Part 20 Epilogue.
Amanda moved quietly in to Jesse's room, now that he'd finally surrendered himself to sleep she did not want to risk disturbing him. She had been watching him in silence for the last half hour, standing in the doorway fascinated by the way his fingers moved across the keys. He was clearly still in a lot of pain, but had refused any medication until he had finished the task that he 'needed' to complete.
She had been there for his showdown with Dr. Taylor.
"Dr. Travis," Bill Taylor tried the formal address and then thought better of it, softening his tone, "Jess, you have a broken rib, and we've had to re-stitch your leg, not to mention the concussion which you've aggravated, you need to. . ."
"I need to do this," Jesse stated firmly. I won't be able to. . .I can't relax. . ."
"I can give you something . ." Bill tried.
"No!" Jesse's retort was so uncharacteristically harsh that Bill almost flinched back from it. Jesse clenched his fists and fought against the confused mass of emotion that was trying to take control. "No," he stated more softly. "Please, the drugs won't help I just need to get these images out of my head and the only way I can do that is to write it down."
There was a long pause as Bill Taylor tried to work out a response that he thought might work, but given the trauma Jesse had suffered he wasn't sure how to respond, for a moment he wished that Mark was there, under other circumstances he would have automatically called him in for a consult on a patient refusing treatment. Mark, however was otherwise occupied, refusing to leave Steve's side even for a moment, another testament to the trauma of the last few days. When Bill had tried to get him to sit and wait in the doctor's lounge as he normally did when Steve needed treatment he had raised haunted eyes, stating quietly. "I can't leave him. . . I can't leave him again." The last word was spoken with such soft poignancy that Bill hadn't been able to respond to that either. In his profession it was difficult not to become hardened to a certain extent to the tragedy and suffering of others by years of facing their trauma and pain on a daily basis, in fact it was necessary most of the time, but these personal tragedies so close to home were taking their toll. He let out a heavy sigh.
Jesse looked up, he was trying hard to find a way to explain what he was feeling in a way that his friend and colleague would understand. He so desperately needed some sort of closure that he couldn't contemplate even a drug induced sleep. Not even the pain from his many injuries could convince him that Bill might be right. He met Bill's gaze, realising as he did so that there was no way to explain it, that, were there positions reversed, he wouldn't understand either. "I'll refuse treatment altogether," he said with quiet determination. "Sign myself out if I have to." It wasn't an idle threat, there was a desperation in his need to write this final chapter that would control his actions. His voice wavered slightly. "Please, I need to do this."
Bill Taylor sighed again, there was nothing he could do. Even if he had the will to fight Jesse on this, and he wasn't sure that he did, he couldn't treat him without his permission and he was mobile enough to carry out his threat to leave. He took the only option that he could. "OK, I'll make sure you get a laptop for as long as you need it, but as soon as you're done, you follow my instructions for at least 48 hours and you allow me to administer any medication I see fit. Agreed?"
Jesse thought for a moment. "Agreed."
That had been four hours ago now, Amanda had checked back several times and Jesse had always been working, his brow furrowed partly in concentration and partly from the pain, he had never acknowledged her presence and she had stayed in the background, needing to know that he was alright but not wishing to intrude. Now as he dropped into an exhausted sleep, she finally felt able to approach. She picked up the syringe from the waiting tray and injected it into his IV line. Making a note on his chart, she looked up and watched as the deep lines were smoothed from his face, his hand slipping down away from the keyboard as his muscles relaxed.
Amanda replaced the chart on its hook and moved forward to pick up and remove the laptop. She was about to shut it down when her curiosity got the better of her, moving away from the bed she sat in a chair in the corner of the room and opened the file that Jesse had been working on. She had only meant to skim through it, perhaps read a few paragraphs to see what had been so important to him, but quickly she found that she had to read every word, the emotions leapt off the page, dragged her in until she was feeling what they had felt, experiencing each heart stopping moment of the danger that they had been in. The descriptions were clear and compelling, the terror of going to the park alone to face Chloe, masked thinly by the determination to do all that he could to rescue Steve, the pain of the gunshot, the terrible journey half awake until he was finally dumped in a room, the distress at finding Steve beaten and chained to a wall, Amanda felt the tears begin to fall as she read of the strength that the two drew from each other, as they waited for the last desperate confrontation, the fear taking hold once again as they quite literally fought for their lives, and then the relief, first at Mark's voice and then at his presence as help finally arrived.
She looked up and across at the bed where Jesse was now sleeping, thankful that he was safe, thankful for the strength and determination that had brought him through the last few days, and still slightly awed by his resilience. She had always known that he was strong, but he had faced things that would have made a lesser man turn and run. Another tear slipped down her cheek but this was one of pride.
She stood and walked back over to his bed the computer cradled against her chest, reaching down she took his hand in hers, reassured by the warmth, she gave it a gentle squeeze. He still had trauma to face, injuries to recover from and an inquiry into his actions. She knew that his strength would carry him through but still wished that she could wipe it all away, could soothe the mental trauma in the same way that the pain medication soothed the physical trauma, but even that was only a quick fix, there was no recovery without pain.
In her reading there had been one section that had been slightly stilted, the wording obviously awkward. His description of the shot that had killed Chloe and his own reaction to it had been faltering, the emotion shut off, and she knew how hard it would be for him to come to terms with that, despite everything Chloe had done to him, to all of them, taking a life would never come easily. Even Steve, who accepted it as an inevitable part of his job, and could rationalize it when others were in danger, found it difficult to process sometimes. Jesse, who was so dedicated to saving life, would find it doubly so.
She gave Jesse's hand another reassuring squeeze, still not sure if it was for him or for her and wiped the tears from her face, ironically the action made more well up, a whole mixture of emotions making them threaten to fall once more, but she held them back, she needed to go and update Dr. Taylor on Jesse's condition and check on Mark, cradling the laptop tightly against her chest, she turned and walked from the room.
--
Steve's world drifted in fragments, contrasts, from bright shining lights and movement, to all encompassing darkness, shouts, echoes and sirens to empty silences. There was pain, constant pain, but there were also fluffy clouds that wrapped him in their warmth and carried him along, almost making him forget, he liked that, liked the soft comfort, he wanted to stay there forever, but the pain always dragged him back, ebbing and flowing like the tide, he let out soft moans that seemed somehow detached, heard a familiar voice calling his name, an insistent beeping sound drummed into his consciousness and then receded as the world floated away once more He felt like he was underwater, never quite making it back to the surface. It became almost a pattern, he lost count of the drifts just knowing that it had happened before. Each time he seemed to go deeper than the last, slipping further under, getting further away from the surface. He wasn't sure why but he knew that that wasn't good. He tried to fight his way back but he was so tired and it was so hard, but he knew it was important, so he kept fighting.
