore anyway.

Steve cellphone ringed into the stunned silence.

Harris frowned. "What's that?"

Steve lifted an eyebrow. "Probably the police. They will want to talk to you. And I suggest that you take that call. For your own good."

Harris was reluctant, but finally he swayed his head, indicating his 'okay'. "You take it!", he ordered, pulling the gun out of his belt again.

Steve pulled out his phone, never lifting his look from Jesse who still groaned from time to time, but so far that was the only active sign of him still being alive.

"Sloan?"

"Steve, thank God, it's you!", Mark couldn't help but crying out frantically.

Steve sighed. It was good to hear his father's voice. A doctor's voice.

"Are you and Jesse okay?", Mark asked, feeling his heart sinking as a small pause occuring until Steve answered.

"I'm fine...but Jesse is hurt! He has problems breathing and has been coughing blood..."

Mark took a heavy breath, trying hard to surpress the images that were rushing through his mind. "Okay, Steve, you need to listen to me now! Keep him calm, roll him on the side, make sure that he doesn't crunch. Tell him to breath as flatly as he can! Keep his head up and try to make him stay awake...that's important, he needs to stay awake somehow, okay? We will get you out of here, I promi...Steve?"

Harris had snatched the cellphone out of Steve's hand already, but Steve had heard the commands his father had shouted through the receiver.

"Harris speaking, what do you want?", Harris asked icily, giving Mark a weak impression of how it was to be with him in one room.

"This is doctor Sloan, Mr. Harris? What are you up to?"

Harris frowned. "A doctor are you? Don't tell me you're a shrink! I don't want to lay down on anybody's couch, okay?! Get a cop on the phone, I will talk to him!" His tone was shivering, anybody could tell from listening to this talk, that Harris was far beyond nervous. He was frightened and probably desparate. A combination which could prove to be fatal.

"Mr. Harris, I'm not a 'shrink'...", Mark answered, running a trembling hand through his white hair. "I'm the Head of Internal Medicine at the Community General Hospital.." He heard how Harris snorted dismissingly at the mention of the CGH. However, he continued, forming each sentence with an amount of prudency. "The only reason why I'm talking to you is that you are holding my son and a colleague of mine hostage..."

Standing behind Mark, Tanis chewed on her nails. That could have been a mistake. To admit a relation with the victims usually brought you in a defensive position, a position which most criminals used shamelessly.

Harris looked down at the men to his feet. The moaning doctor and the cop, crouching next to his friend. He still held his weapon pointed at them to make sure no one would try anything stupid, even though it didn't look like Dr Travis was still moving at all. Harris grinned, remembering that man standing in the door of the waiting room in the hospital, saying that he was sorry. Now Harris had the feeling that Travis was really sorry. A wave of calmness suddenly washed over him. He would get his revenge. And there was nothing those people could do about it.

"Well, some nice colleagues do you have...", he snarled into the phone, his voice replaying less emotion than before.

Mark sighed. "I know what you're thinking, Harris. But you've got the wrong person in there. Dr Travis didn't kill your son..."

"What kinds of evidence do you have?", Harris inquired, cop-like.

Mark's hand formed a fist that hit the police car top slightly. Everybody demanded evidence. People only believed what they saw. After all, this was Los Angeles, Hollywood, the town of dreams, unreality, a town where people ate gossip for breakfast and rumors for lunch. One should have thought, facing this willingness to buy anything a stupid society journalist was able to imagine and write a story about, that people put a bit more faith in words. On the other hand, Mark knew this was the reason why he couldn't expect anybody to believe anything without having the facts on hand. A world where everything could as much be real as a fake, people wanted to know. Not believe. Faith in anything or anybody was, as MTV would have probably put it, "out".

Brandon Dawn had wanted evidence, Walter Day had wanted them and shockedly Mark realized, that for one awful second even he himself would not have believed the words that he was telling Mr. Harris right now. 'What do you have?', Harris had asked.

Well, Mark would tell him what he had. "You have my word!"

