The guy was a mess. Jesse barley noted the man's short brown hair for the angry, swollen cut under his hairline. The man's hazel eyes went unnoted for the dark swollen bruises that forced them closed. Blood had run down the man's face from his nose to his pierced ears, most likely as he laid unconscious for help. His right forearm was broken, as were two ribs. Jesse felt empathy for the stranger but sadly, he had seen injuries like these too many times to count.

Jesse rattled off orders to his competent staff as if it were his second nature. Later, he would realize that it was. Sterile needles were inserted into the man's veins, his clothing was cut away, life monitors were hooked up, and in a relatively short time, the unconscious man was stable. Jesse's hands were gentle as he completed a thorough examination of the patient. He had been trained to quickly detect major internal injuries through touch and his sensitive fingers had never let him down.

Once the triage was complete and there was nothing left for Jesse to do, the man was quickly pushed to radiology and immediate clean up of the ER began. Preparation was key here, in the field of emergency medicine. A small staff quickly cleaned all evidence of the beaten man from the room and Jesse felt his adrenaline level beginning to return to normal.

"He gonna make it?"

Jesse jumped as a voice broke through his muted, post-emergency mindset. Some deep part of his mind answered before he became fully aware of who he was speaking to. "Lungs weren't punctured, no brain trauma. He'll be fine in time."

Steve Sloan nodded curtly. "Good. He's the first survivor."

"Of what?" Jesse asked numbly as he shrugged off his soiled lab coat. Between his pre-existing exhaustion and the sudden surge of adrenaline, his body was slowly shutting down.

Steve held open one of the ER's swinging doors as Jesse nodded his thanks and entered the hall first. "There's a small group of anti-gay terrorists that are starting to act out against known homosexuals," Steve explained in a low, but not secretive voice.

Despite his state of mind, Jesse followed what the detective was saying. "So that was a victim?"

"Yeah. And like I said, these guys don't normally play so 'nice'," he emphasized with tone of voice. "Something must have stopped them from finishing the job."

Jesse let Steve's words bounce off him like hail off a patio. He was trying to keep up, really he was, but it was like trying to think through Rohypnol. By pure instinct Jesse was navigating his way to the break room. He felt his eyes slowly closing, his legs were going numb, he felt himself tilting more towards the floor with each sluggish step. He hadn't seen the deserted drug cart until he walked into it. He cursed his senses out loud for not alerting him in time. He felt Steve grab his arm and keep him upright as Jesse pushed the wheeled cart to the side of the hallway, now wide awake. "Thanks," he mumbled with a great deal of embarrassment. Boy, it sure got quiet in here all of a sudden.

"You okay?" Steve asked, pulling Jesse to a stop before releasing his arm. "You seem kinda out of it."

"I'm fine," Jesse lied. It wasn't a big lie. He was tired, that was all. They started moving again. "I think it'll be a while before your victim is able to give a statement."

"I got time."

Jesse never acknowledge the last comment as he pushed open the door to the break room. He had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. He wondered how many times per day did he find himself in here, stretched out on the leather couch that now had an imprint of his body and even smelled of his cologne. Jesse suddenly realized that probably wasn't a good thing.

Amanda was gone now, but Mark was busy making a fresh pot of coffee. Jesse sighed a quick "Hey Mark," before landing on the couch. He would have to look into ordering one of these for his apartment.

"Jesse, I'm glad you're back," Mark said as he turned. Then in a fatherly tone he added, "Let me look at your head."

Jesse groaned and tried to turn away as Mark approached with a pen light in hand. "I'm fine," he mumbled. "Told you it didn't hurt." Just let me sleep.

Steve took a chair next to the one that had his father's lab coat draped over it. "What happened?"

"Jesse, there's a dent in the door. If you don't ice your head soon, you'll have a goose egg tomorrow morning." Mark reached past Jesse's protective arm and expertly pried open his left eye. "Then what will the nurses think?"

Jesse sighed loudly and looked at Mark, his eye watering as the older doctor exposed his eyeball to the bright light and cool air. "Your father hit me with the door," Jesse said to Steve as Mark leaned over him.

Mark huffed as he checked Jesse's right eye. "It was completely by accident."

Jesse blinked as he watched Mark put away his pen light and stand up. "That's what they all say," Jesse teased. Steve was smiling.

"Hey, at least he didn't hit you with a baseball bat," Steve grinned, rubbing his shoulder as Mark returned to the coffee pot. "That hurts."

"Not yet," Jesse replied. "Day's not over."

Mark turned and looked at the two men. "Make fun of me all you want, but just remember, I'm the one who's making dinner tonight."

Jesse sobered quickly. Time to kiss a little ass. His next meal was on the line. "Do you need me to bring anything?"

"Yeah, bring some ice," Mark muttered as he placed the coffee pot back on the percolator.

Jesse quickly nodded and would later understand that the older man meant for Jesse to use the ice for himself. "Sure, I'll pick it up when my shift's over-"

Mark glanced up at the cheap clock that had been given to the hospital from a pharmaceutical representative. "Jess, your shift is over."

Jesse looked up too. A smile crept over his face. "Oh, sweet. In that case, I'm outta here. Bye guys." Jesse pushed himself to his feet with renewed vigor. Amazing what temporary occupational freedom could do for the spirit.