Part 2
"Any change?" Jesse and his team met the gurney as soon as it cleared the doors leading from the ambulance bay. One of the paramedics was riding along on the side of the moving bed administering chest compressions, and the other was pushing the gurney while methodically squeezing an ambu-bag which was attached over the patient's nose and mouth.
"Nothing since last communication. He's been down for four minutes."
"Let's get him to trauma one," Jesse said, trading out with the medic who had been doing CPR. As the gurney was wheeled toward the indicated trauma suite, Jesse took in the young man's over all appearance. Blood spatters marred much of his clothing, and the skin that was exposed had taken on a pale, translucent quality. Jesse had seen enough traumas to know that the situation was grim. If they were able to pull the young man back, there would be a chance that he'd suffer damage due to hypovolemia. But he had to try due to the patient's age. It just might work in his favor.
As the gurney rolled around the corner, some sixth sense told Jesse to glance up. In that brief moment he saw his friend, Steve Sloan, standing in the doorway leading from the ambulance bay. His right arm was held in a guarding position around his abdomen. There was blood on his hands.
Jesse nearly lost his place, but then the trauma room doors swung shut and he refocused on saving the patient at hand. Steve was up and mobile; simple rules of triage required that the most severe cases be handled first. But that didn't stop him from worrying.
Fifteen minutes later, at 9:41 pm, he called the time of death. Removing his gloves and bloodied garments, Jesse heaved a great sigh and walked out of the trauma room; the young ones were always the hardest. He found Steve outside of the door waiting for him.
"How is he?" Steve asked, not even bothering to push himself away from the wall that he was leaning against. Even to the unpracticed eye he would have looked pale and exhausted.
Jesse noted, too, that he had cleaned up, as there were no longer smears of blood on his hands and arms. At some point, he had also removed the Kevlar vest, and was dressed in a dark colored t-shirt which had the crumpled look of having been wet and then mostly dried on its wearer. His hair too had that same appearance of mussed dampness. But it was the lines etched in his face, and the way he continued to hold his right arm curved around his body that told the story of considerable physical pain. Offering his gentlest smile of regret, Jesse answered his question, "He didn't make it. I'm sorry."
Steve's shoulders slumped and a poorly covered wince crossed over his features. It wasn't something Jesse could let go by.
"Why don't we get you looked at?" he asked with practiced nonchalance as he placed a hand on the arm that wasn't obviously injured. The goal was to get him into one of the other examination rooms as the nurses would be still handling the final care of the patient that remained in trauma one.
"No," Steve pulled away, unwilling to be led. "We've got to notify his family. He was so young. Someone is going to miss him."
"That's what the staff is doing right now," Jesse assured him, trying again to pull him along. "We've got his identification, and once we know who his parents or guardians are, I'll break the news to them."
Steve stood his ground and wouldn't be moved. There was a look of frozen horror on his face. "You mean you don't know who he is?"
Jesse frowned and shook his head in confusion. He wondered if Steve had suffered a head injury at some point during the night and mentally added a head CT to the battery of tests that he was planning to order.
"Someone in his family works here," Steve insisted. "At Community General. I saw him at the family banquet a few months ago."
"And you shot him?" The words were out before Jesse could stop them. He was used to saying whatever came into his mind to his friend, but then this obviously wasn't the time.
He quickly tried to make amends. "I'm sorry, Steve, I didn't mean that the way it sounded." But it was clear that the damage was already done. Steve paled significantly, and didn't even try to fight.
"It's a police matter, Jess," he said quietly. Then, drawing away farther, he added, "I'm fine. I was wearing Kevlar. Maybe I can use the hospital's records to find his next of kin."
"Why don't I do that while you get yourself checked out? I know you're a terrific cop, and I should have been more careful with my wording. You know me, open mouth, and insert foot. But I'll understand completely if you'd prefer to have another doctor look at you."
Despite obvious misery, Steve offered a small smile. "Well, I've actually come to think of you as my own personal doctor. It wouldn't feel right to have someone else badgering me about my health."
Jesse returned the smile, relieved to have his friend's forgiveness. "Am I supposed to be to blame because you're so badger-able?" he asked, leading Steve once again toward an examination room. Along the way he stopped a nurse and asked her to check the hospital records for any relation to the young man in trauma one, he also asked her to give Doctor Sloan a call at home, letting him know that his son had once again run afoul of trouble which had left him in the capable hands of Community General's caring staff.
Mark hurried through the entry doors and immediately caught sight of Jesse speaking with Dr. Miles Casey, one of the physicians assigned to orthopedics. He wanted to rush forward and break in on the conversation so that he might find out what was going on with Steve. But it ended and Casey turned and entered one of the trauma rooms.
"Jesse?" Mark called out to him as he approached. "What happened? How is he?" His heart had been literally pounding with worry during the long drive in from Malibu. The nurse hadn't been able to tell him anything, saying only that he had been mobile, but Mark couldn't stop worrying until he knew for sure that everything was going to be okay.
"Mark," Jesse greeted him with a smile, which was a positive in Mark's estimation. He knew how close Jesse and his son were. If anything were dangerously wrong with Steve, it would show in Jesse's demeanor. "You just missed him. Sent him up to X-ray a couple minutes ago with what I hope will amount to a lot of bruising and a sprained elbow. He was shot, but he was wearing a vest. It stopped the bullet, but the impact was pretty strong. We're probably going to want to keep him overnight for observation."
"Thank . . . ." A loud cry from trauma one interrupted Mark's thought. He glanced toward the room, remembering that Dr. Casey had gone in just moments before. "What . . . ." he looked in askance toward Jesse.
