Jesse could hardy recognize the body on the stretcher, yet one quick look at the badge prominently displayed on the victim's chest told the young doctor who he was.

Steve. Jesse knew that he had been on a stakeout, waiting for 'Big Mike,' as the authorities called him, a burglar/con-artist to return to the scene of the crime. He had gotten up early in the morning, as usual, said goodbye to everyone, and left for work. Getting into his car; that was the last time Jesse, Amanda, or Mark had seen him.

Until now. Steve's almost lifeless body lay on the gurney, blood gushing from the open wound in his chest. His breath came in short gasps, aided by a manual respirator, and his pulse was irregular and uneven, reminding Jesse of the techno song playing on the radio.

Backing up in total shock, Jesse let go of the stretcher and watched the paramedics wheel Steve's unconscious form into the OR. Jesse sank into one of the dull gray chairs in the waiting area, not believing what was happening. He knew that there were risks in being a detective, they all knew that, but it was always a startling slap back to reality when something like this happened. Jesse whipped out his cell phone and called Mark's pager, providing, of course, that he hadn't already heard. News spread around the hospital like wildfire.

"Dr. Travis? What're you doing? We need you in here, STAT!" one of the nurses called to him from the operating room. Jesse stood and rushed into the sterilized room and where the other surgeons tried to save his friend. Steve's life as entirely in their hands now.
.

Amanda had just finished the autopsy she had been working on and shut the body back in the morgue vault. She was washing her hands off when she heard the morgue door open and spun around to see Mark. Turning off the faucet, she turned to face the older doctor.

"Hello Mark." What's going on?" The young medical examiner asked, picking up her pathology report. "They've been paging you for the past ten minutes."

"I know. I was caught in a board meeting, left my pager at the nurses' station, and couldn't get out," Mark paused. "Oh, Amanda, it's Steve. He's been shot."

"What happened? Is he alright?" Amanda dropped the report back on the examination table, worry lining her voice.

"I'm not clear on all the details yet, but apparently this 'Big Mike' character came out and started shooting. One of the shots missed the Kevlar and hit Steve in the chest. They want me in the OR to supervise."

"Well, I'm coming with you," Amanda insisted. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Just pray for Steve," Mark replied, gently escorting her out of the morgue by the shoulder. "Pray for him."

.

Mark stepped into the operating room, still tying on his surgical mask. Everyone glanced up, muttered some form of greeting, and again focused their attention to the procedure.

"How's he doing?" Mark asked while applying antiseptic to another, minor, shot to Steve's leg before removing the shell.

"The bullet punctured his left lung, he's got hemorrhaging in the chest and abdomen, also hemorrhaging near the brain stem and cerebellum. Whatever he landed on when he hit the ground was really tough, probably concrete of something like that," one of the trauma nurses rattled off, not looking up from inserting and IV drip.

Jesse and Mark exchanged apprehensive looks. They both knew the severity of the situation, and how much danger Steve was in, and that it would take every effort, every attempt, every possibility, to save him. Holding onto his limp hand, Mark whispered to his anesthetized son, "Hang in there, Steve. We're gonna get you out of this. One way or another, you're coming out of here."

.

Amanda remained outside the operating room, nervously waiting for Mark or Jesse to emerge with news on Steve's condition. She paced the hall, occasionally stopping to offer an unspoken prayer for her friend who so desperately needed God's help. After she has memorized every detail of the Van Gough replica on the wall, enough to be able to repaint it blindfolded, she started asking any doctor or nurse who passed by on the whereabouts of Steve. Nobody knew anything. An hour had passed since Mark had notified her, but it felt like and eternity.

Suddenly, from inside the OR, Amanda heard one of the surgeons shout something, she heard scrambling around, she heard the squeaking of crash cart wheels, and then she heard nothing. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she waited, in anxious anticipation, the outcome of Steve's predicament.

The door to the operating room swung open and Jesse stepped out, his scrubs stained with blood and sweat. His steps were shaky and his lower lip quivered as tears ran silently down his face. Amanda stood, wordlessly asking the question that she already knew the terrifying answer to.

Lifting his tear-streaked face, Jesse slowly shook his head, still in a state of shock and disbelief. Two feet away, Amanda breather a practically inaudible, pained word of denial. But as she welcomed Jesse into a frightened embrace, she knew the truth. The two of them sank onto their knees on the ice of the tile, crying freely.

Passing doctors and nurses offered whispered condolences; most of them had figured out what had happened. Mark came out of the operating room a half hour after Jesse and joined in the small huddle of tears and sorrow. The three friends remained there long after the ends of their shifts, noiselessly comforting each other. None of them spoke, as they all knew the reality of it all: their lives would never be the same. Never.

~Well, I had wanted to write something like this for a while. Steve fans, go ahead and hate me. But please, R&R! More to come, and soon, I hope!~ Mariah