Suddenly the sensations shifted, the images changed as though he had just opened his eyes, waking from a dream into a nightmare, he knew where he was, chained to a wall in a darkened room, the pain in his shoulder excruciating, only matched by the emptiness as he waited to die alone. The cold leached his strength away, the darkness carried his resolve, he was going to die here and there was nothing that he could do to save himself, nothing, but even in his hopelessness he could not give up, it was not in his nature. There had to be something. . . he looked around, desperately scanning, and then he heard the click of the door. It was too late they were coming for him and this time they would. . . .
"Steve?"
The familiar voice was incongruous in the empty room and he fought to make sense of it. Maybe it was his father coming though the door, he squinted at it and as he did so he forced his eyes open on light that was far to bright for where his mind had him placed, he let out a startled gasp and blinked at blurry shapes that refused to form in the painfully bright light.
"Steve, can you hear me?"
He turned to face the voice that he held so dear and blinked again his vision still fuzzy, his eyes unable to obey the command to focus. "Dad?"
Mark smiled with relief as Steve finally spoke to him, the weariness and tension of the last two days melting away in an instant as clear blue eyes met his. He looked away briefly as he spoke to the nurse that had responded to his summons. "Get Dr. Taylor, tell him Steve's awake," he said, noticing her own smile at the news as she nodded and hurried off.
"You've had us quite worried the past couple of days," he said conversationally, turning his attention back to his son. There was a slight hitch to his voice as he tried and failed to continue the illusion of nonchalance. "It's good to have you back."
Steve's mind and vision were finally beginning to clear as he recognised the familiar sights of one of Community General's ICU rooms. He processed the last images of his dream, no, not a dream, they were memories. "Two days?" he asked, scanning around a little, "in ICU?"
Mark nodded. "You'd lost a lot of blood, but you're going to be fine now." He did not fill in the details of just how harrowing those two days had been. The blood loss was bad enough in itself, enough to send him into shock, but following so closely to the previous near fatal episode and coupled with the massive bruising that Steve had suffered, it had led to complications that had sent him into a coma, with possible permanent damage to liver and kidneys as their function dropped and Steve almost slipped away, but he hadn't, he had fought back. "You're going to be fine." He said, repeating the words as much for his own benefit as for Steve's.
Steve studied his father's face, "And you've been here all the time?" The comment was half question, half accusation. Mark didn't need to answer, the brief flash of guilt that crossed his features was enough, even without the evidence of drawn features and dark circles beneath the eyes. "Go, get some rest," Steve said, giving the hand that had slipped beneath his a quick squeeze. "You just said I'll be fine."
Mark hadn't been able to leave Steve's side for more than a few minutes in all that time. The normal protective instincts that made him want to be close to his son when he was in danger had been amplified by Chloe's cruel actions. Mark had needed that physical connection to his son more than he ever had before, he needed to be there for him, however long it took, and wild horses could not have dragged him away. He returned the gentle pressure on Steve's hand. "I. . . ." he began but he could not put into words the emotions he was feeling, the reasons why he had had to stay.
Steve locked and held his father's gaze, the confusion clearing, as synapses fired and thoughts connected. His father hadn't been able to leave him, had not wanted him to wake up alone, all the time in his drifting, half dream state he had known he was there. It had given him the strength to fight. A realisation slipped back into place, something that he already knew, that he had always known, something that would help banish the nightmares, instinctively he knew that it was something that Mark also needed to hear. "Wherever you are," he said quietly, "I know that you're there for me." He paused there was a tangible connection between them that went far deeper than words or a shared gaze ever could and he let that carry the emotion.
"I'm never alone," he stated, the words almost a whisper, he closed his eyes and swallowed, slightly uncomfortable with the power of the sentiment. He let go of the hand that gripped his. "Now go," he said, his gravely voice sounding harsher than he meant, the few words he had spoken taking the effort of a marathon. He felt his eyes beginning to droop and fought against it, barely able to hang on to consciousness. "You need to," he yawned softly, "Get some rest." He was almost under when he dragged himself back, "I'll be fine," he half mumbled as he slipped into a peaceful sleep.
Mark watched, realising that he hadn't managed a reply, his own body sagging with weariness, and relief, tears welling in his eyes. "I know son," he whispered.
When Doctor Taylor arrived he was surprised to find Mark willing to leave Steve's side long enough to let him examine him. Despite Steve's much improved physical condition and the improved prognosis, he had expected the now usual discussion where he pointed out that Mark needed to take care of himself and Mark simply insisted that he could not leave Steve alone. Instead Mark volunteered to go without being asked.
Mark paused by the door. "When you've finished here I've got another admission for you," he stated.
Bill looked up raising one eyebrow. "Oh, who?"
"Just an old Doctor suffering from exhaustion," Mark smiled a weary smile. "You should be able to find him in the doctor's lounge." He added before heading in that direction.
--
Mark shrugged into his white coat as he left his office, it had been two days since Steve had pulled out of the coma and he had been moved from ICU to a standard room. Mark himself had been admitted overnight and after 24 hours enforced rest with the nurses bringing him regular updates on Steve, so that he would not be tempted to go and check for himself, he had felt much better. He had taken another day before deciding that he felt up to returning to work. The hospital was still down on it's normal compliment of patients so he knew that he could ease himself gently back in. Besides, the thought of rattling around the large empty beach house on his own while both Steve and Jesse were still laid up in hospital was not something he could contemplate. He knew that he would spend most of his time at the hospital, so he might as well get some work done at the same time.
"Dr. Sloan. . . Mark." The voice calling him from behind sounded slightly agitated, he turned to see Bill Taylor running towards him.
He stopped and smiled. "Bill what can I. . ." but the expression on Bill's face made him stop mid sentence. His stomach turned to stone "What's wrong, is it Steve?"
"Steve's fine," Bill said, allowing a moment for Mark to start breathing again, "It's Jesse, he's disappeared."
--
Mark pulled the car up in front of the old studio and looked up at the cracked and peeling paint that was beginning to drop in chunks from the buildings fascia, emphasizing its condemned status. He allowed a small shudder, the memories of the last time he had been here still too close to the surface. Steve had almost died here, Jesse too. He took a deep breath and headed towards the doorway, the torn dangling edges of the crime scene tape confirming that his hunch had been right. Jesse was here.
He pushed the door open and entered the room, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit interior from the contrasting bright sunlight outside. Jesse was standing in the center of the room by one of the desks, his back to the door. He did not move or turn, in fact he showed no indication that he even knew Mark was there.
Mark took a couple of steps forward, his eyes scanning the rest of the room before finally settling back on his friend. The last time he had been here, he hadn't really seen any of it. Steve had been his entire focus, so looking at it now was like seeing it for the first time. It was hard not to stare at the patch of blood on the floor where Steve had fallen, hard not to consider all that it represented. The balled up cloak that Jesse had used to try to stop the blood flow lay discarded a few feet away.
