Chapter Eight: Found . . . and Lost

"Steve, Mark," Jesse called out as soon as he caught sight of his two friends, but there was no response to his call. He exchanged a worried glance with Amanda before both broke into a run to cover the last of the distance across the clearing. They had known for the last hour that Steve had been found and that he was alive, but beyond that they had received scant information, instead of waiting to find out more they had chosen instead to make their way from the staging post to their friends as soon as possible. Seeing them now, Mark cradling Steve in his arms, did little to relieve the anxiety they had been feeling. The news that Steve had been found had only brought some of the relief that they sought, would only bring that until they knew that he was going to be okay. As they moved they could see the dried blood on Steve's arm and there was an unnatural stillness about the two.

"Mark," Jesse tried again, "I. . ." but he did not finish the sentence as he caught sight of Steve's back for the first time. "What the . . ?" He swore softly and let out a low breath that was almost a whistle.

Amanda had moved around the opposite side of Mark and Steve, she caught sight of the injuries at about the same time and let out a startled grasp. Stopping abruptly, she exchanged another worried glance with Jesse before he moved to kneel next to Mark, placing the medical kit that he had with him gently on the ground.

Neither Mark nor Steve responded to the calls or the sounds of movement as Jesse and Amanda approached because neither man heard it, to them there was no sound, no sense of time, no reality, beyond the embrace.

One of Mark's hands had moved to cradle the back of Steve's head against his shoulder, the other gripped his upper arm, supporting him gently. His mind was focused on comforting his son, trying to banish the torment that he had seen in Steve's eyes, trying to quell the demons of guilt. By contrast his soul was bathing in relief that Steve was alive, that he had found him. At that moment he was not Doctor Mark Sloan, Chief of Internal Medicine at Community General Hospital, highly competent physician, he was simply Mark Sloan, father, holding on to his only son for all he was worth because he had come so close to losing him, and that moment was now frozen in time. He could have stayed there, two minutes, two hours, he wouldn't have known, it was only Jesse's gentle pressure on his arm that finally brought him back.

"Mark," Jesse said softly doing his best to keep his tone, steady, even, despite the shock he felt at the state Steve was in. He waited until the older doctor's eyes focused on him. "Mark, I need to get a proper look at Steve."

It took a minute for Mark to process the information, Jesse's presence, the meaning of the words he had spoken. It was like fighting through a fog, eventually he blinked and his mind snapped back to the present. He looked at Jesse, then at Steve and back again, before replying. "Jess," he glanced around "Amanda?" there was another slight pause as he ordered his thoughts, "How long?"

"We just got here," Jesse supplied, he indicated Steve with a slight nod of his head, "How's he doing?"

Mark looked down at his son, Steve's eyes were closed and apart from a slight shiver, he was still. "I don't. . ." Like being doused with a bucket of cold water, the realisation that he had not yet examined his son for injuries hit Mark, the sudden surge of adrenaline that accompanied the realisation, finally clearing the emotional fog that had held him inactive. His tone changed, his voice authoritative, "Help me lay him down."

Jesse nodded and changed his position, taking off his jacket and laying it on the dusty ground before moving to support Steve's shoulders. Amanda was already locating the supplies they would need from the bag she had with her.

"Steve," Mark said, his tone adjusting once more to something soft, almost lyrical. Steve's eyes fluttered open. "We're just going to lay you down so that we can get a better look at you ok?"

Steve nodded slightly and tried to move on his own, unable to stifle a gasp as rapidly stiffening muscles and damaged skin protested his attempts. His focus on survival had been so strong that he had somehow managed to ignore the pain. The mixture of fear, desperation, adrenaline and finally anger had kept him going despite his physical state, and now he was beginning to pay for that as his abused and weakened system protested its treatment. The mixture of bloodloss and dehydration were starting to make his thoughts sluggish. As he tried to move again, it seemed like every pain receptor in his body fired at once and he grasped desperately back for the comfort of his father's embrace, not realising that his finger's dug painfully into Mark's arms as he gripped them, riding out the waves of pain.

Mark grimaced slightly as Steve grabbed him, empathising with the pain that drove the action, he kept his voice soothing, "It's OK we'll give you something for that in just a minute. Come on now." He kept up the gentle monologue as, with Jesse's help, they eased Steve on to his side.

For the first time Mark noticed the blood on Steve's jeans, cutting up the leg to reveal the close group of small lacerations that had penetrated deep into the shin, the dark grey carbon stains around the wound telling him that the shotgun had been close when it was fired, no doubt the shot that had gained his and Donald's attention.

"I've got a gunshot injury here,"

"Me too," Jesse stated, examining Steve's shoulder, "Just superficial though, I'm not sure what he was using as ammo."

"This one's deeper, nothing we can do here apart from clean and dress it," Mark stated, he glanced around. "Damn that ambulance is taking a long time. Why isn't it here yet?"

