Chapter 6

Steve was adrift, cushioned in a velvet darkness that washed him languidly around the shores of consciousness on the whim of its tides, oblivious to the passage of time. Floating passively on an infrequent incoming current, he had vaguely recognised the nocturnal rhythms of a hospital, and that comforting familiarity tranquilised his inchoate concerns enough to blunt his struggle against the waves that then swept him insistently deeper into a drug-induced sleep.

Eventually, it was voices that dragged him, more piecemeal than comprehensively, from submersion -- whispered words, sibilant, indistinguishable, yet with an undertone of anguish that pulled at his cop's soul like iron filings to a magnet.

"I can't..." This time the distress was sharper, in a feminine voice he knew well and it impelled Steve's eyes to open, gummy lids parting reluctantly to offer him a hazy look around.

" 'manda?" He wasn't sure if the mumbled croak that emanated from his dry mouth qualified as speech, but it was sufficient to attract the attention of the room's other occupants. As someone moved towards him, he struggled to sit up, the stabbing pain that resulted robbing him of breath but also helping to clear his mind.

"Lie still, Steve. You're going to be fine, but it's important that you take it easy." Steve tuned out the content of the familiar lecture, concentrating instead on the strain in Jesse's voice which disguised it almost to the point of non-recognition.

A further glance showed him Amanda at the window. She was facing away, but her body language broadcast distress even to his blurred vision.

"Jesse, what..?" he demanded hoarsely, pulling urgently on his friend's arm. That action twisted Jesse round, and for the first time Steve caught a glimpse of the young doctor's expression and his heart stuttered in anguish at the red-rimmed eyes still averted from his own which starkly contrasted with the chalk-white set of Jesse's face. It was bad, whatever it was.

The blood rushed through his veins and his heart was suddenly pounding so loudly that he couldn't hear beyond its thunderous roar, but he shied away from contemplating the worst, trying frantically to retrieve the memories. He'd been in a car accident, and there had been someone in the car with him...Dad...no...Cheryl. He remembered his partner shouting something as the car veered out of his control.

"Cheryl?" he faltered. He knew that wasn't the answer even before his intuition was confirmed by the slight relaxation of Jesse's face at the moment's reprieve, and by the fact that, for the first time, his friend met his eyes squarely even while nervously shifting his weight as he responded mechanically.

"Um... she suffered a severe head injury and is still in ICU, but we're hopeful that she'll make a full recovery in time."

That wasn't it and, despite his refusal to acknowledge the fact, there was only one thing he could think of that would cause such a dramatic reaction in both his friends.

"Jesse, please." He didn't know if he was begging for the truth or pleading to be spared it. He felt like a tunnel was expanding out in front of him, separating him from reality.

Jesse cast a last desperate glance at Amanda, but there was no help from that quarter. Shaking with the effort needed to maintain his composure sufficiently to coherently deliver the news that had devastated him and would destroy his best friend, he took a deep breath, his hands opening and closing convulsively. "Steve..." The words were tight and halting. "There was an... accident. Mark..." His voice broke and he couldn't continue, the words strangling in his throat. It wasn't necessary.

Steve froze; for a split second the concept hovered like an abstract idea with no bearing on him at all, then the words seared into his mind with indelible agony, and in stark, sick horror the sudden crushing torrent of realization poured through him and he grasped the truth of what had happened.

"No," he grated in vain protest and desperate denial. "God, no…"

Amanda suddenly appeared beside the bed, tears, clearly not the first she'd shed, streaming down her beautiful face. "Steve, I'm so sorry..."

His father was dead. Mark was never coming back and he would never enjoy his companionship ever again. The unquestioning trust, the exuberant laughter, the unfailing support and love were gone. He was on his own. The thought robbed the breath from his chest and the strength from his muscles and he collapsed back in the bed, throwing up an arm to cover his eyes in an instinctive effort to conceal his emotions and block out the outside world, consumed by a raw, gnawing ache that went soul-deep.

His whole body was rigid, every cell locked in violent rejection of the pain that was physical in its intensity, piercing his heart like a knife. He was utterly silent, but the depth of his agitation was betrayed by the trip-hammer beating of his heart that registered in frantic beeps on the monitor to which he was attached.