The swords had been removed as evidence but there was still one outfit intact, its sword sheathed in it's scabbard, the hilt shining with silver and gilt decoration. Mark shivered at the idea of having to use it as a method of defense. He looked across to the door that he knew led into the utility room where Steve and Jesse had been held and curiosity almost made him walk over to look inside, but the image of what had been done to Steve was already vivid enough, he did not need for it to be reinforced.
The silence lasted for several minutes. Mark waited patiently knowing that Jesse would talk when he was ready.
"How did you know I'd be here?" Jesse asked, still not turning to face his friend.
"Just a hunch," Mark replied, "I knew the where, I just wasn't quite sure of the why."
There was another long pause and Mark wasn't sure if Jesse had picked up on the implied question. The reply was so quiet that Mark almost missed it when it finally came.
"I killed two people in this room."
Mark took a step forward. "Jess you didn't. . ."
Jesse turned to face him. "Oh, I know that they were both accidental, that I didn't intend to or even try to, both times it was self defense, but the fact remains, it was my hand on the sword, my finger on the trigger. I killed them." He leant back against the desk behind him, resting his hands either side as his gaze dropped to the floor. "Rationally I know I didn't have a choice." He looked up to meet Mark's gaze. "So why does it hurt so much?"
Mark studied him for a moment before replying. "Because you care about people, Jess, It's part of what makes you who you are."
"Yeah, well I wish I didn't." Jesse's eyes dropped to the floor again.
Mark took another step forward. "You don't mean that."
Jesse sighed. "No, I don't. I just. . ." there was another pause as he struggled to find the words. "I just wish there was a way to make sense of all of this. I guess I just want to understand why all this happened. . . . Why me?"
It was Mark's turn to sigh. There was no easy answer to that question, maybe no answer at all beyond platitudes and clichés, and they were not needed here. Mark wandered over to one of the easels that still held a beautifully coloured illustration. The figure of a bare chested hero, brandishing a sword above his head and clutching a beautiful woman in his arm, stood over the body of a demon.
"She was a very talented artist," Mark stated, pulling his glasses from his top pocket to get a better look at the picture.
The comment shook Jesse from his reverie and he moved over to stand beside Mark.
"She was," he said, his voice soft, "All her pictures were of heroes slaying demons and monsters." He thought for a moment. "I think that the fantasy was her reality. At some point in her mind the two merged." He turned his attention from the picture to watch Mark as a slight change in posture alerted him to the fact that Mark had noticed something. He was leaning forward studying the demon more closely. Jesse returned his own attention to the picture, not sure what he was looking for.
Mark's attention seemed to wander, he looked away from the picture scanning the surface of the neighbouring desk until he saw what he wanted. He moved to a pile of sketchpads scanning through them until he found the one that interested him, discarding the others. The first page held a pencil study of the hero in the painting, there was one slight difference, the hero in the study had Jesse's features. Mark turned the page, there was a similar picture, only the expression had changed slightly, it was still clearly Jesse but the features had hardened. Jesse had followed Mark, standing to one side, wordlessly Mark positioned the sketchpad between them as he turned the page to the next set of studies. This sheet had three drawings of head and shoulders, the face distorting a little more with each one, Jesse let out a gasp as he realised now what Mark had seen, he moved back to the canvas and studied the demon, before taking the sketchpad from Mark to turn the to the next page, fascinated as the transformation was completed. He looked from the pad to the painting and back again.
Clear blue eyes met his as Jesse looked up at Mark. "It's me," he stated quietly, "the demon is me." He swallowed, glancing at both pictures again before looking back to his friend. "Is that what I was to her . . .a demon?"
"I think it's what you came to represent. In her mind you were responsible for everything that had gone wrong for her, you caused her suffering."
"That's why she had to destroy me."
Mark nodded his agreement at the statement, watching silently as Jesse's attention turned back to studying the slowly morphing sketches.
"She was mixed up long before you met her." Mark stated.
"I know, I just wish I could have stayed like this for her." He held up the drawing of the hero. "I just wish I could have been the hero that she needed to save her."
Mark shook his head, "I don't think anyone could. You can't slay demons that only exist in the mind."
Jesse thought for a few moments more. Realising that he couldn't make sense of it because it did not make sense and never would. Chloe Marsden had existed in a world that he did not recognise, a world where fantasy and reality merged. However badly he might feel about being part of it, she had orchestrated her own fate and had cast him in a role that he had had no choice but to fulfill, he could have no regrets. He looked up at Mark, his thoughts shifting away from the introspection he had needed to come here for. "Is Bill really mad that I left the hospital again?"
Mark allowed a small smile. "Well he has got you down as the worst patient in the history of the hospital, even beating Steve into second place." His expression became a little more serious, "but I think he's more worried about you than mad." He paused before adding. "I am too."
Jesse dropped the sketchpad back onto the desk. "I think I'll be all right now," he stated, taking a deep breath. "Come on let's get back."
--
Steve walked into the Doctor's lounge, his shoulder still aching from the punishing workout he had just given it in his regular physio session, but it was worth it. He could feel the strength building every day now and he was close to being cleared to go back to active duty soon. He had been lucky on two counts, first, both injuries had been to his right shoulder, and, since he was left handed, he hadn't been quite as debilitated by the weakness in his arm as he would have been if the injuries had been on the other side, and secondly, the nerve damage had been minimal, meaning that he could get full function back, all it would take was time and hard work on his part, a small price to pay considering the alternatives.
Still he had had to be content with working behind a desk for the last four weeks and, though he was trying hard not to let it, it was beginning to get him down. So now he was seeking out Jesse, he had some good news for him and he was hoping that delivering it would help to cheer both of them up. Jesse was only now getting back to his old irrepressible self as normality returned to the hospital and all of their lives.
He walked up behind Jesse who did not seem to notice him approach, he was too focused on the screen of the laptop on the table in front of him. Curious Steve leaned in to read over his shoulder. Jesse finally noticing his presence looked up.
"A review Jess," Steve said, raising his eyebrows as he read the words on the screen. 'Hilarious, funniest thing I've read in a long time.' "I thought you'd sworn off writing for good." He moved to take a seat as Jesse replied.
"I did at first, but Dr. Carter thought it would be good therapy." Jesse was grinning widely, it was nice to see and Steve decided that Dr. Carter had been right. It had been a while since he had seen his friend looking this happy.
"I decided to write in a completely different genre though. No more action, suspense or murder for me, I've had quite enough of that."
"So what show are you writing for?"
"Scrubs."
"Still, sticking to what you know huh? Well from the review I just saw it definitely seems to be working"
Jesse grinned again. "Yeah, it is."
"So can I read it sometime?"
Jesse hesitated, "I really don't think it's your sort of thing I mean, hospitals, doctors. . ."
"Jess I spend half my life here or hanging out with doctors."