It was time for Jesse and Amanda to exchange another meaningful look. "It could be a while," he stated cautiously.

Mark looked over at him, realising intuitively that he wasn't going to like the answer, he asked the question anyway. "Why? What happened?"

"Well," Jesse swallowed nervously, "You warned us that Cletus booby trapped the road."

Mark nodded.

"So we were very cautious as we drove up here, we managed to avoid several spikes that were designed to rip the wheels, but the last one we swerved round was a decoy."

"The real trap was a disguised ditch just past it," Amanda picked up the tale, "the front wheels went down and snapped the axle."

Mark looked with concern between the two. "Are you two all right?"

Jesse nodded. "Unfortunately, the ambulance was too close behind and the driver was too busy concentrating on the traps on the road to notice what had happened, he went straight into the back of us."

"Is he OK?" Mark asked.

"Yes," Amanda replied, "his airbag deployed but the paramedic in the back wasn't so lucky. We left the driver looking after him and brought what supplies we could," she indicated the two medical kits, "with us."

"I'm afraid," Jesse said apologetically, "that it's going to take some time to get another ambulance out here and they won't be able to get through until they clear the road. Until then it's up to us."

Mark took a moment to digest the news, lamenting the fact that there hadn't been room on the medivac chopper for both Cletus and his son, he'd had no choice but to send the more seriously injured patient, but now, having had a chance to assess Steve's injuries he was starting to have some very unprofessional thoughts, his hands tensed briefly into a tight grip, the only outward sign of his frustration. He nodded to Jesse and, with a conscious effort to control the building tension, he turned back to the task in hand gently lifting the denim to get a look at Steve's other leg, he gasped as he caught sight of the swollen and abraded ankle, blood and skin coming away with the material, a soft curse left his lips

Jesse meanwhile was trying to examine the bruises on Steve's abdomen, knowing that he couldn't do it properly until he could get Steve lying on his back, but he could not do that until that had been cleaned and dressed, so he satisfied himself with a preliminary check for signs of obvious internal bleeding.

"My God, what did this guy hit him with?" Jesse wasn't even sure that he'd voiced the question aloud, as he examined the damage to Steve's forehead and jaw, until Steve answered him.

"The butt of his shotgun," Steve stated without emotion, the answer automatic, his mind not even acknowledging that the question might have been rhetorical. "And his belt," there was a short pause. "He enjoyed it." Steve stated quietly, as the memory of Cletus' toothless grin flashed before his eyes.

Once more the three doctors that surrounded him paused in their tasks and looked at each other, empathy for Steve's suffering etched on each face. Amanda had been checking Steve's vital signs, trying hard to remain professional despite the tears that were welling in her eyes. This was why she was happy being a pathologist, she did not have to watch any of her patients suffer in pain, that was bad enough, watching a friend was far worse.

"We need to get dressings on these wounds and get him to shelter," Jesse stated, trying with only partial success to keep detached and professional.

The next half hour seemed to drag out interminably as the three doctors worked on their patient, aware that, despite having given him something to dull it, almost everything they did caused Steve pain. Eventually all of the separate wounds had been cleaned and dressed and they were ready to move Steve back to the cabin, which, for three days, had served as his prison. With Mark and Jesse supporting him either side and Amanda carrying the IVs that had been set up, they half walked, half carried him into the dilapidated building, and laid him as carefully as they could on the cot that Cletus had slept on.

Mark knelt next to the bed so that he could get his eyes level with Steve's. "How you doing son?" he asked, brushing the sweat soaked hair from Steve's forehead.

Steve forced his eyes to open, forced his focus on to something other than the pain, "Been better," he said, noting the soft concern in his father's expression, " . . 'll be OK," he muttered, his eyes starting to drift closed, but he forced them open again. "Thanks," he said, his voice still quiet, "for finding me, couldn't have. . . wouldn't have. . ." Once again Steve's emotions exploded as he considered what might have been if his father hadn't arrived when he did. His breathing began to quicken as the guilt clouded his expression.

"It's OK, Steve," Mark's tone was soothing "You're OK, and you don't need to thank me, you need to thank Donald, he brought me here." Mark used the information as a distraction, knowing that he needed to get Steve's thoughts away from the 'what might have beens.' All too aware from Steve's earlier reaction that that was likely to remain an emotional minefield for some time to come, and now was not the time to try to deal with it.

"Donald?" Steve asked for confirmation as his father's ploy worked.

"Yes, he came to the house, we talked, he brought me here. Seems someone managed to persuade him that we'd help his son even without you as a hostage."

Steve managed the smallest of smiles, at least one of his tactics had worked as it was supposed to " 'm glad," he said, once again finding the effort of forming words almost too much, "Donald's not bad deep down, tried . . help . . me . ." The pauses between words grew longer as Steve lost the battle to remain conscious.

"That's OK son, you get some rest," Mark patted him on the arm and watched as his breathing evened out before pushing himself to his feet, shaking out some of the kinks as he did so.

