Disclaimer: Don't own it. Don't make a profit. Did forget to include it in the first chapter.

Frustration

"Dad…are you sure?"

"Steve, I saw him. It was only a glance, I know, but he said my name, too, and that was definitely Jesse's voice. I just don't understand why! It's not like Jesse; I thought I knew him. If I hadn't seen it, you know I'd be defending him for eternity. But I know there must be something wrong. His brain chemicals are unbalanced or he hit his head or someone is drugging him or anything except premeditated, planned sexual assault."

Steve sat back in his seat. His father had called him as soon as everyone arrived at the police station but, as a homicide detective, he really had no authority with the special victims unit. He could only wait for reports and wonder what the hell had happened. He believed his father over Jesse, naturally. Yet he agreed that Jesse's action necessitated mitigating circumstances. Right? Didn't they? He felt as confused as his dad.

"Have you talked to Amanda?"

"Couldn't get a hold of her. Remember, she and C. J. are visiting her sister in New York. She's probably blissfully shopping away at Saks as we speak. I left a message with the housekeeper."

"So what are we gonna do?"

Mark sighed wearily and looked up at the ceiling, as if seeking guidance from a higher power. "Wait."

Meanwhile Jesse experienced booking.

First, he stated his name and address to Officer Catskill, who all the while regarded him contemptuously and wrote down the information. He responded in the negative when asked if he had any illnesses or STDs (Jesse's answer only elicited a sneer from the officer). No, he had no dependents. No, he wasn't married. Then he waited while the officer wrote down additional information for the field report, Criminal Complaint form, and Affidavit of Probable Cause.

A different officer took him to the fingerprint station, where a disinterested young man in latex gloves rolled his fingers in ink, then on paper. He rolled each finger, then all four together. He rolled each thumb twice. Then he repeated the process on a different card so that both the L. A. P. D. and the State Police could have copies. Then he repeated the process a third time, so the FBI could have a copy.

Another officer took him for mug shots, where they photographed his front and profile using a Polaroid. They would go to digital cameras as soon as the city found enough money to finance the purchase.

Finally, they put him in a holding cell with a couple of other prisoners who were either sleeping or talking to themselves. Despite the inner turmoil, Jesse put on a brave face, to keep anyone from viewing him as weak. He knew what that could lead to. So he sat there, counting ceiling tiles for one hour. Two hours. Three hours. Four hours. Waiting arraignment on the craziest charge in the direst of circumstances.

While he waited, a nurse called Mark on his cell phone to tell him that Lily had snuck out of the hospital with her mom. She'd left a note for Dr. Sloan, who immediately drove with Steve to pick it up and take it to the precinct to read over with Officer Catskill.

Lily wrote:

Dear Dr. Sloan,

I'm so sorry, but I can't do it. I'm too scared and ashamed to press charges. Please don't try to find me—mom and I left town— and please, please don't hate me.

Lily

Neither Mark, Steve, nor Catskill could believe it and all understood the ramifications. If Lily didn't press charges, Jesse could not be prosecuted, since she was over eighteen. It infuriated Catskill and left Steve and Mark with further doubts about their friend. Former friend? Sick friend?

"I still have to report this to the Medical Board and testify against Jesse there. They'll probably revoke his license. I just wish I could understand it. I want to have them test Jesse; MRIs, blood tests, CAT scans—"

"I'd like to take him out back and show him what else a baton can be used for. That sicko deliberately intimidated that girl into staying silent. I am not gonna let him get away with this."

Steve held up a hand. "Jon, cool it. This isn't over yet and nobody's let him off the hook; but you can't take things into your own hands."

"I've already put in a call to the licensing board," Mark added, "and we have the testimony of Mary Struthers and everything you wrote down. I'll make sure he's kept away from medicine until this is all figured out."

"Figured out? He'd have raped her if you hadn't shown up!"

"Something's wrong with him!"

"You're damn right something's wrong with him!"

An exasperated cop stuck her head into the room. "Hey! Would you guys knock it off? I'm trying to take somebody's statement and I can't hear her over you."

"Sorry, Mel."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

Mark looked at the door while asking, "What do we do in the interim?"

"We have to release him," Jon managed through clenched teeth. He clenched his teeth a lot. His dentist hated him. "And we have to find Lily and convince her to press charges. Doc, she kind of took to you; d'you mind helping us when we locate her?"

"Not at all."

They waited, looking at each other, hoping Lily might suddenly appear. No one wanted to get up, because that would signal releasing a sexual predator back onto the street. A sexual predator that two of the room's occupants had grown to love. A sexual predator who had to be ill and disturbed. Or frightfully brilliant.

Jesse sat in the psychologist's office at Mark's behest, having already gone through a blood test and a CAT scan. His only reason for submitting to such insanity was to convince his mentor of his innocence. The suspension without pay and state board action didn't frustrate, anger, and hurt him as much as his friends' revulsion and abhorrence.

"So, what happened on 24 September?" Dr. Parsons asked Dr. Travis. Jess had to restrain from rolling his eyes. The stupid shrink was always acting British. He mixed up the day and month in his dates, called chips "crisps," and used British spelling. Nobody liked him, but he performed his job well.