Jesse eyed the mounting figures worriedly, though almost grateful for the professional concern which temporarily pushed aside his private heartache. This was a terrible time to break such horrible news, not that any time was good, but Jesse had hoped to delay its delivery until Steve was in a better condition physically to withstand the stress. He knew that he couldn't have hurt his friend more if he'd thrust his fist through his chest cavity and ripped out his still-beating heart.

However, he wasn't utterly surprised that it had proved impossible to conceal his distress from Steve, and he had been prepared for the eventuality. He placed a hand on his friend's uninjured shoulder. "Steve, I'm going to give you a sedative. You've just come out of surgery and you also have a concussion. Your body needs to relax to heal."

He half-expected a protest, and would have welcomed it as a sign of normality since Steve disdained the use of drugs as an escape, but there was no response and no softening in the rock-hard muscles bunched beneath his hand. If it were not for the heat radiating upwards, the recumbent body could have been carved out of marble, and Jesse realised that Steve was lost in a haze of grief and shock so profound that nothing else registered or mattered a damn.

The young doctor injected the sedative into Steve's IV line, noting with detached interest that his hands were shaking slightly as he performed the routine operation. It seemed like the drug took an eternity to kick in -- Steve subconsciously refusing to surrender to the temporary reprieve of sleep -- but gradually, almost imperceptibly, his pulse rate slackened, easing to a more acceptable level. Despite the relaxing effect of the sedative, however, the tension that gripped him never fully dissipated, as if even in unconsciousness his whole being rebelled against the immensity of his loss.

Without exchanging any words, Jesse and Amanda worked efficiently around the body of their friend, ensuring he'd suffered no physical setbacks from the shock he'd sustained and making him as comfortable as possible. Then, in one accord, they moved out of the room seeking an area of privacy. The corridor offered no refuge. The news of Mark's death had spread rapidly through the hospital, and in the subdued atmosphere that prevailed, it felt like the whole building held its breath in mourning.

Mark had been more than just professionally respected at Community General, he was something of an icon within its halls. He was a confidant to those in trouble, a trusted mediator of conflicts, and his idiosyncrasies, coupled as they were with the best bed-side manner this side of the Mississippi, fostered a light-hearted work environment that enhanced patient care. He would be missed by many, but there was a recognition of the deeper loss suffered by those closest to him, and no one tried to detain Jesse and Amanda as they hurried down the corridor and into the nearest doctor's lounge.

Amanda collapsed on the couch, burying her face in her hands while Jesse hastily pulled the blinds down before sitting down heavily beside her. Her shoulders were shaking with silent grief, and he pulled her gently down to rest in the crook of his shoulder, providing a safe haven for her tears. His own eyes burnt with the same anguish, but he refused to allow the moisture to fall. With a strange mixture of despair and determination, he realised that he had to be the strong one in this crisis despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to indulge his own misery. Mark had been the father he'd always wanted, a source of enduring strength and encouragement and, under his wing, Jesse had not only been given the chance to achieve his professional goals but also to experience the familial stability he'd craved.

However, Amanda had been Mark's friend for many years before he'd even entered the picture and as for Steve... well, he didn't know how his friend would hold that much despair inside without breaking apart. So, the last thing Jesse could do for his friend and mentor was to help Steve survive this crushing blow. He just wasn't sure how.

Amanda straightened with a wet snuffle beside him, and he leant over to snatch a tissue from the box on the coffee table, handing it to her with a final squeeze of comfort. He wished there was something he could say that would help, but since there were no words that could possibly alleviate either of their feelings, he remained quiet as she blew her nose with a complete lack of inhibition. One tissue was insufficient to absorb all the evidence of her sorrow and she plucked several more to complete the job, taking her time patting and wiping her face as she attempted to gather her thoughts.

"What'll we do?" There was an edge of desperation in her voice.

Jesse wasn't sure if the question was rhetorical, but he had no answer if it wasn't, so he merely shook his head miserably as he stared blindly at the blank TV opposite.