Amanda appeared at his side and he found a mug pushed into his hand. "I found some coffee, thought you could do with some."

"Thanks," Mark pulled his gaze away from his sleeping son. "They promised they wouldn't hurt him," he stated, his voice cracking slightly. "How could anyone. . ." He turned away, holding back the tears that threatened, as he took his own turn at trying to ignore the 'what ifs.' He felt a firm pressure on his shoulder and realised that Amanda had guided him to the table and was pushing him down into one of the chairs, he sank gratefully on to it. Looking across at Jesse who was already seated at the other side.

"He'll be OK," Jesse stated, knowing that right now Mark needed the reassurance, they all did as they dealt with the emotional fallout of the last few days. Mark didn't say anything more he just nodded, dropping his gaze to his coffee cup he stared into its depths trying to order his thoughts. He lifted the cup to his mouth and took a sip his eyes raising to scan the room in front of him.

The push of the chair scraping across the wooden floor startled both Jesse and Amanda as Mark stood sharply, the coffee cup sloshing down on to the table, as he moved round it crossing the room in four strides, crouching to pick something off the floor. He stared at the heavy rusted iron shackle momentarily before looking across at Steve, the injuries to his ankle suddenly making sense. He stood and threw the shackle to the ground with all his strength, it hit the ground just where the wall met the floor, banging loudly as the impact reverberated down the metal chain.

Steve sat up abruptly startled by the noise, remembered fear forced him to back into the corner of the bed, adrenaline fuelling the sharp movements. Amanda moved instantly to his side, as Jesse moved towards Mark, reaching out towards his friend and mentor, but Mark shrugged him off, turning he walked swiftly through the door, leaving Jesse to watch. "Jess," Amanda called, before he had chance to decide whether or not to follow, the decision was made for him Amanda needed help to get Steve settled again and to check his dressings.

It was Mark's turn to have trouble controlling his anger, his fists clenching and unclenching as his mind put together a picture of how his son had been held, chained to a wall, sleeping on the floor, beaten until he could barely stand. If Cletus Baxter had been in front of him at that point he couldn't have guaranteed that he wouldn't have picked up where Steve left off. An all consuming red mist of hatred descended over him, it was so intense he wasn't sure that he had any control of it, there seemed no room for rational thought. He had only felt this way once before when he believed that Gordon Ganza had ordered a hit on Steve that had almost succeeded. Then his anger had been because Steve had almost died. Now it was because of the inhumane way Steve had been treated, any doubts he may have had before were gone now. That Cletus Baxter would eventually have killed Steve if he hadn't got away from him, was a certainty.

Mark wasn't sure for how long he walked, but he knew that he had set up a punishing pace as he tried to walk off the anger, the hatred, to calm the feelings that he was so unused to, eventually some semblance of rationality began to return and he looked around, taking stock of where he was. He had at least had the good sense to follow a trail. With a heavy sigh, he knew that it was time to turn back.

Sloans' Deck

"No," Steve shook his head stubbornly. "I'm not going anywhere without dad."

"But Steve," Amanda said, keeping her tone as calm as she could despite her own rising fears, "He just went for a walk to clear his head, he'll be back soon and then we'll follow you straight down."

Steve wasn't going to be placated so easily, his father had been gone for over an hour to his knowledge and he was fairly sure that he'd been out of it before that, whatever had caused Mark to decide to go for a walk, he should be back by now. He looked directly at the two EMTs who had brought the stretcher in. "I'm sorry but I'm not going with you until I know my father's all right. He's been gone far too long."

"Steve," it was Jesse's turn to try, "most of the wounds on your back are infected, you have a developing fever and we need to get whatever Cletus was using instead of shot removed from your system whilst we can still find it. There's no way Mark would want you to delay getting to the hospital."

"But you don't understand," Steve stated, more than an edge of fear in his voice. "Cletus left booby traps around the trails in the woods, I saw some of them, you've seen the ones on the road yourself."

"I do understand," Jesse said, he'd been having the same thoughts himself for the past hour, "but the best thing you can do is head for the hospital, Amanda and I will stay, we'll find him."

"There's really nothing you can do even if you do stay here," Amanda added.

Steve knew she was right, it was taking all of his strength and determination just to sit up, there was no way that he was in any fit state to contribute to a search, but at the moment his father was nearby and somehow he couldn't contemplate putting greater physical distance between them, not after what he had been through. His fingers curled round the threadbare blanket that still covered him, scrunching the edge of the material into a tight ball. He knew that something was wrong, it was almost as if he could sense it, something had happened to Mark and the only thing he could do was try to stay nearby. "I want. . ." he began before faltering. "I need to stay until I know that he's all right." He looked up, "Please?"

Jesse looked at Amanda and shrugged, sighing he walked towards the cabin door, looking out into the fading sunlight. "Dammit Mark where are you?" he muttered under his breath.