"24 September? That was—what—two days ago? Well, um, my life started falling apart."

"And why is that?"

"Why? Because I've been mistaken for a pedophile!" Lily's technical status as an adult didn't make much of a difference to Jesse. "I spent an hour trying to comfort a Polish woman and I don't speak Polish. But nobody believes me."

"Dr. Sloan is not known for making up stories."

"I'm not saying he did! I'm saying he's mistaken. Or that I have some sort of evil twin." Holy cow! He had a real-life doppelganger! But, they only existed in rumors and urban legends. Could it be possible…?

After everything he'd experienced since moving from tranquil Illinois to spastic L. A., of course it was possible. Heck, for all he knew, a mummy could be roaming the basement and Buffy the Vampire Slayer lived next door. Well, assuming she'd changed her name to Mrs. Doherty, aged several decades, and begun growing chin hair. Or…

"Or…" he paused. That was it! Why hadn't he thought of that before? "I'm being impersonated! Someone wants to destroy me!"

Dr. Parsons raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Someone is impersonating you sexually assaulting a patient while, at the same time, you are comforting a non-native English speaker who subsequently can't be found?"

Well, sure, when he put it like that, of course it sounded ludicrous. "Look, the bottom line here is that I am not crazy and I am not a rapist. Why doesn't anybody believe me or even just give me a chance? Why is Mark doing this to me?"

Dr. Parsons took the question to mean, "Why is Mark ruining my career and making trouble for me with the law?" Jesse had meant, "Why is my only father-figure not believing me, especially after all we've been through?"

They continued back and forth, question and answer, for another two hours. By the time their session ended, Jesse's ire, which had already been up, was now somewhere in the stratosphere, orbiting Earth.

He left the office, fuming, yet also feeling guilty about his justifiable anger. He wasn't accustomed to being angry. Hurt, yes. Sad, yes. But he spent a lot of time in his life ignoring all those unpleasant emotions and, most of all, rage. So when he stepped out and found Mark, his own, frustrated words surprised everyone—himself, Mark, Steve, Amanda—who'd cut her trip short after talking to Mark—and the people who passed the doctors' lounge.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he yelled. "I didn't do anything! I would believe you! I never touched Lily Driver and I'm not sick and I'm not crazy and I'm not lying!" He pointed a finger at Mark. "You are really going to regret doing this," he stated, then stormed out before his tears started to fall.

This was a bad thing to say. Everyone who heard it assumed he meant, "Something bad will happen to you for getting me in trouble." In actuality, Jesse meant, "When all this gets resolved, you'll feel terribly guilty for not believing me."

But that's not what he said because if he'd waited long enough to say all that, they would have seen him cry.

"Do you—do you think he did it?" Amanda asked in a whisper. She hadn't known what to think when they called her. Now, her hope in Jesse's innocence wavered, along with everyone else's. Especially Steve's; he'd loved Jesse like a brother, but nobody threatened his father.

"Come on," Mark beckoned softly, "let's go see if the blood tests show anything."

They did not show anything. Neither did the CAT scan. Dr. Parsons told them that, given Jesse's intelligence and his history of getting involved in police investigations, he could very well be a sociopath.

From one person's point of view, everything was going famously.

"Amanda?"

The woman on the other end of the line didn't respond for a moment. "Jesse? Is that you? I can't—"

"Amanda, you have to listen to me. Please, please just talk to me for a couple minutes." Jesse tried to temper his fluttering heart.

Seated in bed with a medical journal and the baby monitor, Amanda bit her lip and weighed her options. She'd held Jesse so dear; it hurt her to hear him pained. "What do you want to say?"

An audible sigh of relief greeted her permission. "Amanda, I—I want you to believe in me. I want you to know that I never touched Lily Driver. I never even met her! I'm not sure what's going on, but I need somebody on my side and you know me; you know I'm not capable of such a thing."

"But am I supposed to disbelieve Mark? He saw you; he heard your voice. Denying it doesn't help anything."

"How can't I deny it? I won't admit to something I didn't do! What if somebody's trying to frame me? Hasn't anybody thought of that?"

Amanda's eyes narrowed. This was getting ridiculous. She wouldn't let Jesse try and manipulate her. How could Mark possibly be that wrong? "Dr. Parsons says you might be a sociopath and responsible for other crimes we don't know about. I'm not taking that risk with my life or my son's. Don't call me again."

She hit the off button and placed the phone on its base with an unsteady hand. It hurt her to say those things, but she meant them. After a few minutes, she called Mark and relayed the conversation. She also went into C. J.'s room and watched him sleeping peacefully—her complete antithesis.

In his apartment, Jesse threw the phone on the floor in frustration and punched his sofa. Amanda was his last bastion of hope in his friends. From here, he didn't know where to go.

A/N: Thank you so much for your kind reviews! To those who reviewed for the first chapter, please do so for this one. To those who are just getting started with this story, please review. To those who are reading this story but not reviewing—don't you think it's time you start? —your humble author