Jesse had to concede the point. "So how's the physio going?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Good, Brett seems to think that he'll sign me off in a week or two." Steve wasn't going to be distracted that easily. "But you're my doctor, so you knew that already." He pointed at the computer. "So, can I read it?"
Jesse sighed, admitting defeat, "Sure." He pressed the relevant keys to get to the start of the story. "I. . .erm. . .have to get on with my rounds, I'll catch up with you later." He stood up.
"Before you go I've got some news," Steve said, remembering why he'd come to find Jesse. "Paul Bilson's pleading guilty to all charges, so it won't go to trial. You won't have to testify."
Jesse sat down again, allowing the relief to show on his face, since he had been cleared of culpability in the shooting of Chloe Marsden, the impending trial of Bilson had been the last dark cloud hanging over his head, he had not been looking forward to reliving the whole thing again in the witness stand. "Has he done a deal?"
"No, apparently he's gone against his defense counsels recommendation, they were angling for a diminished responsibility plea. He's confessed to everything, from helping Chloe to kill and assume the identity of the security guard, Laura Miles, to planting and detonating all of the bombs. He'll most likely face the death penalty."
Jesse nodded, "So it is finally all over." He met Steve's gaze, his own relief reflected there. There was a mutual connection that lasted only a moment, the relief strengthened because it was shared. Steve was the first to look away, and Jesse realised it would have been just as hard on Steve to relive the whole thing at the trial. He had spoken very little about what had happened, but Jesse knew that the experience had taken its toll. At least now they could all move on.
Steve's attention had returned to the computer screen and Jesse remembered that that was his cue to make an exit before Steve got too far with the reading.
"That's great news, I'll. . .er . . .get on with my rounds then," he said, backing away. "Let me know what you think."
Steve watched his friend retreat through the door, putting his strange behaviour down to being nervous about letting somebody he knew read what he had written. At least that was what he thought until he started reading.
--
Steve almost knocked his father and Amanda down as he came round the corner of the corridor that led to Mark's office.
"OK, where is he?" he asked, barely keeping a lid on his anger, "I've searched the hospital for him, so you two must be hiding him. So, where is he?"
"I assume you mean Jesse?" Amanda asked.
"And why would we be hiding him? What has he done?" Mark asked guilelessly.
Steve eyed his father critically. "Oh, I think you know," he glanced across at Amanda, "And I think you two have been encouraging him."
"With what?" Mark's expression was still the picture of innocence and Steve thought, not for the first time, that his father could have had quite a good career as an actor.
"Does the name Steve Stone ring any bells, Lieutenant Steve Stone, a homicide detective?"
"Oh, you mean his new story. It's very good isn't it, very funny." Amanda tried very hard to keep from smirking and almost succeeded.
"It might be if the good lieutenant wasn't the butt of most of the jokes."
"What's wrong with that?" Mark asked.
Steve raised an eyebrow, "You don't think that the he may be based on someone you know, the name doesn't perhaps give it away."
Mark was ready for this one. "As I understand it he just combined the names from one of his other favourite TV shows, 'The Streets of San Francisco' He used Mike Stone's surname and Steve Keller's first name to make Steve Stone."
The comment threw Steve, giving him a moment's doubt, but it was only a moment as he recognised the twinkling in his father's eyes, he was being played with. "Hmm, so how do you explain the fact that Steve Stone's father is the Chief of Internal Medicine in the hospital? Or the fact that he loves hospital food, particularly the meatloaf?"
"But Steve Stone is described as an accident prone detective who spends his entire life in the ER being treated for various injuries. Surely you don't think that's you?" Amanda asked sweetly.
"Amanda," Steve smiled equally sweetly back, "I didn't say that he didn't exaggerate, just that he based the character on me, and that is why when I get hold of him, I am going to kill him." He paused trying to ignore Amanda's growing smirk. "It's bad enough that half the hospital was already laughing at the way Nurse Johnson managed to dump an entire trolley of hospital meals on me, without having my best friend plaster the incident, under the thinly disguised names of Lieutenant Stone and Nurse Bronson, all over the internet."
"But he has been quite flattering, about Lieutenant Stone too." Mark said, still having much more success than Amanda at controlling his expression.
"Yes," Amanda picked up, "there's the scene where all the female medical students faint when Lieutenant Stone takes off his shirt to reveal his six pack."
Steve could feel himself beginning to blush, the sensation did not do a lot for his anger.
"And then there's. . ." Mark began but stopped himself.
"What?" Steve asked suspiciously.
"Nothing, just another scene where the Lieutenant is described favourably but I don't think Jesse has posted it yet."
Amanda looked at him "Have I seen it. Oh. . . I know the one you mean, the one at Nurse Bronson's apartment with. . ." But there was something in Mark's expression that made her stop. She turned back to Steve ready to change the subject, but it was too late, Steve was looking at Mark an incredulous expression on his face.
"Dad, tell me you didn't tell him about the incident with the towel." Steve didn't need to wait for an answer the apology was written all over Mark's face.
Steve threw up his hands in exasperation. "Oh that's just great." He looked at his father. "You do know that I won't be able to show my face around here again after that's posted."
"Hey, I told you I believed that there was a perfectly innocent explanation as to how you ended up with a naked nurse in your arms and no buttons on your shirt, and I'm sure other people will believe that too." Mark managed to get to the end of the sentence before he burst out laughing, the fact that Steve was blushing again was the last straw in his efforts at self control, Amanda abandoned her attempts too and began to shake with laughter.
Steve stepped back. "Don't worry, I'll get to you two," he said, "just as soon as I've dealt with Jesse." He pushed unceremoniously between them as he headed off to continue his search, trying to ignore the giggles that continued behind him.
Steve allowed himself a predatory smile. He could see Jesse in the Doctor's lounge, there was only one exit and he could easily make it before Jesse could make an escape, the young doctor was trapped. He moved until he was standing in the open doorway, and was just about to close in when he noticed that Jesse was not alone, Nurse Johnson was moving towards him carrying a birthday cake with what looked to be about 50 lit candles on the top.
The young nurse smiled at him. "Steve, good to see you," she said, "I'm just taking this cake to Mrs. Hiddemeyer, she's 52 today."
Steve stared horrified at the burning candles. One of the scenes in Jesse's story had had Lieutenant Stone's hair accidentally set alight by the accident prone Nurse Bronson. He had not appreciated at the time the comment that the singed spiky look actually suited him better than the style he had. Now he was just horrified at the idea of life once again imitating fiction. He threw a quick, "I'll get you later," at Jesse, backing away from the rapidly approaching nurse, before turning and running. He did not get far before he heard the startled yell and turned to see the burning cake arching through the air, straight at the point where moments earlier he had been standing. Maybe he would be nice to Jesse so that he only wrote about good things happening to Lieutenant Stone. With that thought, he turned back and ran for his life.
The End.
Author's note:- So that's it, epilogue and all. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me, thank you for your patience and I really hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think. Judith.