"How's he going to cope with this, especially so soon after Carol?" she continued softly.

Jesse knew he shouldn't be surprised that her thoughts were paralleling his, but he'd seen how badly the news of Mark's death had hit her and he could only be impressed by the generosity of a character that could put another's needs ahead of her own at such a time. It didn't occur to Jesse that the same could be said of him.

"I don't know," he admitted. He tried to find something positive to reassure them both. "He's strong." He could hear the lack of conviction in his own voice and tried to warm to his topic. "I don't know anyone stronger. He's survived everything from forest fires to temporary blindness to three bullets in the chest to..." He trailed off, unable to complete the litany of disasters Steve had overcome since it was impossible to contemplate them without seeing the figure of Mark beside his son, supporting, worrying, carrying him through by sheer strength of will if necessary. Would Steve have actually survived several of those experiences without Mark's help?

"This is different." Again Amanda's quiet voice of reason broke through Jesse's tumbling thoughts and he deflated. Of course it wasn't the same, it was so different it wasn't on the same planet. Steve was the master of physical action, but when it came to confronting his own emotions, he hid behind a wall of stoic control that only Mark was able to infiltrate.

"He'll shut us out, he'll shut everyone out," Jesse predicted gloomily.

"We'll have to show him he's not alone, that he's still got friends that love him." Amanda's fingers were slowly shredding some of the drier pieces of tissue to shreds, and she watched absently as the tiny pieces fell like ersatz confetti to the ground.

Jesse swallowed back his instinctive comment of, 'It's not going to be easy," refusing to give in to the pessimism of such thoughts. After being up all night, he had moved past exhaustion into a waking stupor, and it was hard to wrap his mind around any feasible plans while fatigue scored every inch of his body.

"You know what I keep thinking?" Amanda asked suddenly, just as he started drifting towards a light level of sleep. He shook his head, incapable of the effort of speech. "That Mark will know what to do. Isn't that stupid?" Her face crumpled in an unavailing attempt to hold back the tears which again spilled down her cheeks as she continued brokenly. "Mark's the only one who can fix this and the only one who can't."

Jesse gathered her into his arms again, resting his cheek against her hair until the worst of her sorrow had run its course, envying her free expression and trying to empty his own mind of the tearing grief that threatened to break free. "We're too tired to think straight right now," he murmured soothingly. "We both need some rest. Steve is going to need us in the morning, and we're going to be no help if we're stumbling around from exhaustion. You lie down here on the sofa. I'll take the chair."

He tucked a cushion under her head and found a blanket to cover her, then turned off the light with a sigh of relief, welcoming the darkness that could hide the cracks in his facade of control.

There was silence for a few minutes as Jesse, with the ease of experience, curled up in the armchair, both body and mind craving the oblivion of sleep, then Amanda started speaking again with the compulsion of someone who has to talk to relieve the overflow of painful emotions welling inside even though her words were slurred with grief and exhaustion.

"I always imagined it would be the other way round, that one day I would be trying to find the words to comfort Mark after Steve had been killed in the line of duty. I thought the worst thing possible would be to tell a parent that they'd lost a child. Parents aren't supposed to outlive their children, yet somehow this seems just as unnatural. When two people are as close as Mark and Steve, I don't suppose it matters who goes first, the other will be just as devastated, but somehow I just find myself thinking that this would be easier if it were Mark."

For a moment Jesse didn't understand what she was saying, but then he was struck by the challenging logistics of keeping a man safe who carried a gun and was confronted by potentially lethal situations on a daily basis.

There was a pause, then in a subdued voice Amanda asked, "Jesse, are you alright?"

They were simple words yet, with the precision of an engineer's tools, they undermined the dam that held back Jesse's overwrought emotions and for a minute he could scarcely breathe, never mind talk as he struggled against the onslaught of awareness of loss. 'I have to be strong," he repeated the mantra to himself as he rebuilt a makeshift bulwark to contain his feelings and he realised he hadn't responded to Amanda's question. Too many things fought for expression but most would cost him too much to utter, and finally only one battled its way free in tones of desolation.

"Nothing will ever be the same."