"It's . . . okay," Jesse tried to wave off his conversation, then by way of explanation, "I'm not entirely sure, but I think he may have just discovered that he's lost his son. Why don't you go on up and see Steve, I'll check on him."
Mark look worriedly back toward the room. He could well imagine the pain that Casey was feeling. There was something so deeply horrific about a parent losing a child that one often felt the need to look away. It was difficult to offer consolation because there was no consolation, but a certain counting of one's own blessings. It made Mark all the more anxious to go and see Steve, and to convey to him somehow how important he was to his life.
"Let me know if there is anything I can do," Mark responded sincerely to Jesse, though he was already half turned and headed for Radiology.
Jesse gave him a significant look. "Thanks, Mark. I will. Give Steve a hard time for me."
Mark only nodded at the mild attempt at humor. His mind was already focused on what he might find in Radiology. It was one thing to know that someone had pointed a gun at his son and pulled the trigger; it was quite another to know that someone else was probably going to do it again. He lived with that fear day in and day out. He'd become accustomed to saying a silent prayer every morning, asking that Steve return home safely at the end of the day.
As he stepped through the doors into the radiology department, his thoughts came to a halt as he saw Steve lying on a gurney, a thin hospital blanket covering him while he awaited his turn to be x-rayed. He was staring up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought.
"Anything interesting there?" Mark asked as he approached.
Steve looked at him, the smallest of smiles touching his lips. "Hi, Dad. I'm fi---."
"Fine?" Mark interrupted with a warm smile. "I know. Jesse and all the rest of us are just over reacting because we care so much."
Steve's response was another of his tiny smiles.
"How are you feeling?" Mark asked, leaning closer to the gurney. He could see bruising and some swelling where the sheet didn't completely cover Steve's chest, and didn't want to make him feel as if he had to strain his voice in any way.
"Tired," Steve replied, though Mark could tell that he was thinking something else. Mark let it slide.
"As soon as they're done with the x-rays, you'll probably be taken to a room where you can get some sleep. Jesse did tell you that they were keeping you overnight?"
"He told me," Steve confessed. Then, after a long moment, "Did he tell you anything else?"
Mark's brow furrowed. "Anything like what?" Somehow he didn't think Steve was talking about his own health issues. He seemed far too intent on the answer, for one thing.
"About the boy?" Steve prompted. "Ryan Casey?"
Mark shook his head in confusion. He had no idea where Steve was going, but it was obviously very important to him. Then suddenly the pieces began to click into place. "He's the one who shot you, isn't he?"
Steve nodded. "And now he's dead."
"It was a lovely ceremony," Amanda said as she leaned sideways toward Mark.
"Yes, it was," Mark agreed as he looked around the grassy overlook at the others who were gathered for the memorial of Ryan Casey. Point McGhee had been one of Ryan's favorite places – to honor that memory, the gathered throng had watched as his mother, accompanied by other family members scattered his ashes over the Pacific Ocean. There was one relative though who was notably absent. Ryan's father had not attended.
"Too bad Dr. Casey didn't show up," Amanda murmured under her breath, nearly mirroring Mark's thoughts.
"I'm worried about him," Mark said, turning to look back toward the clearing which stood between the bluff and Pacific Coast Highway. The area was crowded with the vehicles of those who had attended the service. Mark hoped that he would see Dr. Casey approaching, instead he saw a tall form standing amid all of the automobiles. Though he wore a dark suit and tie, the jacket was merely laid across one shoulder to accommodate the sling he was due to wear for another few days.
Mark found his gaze lingering. Though he couldn't make out Steve's expression at such a distance, he could imagine the solemn countenance.
The decision to come to the funeral had been a hard fought one. Though he had felt driven to do so, he hadn't thought that he deserved to be there. Then the decision of the department had come down the night before, and so Steve had come. But still, unable to bring himself to mingle in with the crowd, he'd stayed behind in the parking lot, viewing from a distance.
Because of Lt. Siskar's testimony and the evidence, much of the officer-involved shooting investigation had been resolved quickly. Steve had been absolved of any wrong doing in the incident. Blessedly, there had been no media cries of unnecessary force or any of the other charges that typically arose in those types of cases. With his own guilt feelings, being tried in the press was the last thing Steve needed.
"People handle grief in their own way." Amanda's words interrupted his thoughts. "And he's not the only one you're worried about."
Mark chuckled. "You found me out." He shrugged in surrender.
"How's he really doing?"
"Not sleeping very well, but pretending that he is. In pain, pretending that he isn't."
"That's our Steve," Amanda replied. "And it's only because he cares. He'll be fine, you'll see. I know what the coroner's office report says about the shooting, and I can guess what the rest of the department's in the OIS investigation had to say. It was a clear case of un-intentional shooting. Ryan shot first and Steve's gun went off as a result. He isn't to blame. In his heart he knows that."
"You're probably right, but that doesn't mean that I won't worry while we're waiting. He has an appointment with the department psychologist next week."
"Good. And what sort of parents would we be if we didn't worry?"
Mark chuckled and wrapped an arm about her shoulders and squeezed. "What sort indeed?"
"Hey, what am I missing? "
Both Mark and Amanda turned at Jesse's voice.
"What were you doing? Reciting your life history?" Amanda gestured toward the line of guests still waiting to offer personal condolences.
"I was being comforting," Jesse said defensively. "And besides, she did most of the talking." He then turned to Mark, changing the subject. "I need to get back to the hospital. Do you mind if we head back to your place so I can get my car?"
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A/N: Thanks everyone for the kind reviews. :) Two more parts to go!