Amanda moved quietly in to Jesse's room, now that he'd finally surrendered himself to sleep she did not want to risk disturbing him. She had been watching him in silence for the last half hour, standing in the doorway fascinated by the way his fingers moved across the keys. He was clearly still in a lot of pain, but had refused any medication until he had finished the task that he 'needed' to complete.
She had been there for his showdown with Dr. Taylor.
"Dr. Travis," Bill Taylor tried the formal address and then thought better of it, softening his tone, "Jess, you have a broken rib, and we've had to re-stitch your leg, not to mention the concussion which you've aggravated, you need to. . ."
"I need to do this," Jesse stated firmly. I won't be able to. . .I can't relax. . ."
"I can give you something . ." Bill tried.
"No!" Jesse's retort was so uncharacteristically harsh that Bill almost flinched back from it. Jesse clenched his fists and fought against the confused mass of emotion that was trying to take control. "No," he stated more softly. "Please, the drugs won't help I just need to get these images out of my head and the only way I can do that is to write it down."
There was a long pause as Bill Taylor tried to work out a response that he thought might work, but given the trauma Jesse had suffered he wasn't sure how to respond, for a moment he wished that Mark was there, under other circumstances he would have automatically called him in for a consult on a patient refusing treatment. Mark, however was otherwise occupied, refusing to leave Steve's side even for a moment, another testament to the trauma of the last few days. When Bill had tried to get him to sit and wait in the doctor's lounge as he normally did when Steve needed treatment he had raised haunted eyes, stating quietly. "I can't leave him. . . I can't leave him again." The last word was spoken with such soft poignancy that Bill hadn't been able to respond to that either. In his profession it was difficult not to become hardened to a certain extent to the tragedy and suffering of others by years of facing their trauma and pain on a daily basis, in fact it was necessary most of the time, but these personal tragedies so close to home were taking their toll. He let out a heavy sigh.
Jesse looked up, he was trying hard to find a way to explain what he was feeling in a way that his friend and colleague would understand. He so desperately needed some sort of closure that he couldn't contemplate even a drug induced sleep. Not even the pain from his many injuries could convince him that Bill might be right. He met Bill's gaze, realising as he did so that there was no way to explain it, that, were there positions reversed, he wouldn't understand either. "I'll refuse treatment altogether," he said with quiet determination. "Sign myself out if I have to." It wasn't an idle threat, there was a desperation in his need to write this final chapter that would control his actions. His voice wavered slightly. "Please, I need to do this."
Bill Taylor sighed again, there was nothing he could do. Even if he had the will to fight Jesse on this, and he wasn't sure that he did, he couldn't treat him without his permission and he was mobile enough to carry out his threat to leave. He took the only option that he could. "OK, I'll make sure you get a laptop for as long as you need it, but as soon as you're done, you follow my instructions for at least 48 hours and you allow me to administer any medication I see fit. Agreed?"
Jesse thought for a moment. "Agreed."
That had been four hours ago now, Amanda had checked back several times and Jesse had always been working, his brow furrowed partly in concentration and partly from the pain, he had never acknowledged her presence and she had stayed in the background, needing to know that he was alright but not wishing to intrude. Now as he dropped into an exhausted sleep, she finally felt able to approach. She picked up the syringe from the waiting tray and injected it into his IV line. Making a note on his chart, she looked up and watched as the deep lines were smoothed from his face, his hand slipping down away from the keyboard as his muscles relaxed.
Amanda replaced the chart on its hook and moved forward to pick up and remove the laptop. She was about to shut it down when her curiosity got the better of her, moving away from the bed she sat in a chair in the corner of the room and opened the file that Jesse had been working on. She had only meant to skim through it, perhaps read a few paragraphs to see what had been so important to him, but quickly she found that she had to read every word, the emotions leapt off the page, dragged her in until she was feeling what they had felt, experiencing each heart stopping moment of the danger that they had been in. The descriptions were clear and compelling, the terror of going to the park alone to face Chloe, masked thinly by the determination to do all that he could to rescue Steve, the pain of the gunshot, the terrible journey half awake until he was finally dumped in a room, the distress at finding Steve beaten and chained to a wall, Amanda felt the tears begin to fall as she read of the strength that the two drew from each other, as they waited for the last desperate confrontation, the fear taking hold once again as they quite literally fought for their lives, and then the relief, first at Mark's voice and then at his presence as help finally arrived.
She looked up and across at the bed where Jesse was now sleeping, thankful that he was safe, thankful for the strength and determination that had brought him through the last few days, and still slightly awed by his resilience. She had always known that he was strong, but he had faced things that would have made a lesser man turn and run. Another tear slipped down her cheek but this was one of pride.
She stood and walked back over to his bed the computer cradled against her chest, reaching down she took his hand in hers, reassured by the warmth, she gave it a gentle squeeze. He still had trauma to face, injuries to recover from and an inquiry into his actions. She knew that his strength would carry him through but still wished that she could wipe it all away, could soothe the mental trauma in the same way that the pain medication soothed the physical trauma, but even that was only a quick fix, there was no recovery without pain.
In her reading there had been one section that had been slightly stilted, the wording obviously awkward. His description of the shot that had killed Chloe and his own reaction to it had been faltering, the emotion shut off, and she knew how hard it would be for him to come to terms with that, despite everything Chloe had done to him, to all of them, taking a life would never come easily. Even Steve, who accepted it as an inevitable part of his job, and could rationalize it when others were in danger, found it difficult to process sometimes. Jesse, who was so dedicated to saving life, would find it doubly so.
She gave Jesse's hand another reassuring squeeze, still not sure if it was for him or for her and wiped the tears from her face, ironically the action made more well up, a whole mixture of emotions making them threaten to fall once more, but she held them back, she needed to go and update Dr. Taylor on Jesse's condition and check on Mark, cradling the laptop tightly against her chest, she turned and walked from the room.
--
Steve's world drifted in fragments, contrasts, from bright shining lights and movement, to all encompassing darkness, shouts, echoes and sirens to empty silences. There was pain, constant pain, but there were also fluffy clouds that wrapped him in their warmth and carried him along, almost making him forget, he liked that, liked the soft comfort, he wanted to stay there forever, but the pain always dragged him back, ebbing and flowing like the tide, he let out soft moans that seemed somehow detached, heard a familiar voice calling his name, an insistent beeping sound drummed into his consciousness and then receded as the world floated away once more He felt like he was underwater, never quite making it back to the surface. It became almost a pattern, he lost count of the drifts just knowing that it had happened before. Each time he seemed to go deeper than the last, slipping further under, getting further away from the surface. He wasn't sure why but he knew that that wasn't good. He tried to fight his way back but he was so tired and it was so hard, but he knew it was important, so he kept fighting.
