SquidgeWorld Archive

Healing
by nancy
the_tenth_muse1@yahoo.com

The surf was always a little rough once September passed, but Jesse didn't care. He got onto the waves whenever possible, needing the connection to everything and nothing all at once. Steve and Amanda would tease him for being too Zen if he ever really talked about how surfing made him feel, but it was all true. The sheer physicality of surfing brought him out of his head and calmed him down, made him at one with his own body, which was difficult on land. Sometimes, tripping over his own eagerness to please others and be in on everything translated into a literal loss of balance.

Something that rarely happened on the waves.

Jesse didn't need to look up at the sky to know he'd been out too long and was risking dehydration, but it just felt so good to get out of himself for a change. Life had been insane since Steve's shooting and there'd been no chance to deal with the trauma of seeing the man he loved shot three times. He'd had no time to even attempt not to feel the paddles in his hands that had brought Steve back. Those four seconds without Steve Sloan in the world had been an eternity.

Shaking off the vision of blood and the surreal feel of Steve's clammy skin superimposed on his board, Jesse looked behind for any viable waves and spotted one coming in from a distance. Taking a breath, he let it out slowly and concentrated only on the moment, paddling forward at just the right velocity. The wave caught him only a minute later and he jumped up, balancing and feeling the rush of synchronicity as he skated sideways to ride it as far in as he could.

It ended in a gentle deceleration instead of an almost anticipated wipeout and he grinned, hopping off into the knee-deep waters. Thirst dried his mouth and throat, aided by the salt, sun, and wind. Picking up his board, Jesse walked up to the sands only to stop short when he spotted Steve's distinctive bulk sitting up the slight incline, a short ways down the beach. He sat towards the top of a small hill, leaning back on his hands with face tilted to the sky, the most perfect thing Jesse had seen ever. The only moment that topped it was seeing Steve's hand move after he'd been unresponsive for so damn long.

He took another breath, a fortifying one, and walked up to Steve, parking his board upright in the sand. Jesse sat beside him, glad there was a blanket spread out, and took one of the bottled waters, chugging it gratefully.

Bright blue eyes squinted over at him and Steve gave him a smile before saying, "You were out a long time."

There was a question in there that Jesse wasn't going to answer, instead shrugging and finishing off the water. He stretched out with a tired groan and countered, "Didn't know you were here. I would've come in if I had."

"What, you think I can't handle sitting in the sun?" Steve asked, humor rife in his voice.

Jesse snickered. "No, *that* I'm sure you can handle."

"You're funny."

Turning his head, he looked at Steve and noticed how exhausted the other man looked. There were dark circles under his eyes and a faded quality to him that sent a slither of fear through Jesse. Pushing onto his elbows, he asked, "You sleeping okay, Steve? You look tired."

"I should be sleeping like a baby, right?" Steve mused. "Dad's home, I'm almost back to normal, and Trainor's back in prison. Everything's the way it was before I..."

Got shot, Jesse silently supplied. Hesitant, he said, "You went through something pretty traumatic, Steve, so it's not a big shock that you're having trouble sleeping. Have you, ah, talked to anyone? About the shooting, I mean."

Steve snorted and gave him a ‘yeah, right' look.

Shaking his head, Jesse laid back down and closed his eyes. "You know, we get all kinds of trauma in the ER and we can usually fix the physical, but there's nothing we can do with the emotional aspect, especially if the patient isn't willing to meet halfway."

"So you're saying I should see a shrink," Steve said flatly.

Jesse shrugged. "See a shrink. Go bowling. Take up meditation. Go to target practice. Whatever makes you feel whole again, that's what you should do."

"That's what surfing is to you, isn't it?"

Surprised by the insight, Jesse kept his eyes closed and answered cautiously, "It can be."

"What do you need help with, Jesse?"

Startled by Steve's voice so close, Jesse jumped and opened his eyes to find the big man lying on his side, looking at him. That near, his whole world suddenly because Steve Sloane, something he'd wanted almost from the start, but knew he couldn't have. He managed to stammer, "W-what do you mean?"

Steve kept looking at him as he said, "You were out there for hours, Jess. What's wrong? What's bothering you that you'd risk sunstroke and dehydration to try and get a handle on it? Because that's what you were doing, wasn't it?"

It was unnerving to have all that focus on him and Jesse couldn't think of a single dissembling remark. Blinking, Jesse forced himself to sit up and then get to his feet without answering at all. If he said anything without getting a grip, everything would spill out and he couldn't afford that. They'd become such good friends and he knew what happened to friends when they found out you weren't exactly who you said you were. Add in desire and even need, and they vanished faster than the wind.

Looking out at the ocean for a few seconds, Jesse took a deep breath and let the waves soothe him, even from a distance. Back in control, he finally said, "I'm going to head home. You okay here?"

For a long minute, it didn't look like Steve was going to let it go that easy. He had that stubborn expression that said, ‘I'm getting to the bottom of this no matter what,' in place and opened his mouth before shutting it with an audible click. Leveling a frown at Jesse, he answered, "Yeah, I'm good."

"I could stick around and..."

"Jesse, just go."

Wondering if he'd done wrong by not sharing maybe a little of what he felt, Steve was seldom so short with him, Jesse bit his lip and tried to think of a way he could make up for the apparent lack of trust.