Even an insensitive man like Harris was able to make difference between a simple lame promise and the words of a man who never lied. And Mark didn't lie.

The tone of absolute faith that sounded from the receiver kind of damaged Harris's ability to enjoy the prospect of his revenge. His insecurity slowly came back. But he still didn't give in. "Why should I trust you?"

'Good question', thought Mark. 'I almost betrayed one of my closest friends, I couldn't hinder my son to endanger himself, I can't protect the people I love.' He lowered his head. He had no idea of what might have been a good point. "Mr. Harris, I understand that you want the man, who killed your son, to be punished. That is something everybody understands. But you surely don't want innocent people to get hurt, do you?"

"Why do you think I would hurt anybody who was innocent?", Harris snapped, his again shivering fingers far too close to the trigger of his gun.

"I know you wouldn't!", Mark replied, maintaining his calmness which was partly enabled by the fact that he couldn't see the gun that swayed dangerously over Steve's and Jesse's heads. He sensed that Harris was holding a gun now since there was no sound from the background, nothing but a frightened silence. Sometimes Mark meant to hear something that sounded like a uncoordinated gasp for air, but maybe it was also just a static sound on the cellphone connection. "I know you are a proud man, I know you want revenge for your son, but I tell you again, you have the wrong man in there. Dr Travis didn't have anything to do with Jimmy's death...and if you give me one hour, I'll prove that!", he stated finally, glancing at the face of his watch. One hour...he had no idea how he should do this. But from the symptoms Steve had described him, Jesse had either a punctured lung or stomach, whatever it was, if that wasn't fixed soon, he would die of internal blood loss.

And one hour was the very least Mark could give himself. Jesse was a fighter, not one of the obvious sort, but he belonged to the kind of people who were in possession of a great emotional strength. A stubborness that, once activated, seemed indestructable and entirely pushed the will to pull through anything, no matter what. Making this quite courageous promise to Harris, Mark had to rely on this strength of which he knew his friend had it. He had witnessed it in the past, he only hoped that it would do its best to save Jesse now, while he –Mark- would do the other part. Somehow.

Harris was for a moment too stunned to answer anything. Though he hated to admit it, he was impressed by Dr Sloan's way of handling the situation. The convincement in his voice, the finality, with which this last statement had been made, had a tone that insecured him as much as it made him curious. He tried to face Travis, tried to work with the sensible part of his brain. Did this man look like a killer? Like someone who would murder a child? Due to his only very small knowledge of what killers probably looked like Harris had no idea what to think. But there was something behind Sloan's urgent request that deserved to be respected. That deserved an attempt. Harris didn't even realize how he was giving in slowly. "Okay...", he muttered sternly. "One hour, Dr Sloan...not a second more or else your son and Dr Travis will be history..."

Mark felt his stomach convulsing, yet, he forced himself to whisper an utterly strained "Thank you..." into the receiver. He felt so sick. Harris was certainly the last person who'd have deserved any gratefulness, but there was not much of an alternative. Besides, Mark had other things to worry about. One hour. Dialing a new number on his phone, Mark sent silent prayer to heaven. "Please...help me..."

***************

Harris closed the cellphone and put it into his pocket. As he looked down, two blue eyes pierced him full of hatred. Steve had leaned back on his heels while his right hand never left the place where he had Jesse's shoulder in a soft, reassuring grib.

Harris glared down at them. "You have one hour. Enjoy it!", he announced, causing Steve to exhale in relief inaudibly. He had no idea how his father had done it, but he was thankful for it. However, that relaxed second was interrupted by Steve noticing what Harris was obviously up to.

Harris was aiming a kick with his feet...directly at Jesse's chest. It took Steve a second that seemed like an eternity to find out what was going on, but it took him not a third of this time to react to it. Right at the moment when the shoe whizzed down on Jesse's hurtfully shuddering upper body, Steve was in the way. Instead of his friend, Harris' foot rammed into his own solar plexus, causing so much pain that Steve wasn't even able to gasp. He hadn't heard Harris exiting, a cruel comment on his lips, but later Steve could very well imagine what Harris had probably said. Right now he fought against passing out.