Suddenly the sensations shifted, the images changed as though he had just opened his eyes, waking from a dream into a nightmare, he knew where he was, chained to a wall in a darkened room, the pain in his shoulder excruciating, only matched by the emptiness as he waited to die alone. The cold leached his strength away, the darkness carried his resolve, he was going to die here and there was nothing that he could do to save himself, nothing, but even in his hopelessness he could not give up, it was not in his nature. There had to be something. . . he looked around, desperately scanning, and then he heard the click of the door. It was too late they were coming for him and this time they would. . . .
"Steve?"
The familiar voice was incongruous in the empty room and he fought to make sense of it. Maybe it was his father coming though the door, he squinted at it and as he did so he forced his eyes open on light that was far to bright for where his mind had him placed, he let out a startled gasp and blinked at blurry shapes that refused to form in the painfully bright light.
"Steve, can you hear me?"
He turned to face the voice that he held so dear and blinked again his vision still fuzzy, his eyes unable to obey the command to focus. "Dad?"
Mark smiled with relief as Steve finally spoke to him, the weariness and tension of the last two days melting away in an instant as clear blue eyes met his. He looked away briefly as he spoke to the nurse that had responded to his summons. "Get Dr. Taylor, tell him Steve's awake," he said, noticing her own smile at the news as she nodded and hurried off.
"You've had us quite worried the past couple of days," he said conversationally, turning his attention back to his son. There was a slight hitch to his voice as he tried and failed to continue the illusion of nonchalance. "It's good to have you back."
Steve's mind and vision were finally beginning to clear as he recognised the familiar sights of one of Community General's ICU rooms. He processed the last images of his dream, no, not a dream, they were memories. "Two days?" he asked, scanning around a little, "in ICU?"
Mark nodded. "You'd lost a lot of blood, but you're going to be fine now." He did not fill in the details of just how harrowing those two days had been. The blood loss was bad enough in itself, enough to send him into shock, but following so closely to the previous near fatal episode and coupled with the massive bruising that Steve had suffered, it had led to complications that had sent him into a coma, with possible permanent damage to liver and kidneys as their function dropped and Steve almost slipped away, but he hadn't, he had fought back. "You're going to be fine." He said, repeating the words as much for his own benefit as for Steve's.
Steve studied his father's face, "And you've been here all the time?" The comment was half question, half accusation. Mark didn't need to answer, the brief flash of guilt that crossed his features was enough, even without the evidence of drawn features and dark circles beneath the eyes. "Go, get some rest," Steve said, giving the hand that had slipped beneath his a quick squeeze. "You just said I'll be fine."
Mark hadn't been able to leave Steve's side for more than a few minutes in all that time. The normal protective instincts that made him want to be close to his son when he was in danger had been amplified by Chloe's cruel actions. Mark had needed that physical connection to his son more than he ever had before, he needed to be there for him, however long it took, and wild horses could not have dragged him away. He returned the gentle pressure on Steve's hand. "I. . . ." he began but he could not put into words the emotions he was feeling, the reasons why he had had to stay.
Steve locked and held his father's gaze, the confusion clearing, as synapses fired and thoughts connected. His father hadn't been able to leave him, had not wanted him to wake up alone, all the time in his drifting, half dream state he had known he was there. It had given him the strength to fight. A realisation slipped back into place, something that he already knew, that he had always known, something that would help banish the nightmares, instinctively he knew that it was something that Mark also needed to hear. "Wherever you are," he said quietly, "I know that you're there for me." He paused there was a tangible connection between them that went far deeper than words or a shared gaze ever could and he let that carry the emotion.
"I'm never alone," he stated, the words almost a whisper, he closed his eyes and swallowed, slightly uncomfortable with the power of the sentiment. He let go of the hand that gripped his. "Now go," he said, his gravely voice sounding harsher than he meant, the few words he had spoken taking the effort of a marathon. He felt his eyes beginning to droop and fought against it, barely able to hang on to consciousness. "You need to," he yawned softly, "Get some rest." He was almost under when he dragged himself back, "I'll be fine," he half mumbled as he slipped into a peaceful sleep.
Mark watched, realising that he hadn't managed a reply, his own body sagging with weariness, and relief, tears welling in his eyes. "I know son," he whispered.
When Doctor Taylor arrived he was surprised to find Mark willing to leave Steve's side long enough to let him examine him. Despite Steve's much improved physical condition and the improved prognosis, he had expected the now usual discussion where he pointed out that Mark needed to take care of himself and Mark simply insisted that he could not leave Steve alone. Instead Mark volunteered to go without being asked.
Mark paused by the door. "When you've finished here I've got another admission for you," he stated.
Bill looked up raising one eyebrow. "Oh, who?"
"Just an old Doctor suffering from exhaustion," Mark smiled a weary smile. "You should be able to find him in the doctor's lounge." He added before heading in that direction.
--
Mark shrugged into his white coat as he left his office, it had been two days since Steve had pulled out of the coma and he had been moved from ICU to a standard room. Mark himself had been admitted overnight and after 24 hours enforced rest with the nurses bringing him regular updates on Steve, so that he would not be tempted to go and check for himself, he had felt much better. He had taken another day before deciding that he felt up to returning to work. The hospital was still down on it's normal compliment of patients so he knew that he could ease himself gently back in. Besides, the thought of rattling around the large empty beach house on his own while both Steve and Jesse were still laid up in hospital was not something he could contemplate. He knew that he would spend most of his time at the hospital, so he might as well get some work done at the same time.
"Dr. Sloan. . . Mark." The voice calling him from behind sounded slightly agitated, he turned to see Bill Taylor running towards him.
He stopped and smiled. "Bill what can I. . ." but the expression on Bill's face made him stop mid sentence. His stomach turned to stone "What's wrong, is it Steve?"
"Steve's fine," Bill said, allowing a moment for Mark to start breathing again, "It's Jesse, he's disappeared."
--
Mark pulled the car up in front of the old studio and looked up at the cracked and peeling paint that was beginning to drop in chunks from the buildings fascia, emphasizing its condemned status. He allowed a small shudder, the memories of the last time he had been here still too close to the surface. Steve had almost died here, Jesse too. He took a deep breath and headed towards the doorway, the torn dangling edges of the crime scene tape confirming that his hunch had been right. Jesse was here.
He pushed the door open and entered the room, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit interior from the contrasting bright sunlight outside. Jesse was standing in the center of the room by one of the desks, his back to the door. He did not move or turn, in fact he showed no indication that he even knew Mark was there.
Mark took a couple of steps forward, his eyes scanning the rest of the room before finally settling back on his friend. The last time he had been here, he hadn't really seen any of it. Steve had been his entire focus, so looking at it now was like seeing it for the first time. It was hard not to stare at the patch of blood on the floor where Steve had fallen, hard not to consider all that it represented. The balled up cloak that Jesse had used to try to stop the blood flow lay discarded a few feet away.