Jesse had been aware of people talking next to him all the time. He had never been completely unconsciousness, but when the pain had become all too heavy for him to bear, he had slightly dozed off. To his surprise he had been able to think much clearer in this half-asleep state, for the first time his doctor-mode had taken over. He could hardly breath, his chest hurt at the pure effort to move, two or three of his ribs were definitely broken. It was likely that one of the loose bones had punctured his lung or pierced into another organ. Jesse swallowed. The bitter taste of blood was ruling the nerves on his tongue, but there was still something else, also bitter, but lighter. It could have been gall, he didn't know. But there was no doubt that his chest was seriously wounded and he had internal bleedings.

There was a sudden, very scaring silence around him and for the first time in quite a while, Jesse couldn't feel Steve's hand on his shoulder anymore. Well, he didn't exactly know it was Steve's hand, but he had been aware of a warm touch on his shoulder, something that soothed him a little, letting him know that he was still not alone. Jesse misinterpreted this lack of warmth on his arm as a sure sign that unconsciousness was slowly getting the better part of him. That was something that wasn't to happen. Struggling to open his eyes, Jesse groaned quietly. His view at first was blurry and the very first thing he noticed was a Timberland boot on its way down to him. Without even realizing what was happening, Jesse squeezed his eyes shut again, waiting for the final pain to come, knowing that this would knock him out. To his great surprise, nothing happened.

ariisH

He waited another few seconds, believing that the pain was about to overwhelm him, he thought that his body might be so numb that his nerves needed more time to send a message of pain to his brain. Jesse expected the piercing feeling, the throbbing, he practically expected running out of oxygen any moment. But he didn't feel anything, apart from the pain that was already there. He dared to open his eyes, fearing that he had already passed out and that all his strength to wake up again had gone along with his consciousness.

However, he found that he was still around and Harris seemed to have headed off. And Steve? It hit Jesse like a flash that threw him back into reality. Where was Steve? Jesse cast the room a hazy glance, noticing the penlight on the floor, disgustingly enlightening a sea of blood before him. Jesse didn't need an analysis to know that this was probably his own blood, the same blood that was wettening his shirt. But where was Steve?

Jesse threw a lurking look around, but it was impossible to take in his surroundings when you were lying flatly on the ground. Jesse sighed. He had to move. Inhaling deeply and flinching at the same time, he used his elbow to support his upper body. Immediatly the throbbing was back, as much as the burning that left no chance for him to satisfy his need of fresh air. Jesse's teeth dug deeply into thew flesh of his mouth, but he had so much blood in his mouth that he didn't care. He never recalled how in fact he had managed to push himself up so far, but now he could at least move his head freely.

He noticed a figure that sat leaned against the wall, the limp body edging on Jesse's feet. Jesse blinked. "Steve?", he asked with raspy voice.

Steve's shoulders rose and fell heavily with every struggled breath he took. He had regained some of the functions of his lungs within the past minutes, by now he didn't feel anything but a slight, yet sharp pain. Nevertheless, he had shut his eyes for some seconds and only opened them as he heard a strained worried whisper. Someone was calling him. "I'm here, Jess, everything's alright, don't worry...", he mumbled hoarsely.

"What happened to you?"

"He kicked me...but don't worry, really, it's not that bad...", Steve lied, but could hardly hide the quivering tone in his voice.

Jesse only slowly got what had happened. The kick he had been waiting for...that hadn't been an imagination. Harris had tried to kick him and Steve had thrown himself litterally between them. Before he could say anything, Steve had thrown a look at his friend and realized as much astonished as shocked that the young man had backed himself up into a halfly upright position.

"Jess, please lay back down!", he said strictly, hoping it hadn't sounded to harshly.

If it had, Jesse hadn't taken any notice of it. He simply stared at his friend in silent awe, stammering something into the space that Steve didn't understand. "Steve..you..."

Steve had no idea if that pause was a result of another painful attack from Jesse's ribs or if it was just due to his friend's obviously increasing confusion. "What, Jesse?"

"You...you...", Jesse babbled, then called himself to order and attempted to produce a proper sentence. "He...Harris had kicked me, if you hadn't..." He struggled to sit up and managed it with a even now amazing celerity, which was -as Steve realized once again far too late, typical for the young man. Jesse hated settlement in any way and this attitude had become a fast part of his personality and also his movements. He never held still, he always seemed to be in motion. That was only understandable, guessed Steve. Looking at Jesse, a small, boyish and youthful man, a lot of people surely felt the urge to protect him or –for the worse extreme- thought they could treat him like he didn't deserve any kind of respect. A decisive, even if sometimes a bit over-enthusiastic, quickness was his freedom, his agility was his potential for being invisible.

Steve had slightly smiled at Jesse's child-like astonishment, however he was not very pleased by seeing his friend suddenly sitting more or less crunchedly in a very upright posture next to him. "Damnit, Jess, lay down!", he commanded, following the instructions his father had given to him.

Jesse threw him an almost begging look. "I don't want to. I will pass out and then...", he trailed off, fearing to admit that he was scared of losing consciousness. He didn't want to be kicked again. And he didn't want his friend to be hurt again, just because he couldn't pay and attention. He had caused so much trouble already.

The older man shook his head. "I won't let you pass out!", he promised.

"But I...", Jesse wanted to argue, but a sudden wave of pain interrupted him. Moaning heavily, he fell to the side, where Steve caught him and thereby voluntarily slid aside, giving Jesse space to lie more or less comfortably on the ground. Remembering his dad's advise, he took off his jacket to have something to put under Jesse's head. "You'd better breath flatly...and don't crouch", he added as though it was written on a do's and don'ts list.

Jesse's halfly closed eyes flew open and a spark of mischievousness was to be recognized in them. "Thanks, doctor...", he grinned slyly.

"You're welcome!", Steve retorted, gritting his teeth to surpress any groaning.

Jesse all of sudden grew serious again. "Harris should have kicked me, not you...this is all my fault, I'm sorry."

A sad smile twisted Steve's face, its bitterness bigger than any pain could be. That was why Jesse had been so incoherent. He was wondering why Steve had done this. Even after all those years, Jesse Travis still seemed to have difficulties getting that he deserved to be cared about as much as he did for his friends. Steve shook his head in silent disbelief. "Do you really think I would have sat there and watched Harris kicking you to death?"

Jesse didn't answer quickly. Only some time later, he mumbled: "I don't know, I just thought...after all that mess I..."

Steve rolled his eyes. "My gosh, will you finally get it. Nothing of this is your fault, nothing, no-thing, comprehende? Harris is the rotten dolt here, not you, okay?! He has no right to hurt you or anybody else!" Then he said more reservedly: "If anything did happen to you, my dad or Amanda, I would never forgive myself. I will protect you..."

Then he shot his friend a watchful look. "Besides, I need you to go through the stock list of Bob's with me next week, so don't even think of quitting that easily..."

Jesse's eyes glimmed with mock happiness. "Well, I feels great to know that your friends rely on you..."

Their careful laughter was ended by a grim look at Steve's wristwatch. Different to Jesse, he had kept his and time seemed to be racing on it. Steve cursed as he read the face of his watch. "15 minutes passed..."

He earned a questioning look from Jesse, who only vaguely remembered hearing something about "You've got one hour!" in his semi-awake state. His problems with breathing had come back with a heavier impact. This time not only his chest was torturing him, but Jesse also felt suddenly feverish. He exhaled loudly, then only way he could make sure to breath flatly enough. Seeing his pale face, Steve couldn't help but gently stroking his friend's –his little brother's- cheeks. Touching the clammy skin, Steve felt water on his hands. He wasn't sure if it was sweat or a tear and he didn't ask. He could feel his friend's pain and angst and also had his share of it.

Even without explaining it, both men instinctively knew that they were running out of time.