The swords had been removed as evidence but there was still one outfit intact, its sword sheathed in it's scabbard, the hilt shining with silver and gilt decoration. Mark shivered at the idea of having to use it as a method of defense. He looked across to the door that he knew led into the utility room where Steve and Jesse had been held and curiosity almost made him walk over to look inside, but the image of what had been done to Steve was already vivid enough, he did not need for it to be reinforced.
The silence lasted for several minutes. Mark waited patiently knowing that Jesse would talk when he was ready.
"How did you know I'd be here?" Jesse asked, still not turning to face his friend.
"Just a hunch," Mark replied, "I knew the where, I just wasn't quite sure of the why."
There was another long pause and Mark wasn't sure if Jesse had picked up on the implied question. The reply was so quiet that Mark almost missed it when it finally came.
"I killed two people in this room."
Mark took a step forward. "Jess you didn't. . ."
Jesse turned to face him. "Oh, I know that they were both accidental, that I didn't intend to or even try to, both times it was self defense, but the fact remains, it was my hand on the sword, my finger on the trigger. I killed them." He leant back against the desk behind him, resting his hands either side as his gaze dropped to the floor. "Rationally I know I didn't have a choice." He looked up to meet Mark's gaze. "So why does it hurt so much?"
Mark studied him for a moment before replying. "Because you care about people, Jess, It's part of what makes you who you are."
"Yeah, well I wish I didn't." Jesse's eyes dropped to the floor again.
Mark took another step forward. "You don't mean that."
Jesse sighed. "No, I don't. I just. . ." there was another pause as he struggled to find the words. "I just wish there was a way to make sense of all of this. I guess I just want to understand why all this happened. . . . Why me?"
It was Mark's turn to sigh. There was no easy answer to that question, maybe no answer at all beyond platitudes and clichés, and they were not needed here. Mark wandered over to one of the easels that still held a beautifully coloured illustration. The figure of a bare chested hero, brandishing a sword above his head and clutching a beautiful woman in his arm, stood over the body of a demon.
"She was a very talented artist," Mark stated, pulling his glasses from his top pocket to get a better look at the picture.
The comment shook Jesse from his reverie and he moved over to stand beside Mark.
"She was," he said, his voice soft, "All her pictures were of heroes slaying demons and monsters." He thought for a moment. "I think that the fantasy was her reality. At some point in her mind the two merged." He turned his attention from the picture to watch Mark as a slight change in posture alerted him to the fact that Mark had noticed something. He was leaning forward studying the demon more closely. Jesse returned his own attention to the picture, not sure what he was looking for.
Mark's attention seemed to wander, he looked away from the picture scanning the surface of the neighbouring desk until he saw what he wanted. He moved to a pile of sketchpads scanning through them until he found the one that interested him, discarding the others. The first page held a pencil study of the hero in the painting, there was one slight difference, the hero in the study had Jesse's features. Mark turned the page, there was a similar picture, only the expression had changed slightly, it was still clearly Jesse but the features had hardened. Jesse had followed Mark, standing to one side, wordlessly Mark positioned the sketchpad between them as he turned the page to the next set of studies. This sheet had three drawings of head and shoulders, the face distorting a little more with each one, Jesse let out a gasp as he realised now what Mark had seen, he moved back to the canvas and studied the demon, before taking the sketchpad from Mark to turn the to the next page, fascinated as the transformation was completed. He looked from the pad to the painting and back again.
Clear blue eyes met his as Jesse looked up at Mark. "It's me," he stated quietly, "the demon is me." He swallowed, glancing at both pictures again before looking back to his friend. "Is that what I was to her . . .a demon?"
"I think it's what you came to represent. In her mind you were responsible for everything that had gone wrong for her, you caused her suffering."
"That's why she had to destroy me."
Mark nodded his agreement at the statement, watching silently as Jesse's attention turned back to studying the slowly morphing sketches.
"She was mixed up long before you met her." Mark stated.
"I know, I just wish I could have stayed like this for her." He held up the drawing of the hero. "I just wish I could have been the hero that she needed to save her."
Mark shook his head, "I don't think anyone could. You can't slay demons that only exist in the mind."
Jesse thought for a few moments more. Realising that he couldn't make sense of it because it did not make sense and never would. Chloe Marsden had existed in a world that he did not recognise, a world where fantasy and reality merged. However badly he might feel about being part of it, she had orchestrated her own fate and had cast him in a role that he had had no choice but to fulfill, he could have no regrets. He looked up at Mark, his thoughts shifting away from the introspection he had needed to come here for. "Is Bill really mad that I left the hospital again?"
Mark allowed a small smile. "Well he has got you down as the worst patient in the history of the hospital, even beating Steve into second place." His expression became a little more serious, "but I think he's more worried about you than mad." He paused before adding. "I am too."
Jesse dropped the sketchpad back onto the desk. "I think I'll be all right now," he stated, taking a deep breath. "Come on let's get back."
--
Steve walked into the Doctor's lounge, his shoulder still aching from the punishing workout he had just given it in his regular physio session, but it was worth it. He could feel the strength building every day now and he was close to being cleared to go back to active duty soon. He had been lucky on two counts, first, both injuries had been to his right shoulder, and, since he was left handed, he hadn't been quite as debilitated by the weakness in his arm as he would have been if the injuries had been on the other side, and secondly, the nerve damage had been minimal, meaning that he could get full function back, all it would take was time and hard work on his part, a small price to pay considering the alternatives.
Still he had had to be content with working behind a desk for the last four weeks and, though he was trying hard not to let it, it was beginning to get him down. So now he was seeking out Jesse, he had some good news for him and he was hoping that delivering it would help to cheer both of them up. Jesse was only now getting back to his old irrepressible self as normality returned to the hospital and all of their lives.
He walked up behind Jesse who did not seem to notice him approach, he was too focused on the screen of the laptop on the table in front of him. Curious Steve leaned in to read over his shoulder. Jesse finally noticing his presence looked up.
"A review Jess," Steve said, raising his eyebrows as he read the words on the screen. 'Hilarious, funniest thing I've read in a long time.' "I thought you'd sworn off writing for good." He moved to take a seat as Jesse replied.
"I did at first, but Dr. Carter thought it would be good therapy." Jesse was grinning widely, it was nice to see and Steve decided that Dr. Carter had been right. It had been a while since he had seen his friend looking this happy.
"I decided to write in a completely different genre though. No more action, suspense or murder for me, I've had quite enough of that."
"So what show are you writing for?"
"Scrubs."
"Still, sticking to what you know huh? Well from the review I just saw it definitely seems to be working"
Jesse grinned again. "Yeah, it is."
"So can I read it sometime?"
Jesse hesitated, "I really don't think it's your sort of thing I mean, hospitals, doctors. . ."
"Jess I spend half my life here or hanging out with doctors."
Jesse had to concede the point. "So how's the physio going?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Good, Brett seems to think that he'll sign me off in a week or two." Steve wasn't going to be distracted that easily. "But you're my doctor, so you knew that already." He pointed at the computer. "So, can I read it?"
Jesse sighed, admitting defeat, "Sure." He pressed the relevant keys to get to the start of the story. "I. . .erm. . .have to get on with my rounds, I'll catch up with you later." He stood up.
"Before you go I've got some news," Steve said, remembering why he'd come to find Jesse. "Paul Bilson's pleading guilty to all charges, so it won't go to trial. You won't have to testify."
Jesse sat down again, allowing the relief to show on his face, since he had been cleared of culpability in the shooting of Chloe Marsden, the impending trial of Bilson had been the last dark cloud hanging over his head, he had not been looking forward to reliving the whole thing again in the witness stand. "Has he done a deal?"
"No, apparently he's gone against his defense counsels recommendation, they were angling for a diminished responsibility plea. He's confessed to everything, from helping Chloe to kill and assume the identity of the security guard, Laura Miles, to planting and detonating all of the bombs. He'll most likely face the death penalty."
Jesse nodded, "So it is finally all over." He met Steve's gaze, his own relief reflected there. There was a mutual connection that lasted only a moment, the relief strengthened because it was shared. Steve was the first to look away, and Jesse realised it would have been just as hard on Steve to relive the whole thing at the trial. He had spoken very little about what had happened, but Jesse knew that the experience had taken its toll. At least now they could all move on.
Steve's attention had returned to the computer screen and Jesse remembered that that was his cue to make an exit before Steve got too far with the reading.
"That's great news, I'll. . .er . . .get on with my rounds then," he said, backing away. "Let me know what you think."
Steve watched his friend retreat through the door, putting his strange behaviour down to being nervous about letting somebody he knew read what he had written. At least that was what he thought until he started reading.
--
Steve almost knocked his father and Amanda down as he came round the corner of the corridor that led to Mark's office.
"OK, where is he?" he asked, barely keeping a lid on his anger, "I've searched the hospital for him, so you two must be hiding him. So, where is he?"
"I assume you mean Jesse?" Amanda asked.
"And why would we be hiding him? What has he done?" Mark asked guilelessly.
Steve eyed his father critically. "Oh, I think you know," he glanced across at Amanda, "And I think you two have been encouraging him."
"With what?" Mark's expression was still the picture of innocence and Steve thought, not for the first time, that his father could have had quite a good career as an actor.
"Does the name Steve Stone ring any bells, Lieutenant Steve Stone, a homicide detective?"
"Oh, you mean his new story. It's very good isn't it, very funny." Amanda tried very hard to keep from smirking and almost succeeded.
"It might be if the good lieutenant wasn't the butt of most of the jokes."
"What's wrong with that?" Mark asked.
Steve raised an eyebrow, "You don't think that the he may be based on someone you know, the name doesn't perhaps give it away."
Mark was ready for this one. "As I understand it he just combined the names from one of his other favourite TV shows, 'The Streets of San Francisco' He used Mike Stone's surname and Steve Keller's first name to make Steve Stone."
The comment threw Steve, giving him a moment's doubt, but it was only a moment as he recognised the twinkling in his father's eyes, he was being played with. "Hmm, so how do you explain the fact that Steve Stone's father is the Chief of Internal Medicine in the hospital? Or the fact that he loves hospital food, particularly the meatloaf?"
"But Steve Stone is described as an accident prone detective who spends his entire life in the ER being treated for various injuries. Surely you don't think that's you?" Amanda asked sweetly.
"Amanda," Steve smiled equally sweetly back, "I didn't say that he didn't exaggerate, just that he based the character on me, and that is why when I get hold of him, I am going to kill him." He paused trying to ignore Amanda's growing smirk. "It's bad enough that half the hospital was already laughing at the way Nurse Johnson managed to dump an entire trolley of hospital meals on me, without having my best friend plaster the incident, under the thinly disguised names of Lieutenant Stone and Nurse Bronson, all over the internet."
"But he has been quite flattering, about Lieutenant Stone too." Mark said, still having much more success than Amanda at controlling his expression.
"Yes," Amanda picked up, "there's the scene where all the female medical students faint when Lieutenant Stone takes off his shirt to reveal his six pack."
Steve could feel himself beginning to blush, the sensation did not do a lot for his anger.
"And then there's. . ." Mark began but stopped himself.
"What?" Steve asked suspiciously.
"Nothing, just another scene where the Lieutenant is described favourably but I don't think Jesse has posted it yet."
Amanda looked at him "Have I seen it. Oh. . . I know the one you mean, the one at Nurse Bronson's apartment with. . ." But there was something in Mark's expression that made her stop. She turned back to Steve ready to change the subject, but it was too late, Steve was looking at Mark an incredulous expression on his face.
"Dad, tell me you didn't tell him about the incident with the towel." Steve didn't need to wait for an answer the apology was written all over Mark's face.
Steve threw up his hands in exasperation. "Oh that's just great." He looked at his father. "You do know that I won't be able to show my face around here again after that's posted."
"Hey, I told you I believed that there was a perfectly innocent explanation as to how you ended up with a naked nurse in your arms and no buttons on your shirt, and I'm sure other people will believe that too." Mark managed to get to the end of the sentence before he burst out laughing, the fact that Steve was blushing again was the last straw in his efforts at self control, Amanda abandoned her attempts too and began to shake with laughter.
Steve stepped back. "Don't worry, I'll get to you two," he said, "just as soon as I've dealt with Jesse." He pushed unceremoniously between them as he headed off to continue his search, trying to ignore the giggles that continued behind him.
Steve allowed himself a predatory smile. He could see Jesse in the Doctor's lounge, there was only one exit and he could easily make it before Jesse could make an escape, the young doctor was trapped. He moved until he was standing in the open doorway, and was just about to close in when he noticed that Jesse was not alone, Nurse Johnson was moving towards him carrying a birthday cake with what looked to be about 50 lit candles on the top.
The young nurse smiled at him. "Steve, good to see you," she said, "I'm just taking this cake to Mrs. Hiddemeyer, she's 52 today."
Steve stared horrified at the burning candles. One of the scenes in Jesse's story had had Lieutenant Stone's hair accidentally set alight by the accident prone Nurse Bronson. He had not appreciated at the time the comment that the singed spiky look actually suited him better than the style he had. Now he was just horrified at the idea of life once again imitating fiction. He threw a quick, "I'll get you later," at Jesse, backing away from the rapidly approaching nurse, before turning and running. He did not get far before he heard the startled yell and turned to see the burning cake arching through the air, straight at the point where moments earlier he had been standing. Maybe he would be nice to Jesse so that he only wrote about good things happening to Lieutenant Stone. With that thought, he turned back and ran for his life.
The End.
Author's note:- So that's it, epilogue and all. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me, thank you for your patience and I really hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think. Judith.