Steve held up a hand and gave him a smile, a real one this time without the brittle edges, and told him, "Honest, Jesse, I'm fine. I think I'm just going to enjoy the beach for a while. I'll see you later."

Jesse still wasn't sure, but he nodded and pulled his board free, heading for his car. He paused at the top of the beach and looked back to find Steve staring out at the water. The sight sent a pang through him and he sighed, the peace he'd found before, completely gone. Suddenly exhausted, feeling every minute of every hour that he'd spent on the waves in every pore, Jesse slogged to his car and headed home.

*  *  *  *

He'd been *so* close and then Jesse had clammed up. As usual, Steve knew he'd pushed too hard, too fast. It hadn't been all that long since Jesse had become part of the family, as it were, joining Community General and fitting like a glove. Annoyed with his ham-fisted methods when he could do so much better, Steve glared at the ocean and demanded, "What do you have that I don't, huh?"

Shaking his head, Steve climbed to his feet. He packed up slowly, but not because of any physical limitations, not anymore. He'd made it back to full duty not long ago and passed the physical exam, even if by the skin of his teeth. No, his body moved slowly in response to the sluggishness of his mind and, if pressed to admit it, his heart.

There was so much about Jesse that no one knew. The extensive information he could get by his police sources was off-limits despite his intense interest. If Jesse ever found out that he'd snooped into his past without permission, it would put a halt to any possibility of having something more than friendship. And Steve was sure that there was something worth having with Jesse, positive in fact, if only he could get the younger man to open up and trust a little.

Walking to his car once he'd gathered everything, he dropped the large bag in the back seat and climbed into the driver's seat. He hadn't been sleeping well, that much Jesse had guessed right, and tonight didn't seem to be shaping up any better. He'd been busy enough at work the last couple of weeks that he could go home and drop into sleep almost right away, but the sleep itself was restless. It had been filled with flashes of the shooting mingled with nightmares of not saving his father in time, witnessing his execution by lethal injection.

Steve shuddered in revulsion, instantly breaking out into a cold sweat at just how close he'd come to losing his father to the very justice system he defended daily. It was, quite simply, his worst nightmare.

Pulling into traffic, he found himself at Community General instead of home, knowing that he would find his father on duty. Steve found himself checking up on him more than he should, given that they were both grown men. Sometimes he couldn't get rid of the thought that he'd blocked it all out and his dad really was dead, so he'd become an even more familiar haunt at the hospital. He parked and sat in the car, staring at the building where he'd died only five months ago with a mix of loathing and comfort.

"Jesse's right," he muttered. "You do need a shrink."

He climbed out of the car and walked in the main entrance, nodded at the nurses and interns he knew as well as the other detectives and uniformed officers at work. He spotted his dad's white hair and angled towards him, relief sinking through him at the sight. It was easy to smile when his dad saw him and waved from down the hall.

"Steve! What are you doing here? Not that I don't appreciate the visit, but we might have to start paying you as security," his dad greeted.

Chuckling, Steve said, "It's probably more than I make now."

A grin flashed over his father's face and he agreed, "Probably. Come on, let me buy you some dinner. They have egg salad in the cafeteria."

"They always have egg salad in the cafeteria."

"Which is why I know they have it."

Sharing a laugh, Steve told him, "I can't stay. Just wanted to stop in on my way home and see how you were."

Concern surfaced and Mark questioned seriously, "Are you still not sleeping?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the observation, Steve changed the subject by countering, "Has Jesse seemed...off to you lately?"

The frown deepened and Mark asked, "Why? Does he seem it to you?"

Which was as good as a confirmation, in Steve's book. Frowning, he demanded, "What's going on with him? I saw him earlier and he did a damn good imitation of a clam."

Mark half-smiled and squeezed Steve's shoulder as he comforted, "You have to give him time, Steve. He's not used to being the center of attention like he is with us."

Squinting at his dad, Steve accused, "You know something."

"I know many things," Mark replied easily. "On this subject, however, you're on your own, Son. I advise patience. Now then, if you aren't staying, I need to get back to work. Get some sleep, Steve. You look tired."

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Mark just patted him on the shoulder and headed off down the hall. Glaring at his father's back, Steve made a face and then headed back towards the entrance. He could be patient when the situation called for it, but preferred action to waiting. Knowing that he had to be at the top of his game for any kind of confrontation with Jesse, though, Steve decided to head home for real.

As both his father and Jesse had noticed, he needed to sleep.

*  *  *  *

The next time Steve got a chance to talk to Jesse, a few days later, certainly wasn't under ideal circumstances since he'd been shot. Again. It was just a graze, he'd been able to dive out of the way and the bullet had only creased along his left side. The EMT had given him a temporary patch-up and moved on to set the second suspect's leg with an order to have someone drive him to the hospital.

Jesse paled on seeing him limp into the ER and Steve realized that he looked like he'd gone three rounds with Ali on top of being shot. He held up a hand as he approached and promised, "I'm fine, Jess, it's a scratch. You should see he other guy."

The joke fell flat and Jesse silently guided him to a curtained area, helping him onto an exam bed. He groaned when a nurse carefully pulled his shirt off, bruised muscles protesting the movement. She moved out of the way for Jesse, who'd pulled over a tray that held the typical medical equipment. It was unnerving, the complete silence in which Jesse worked. He wasn't used to the other man being even occasionally quiet, let alone completely without sound.

The exam was swift, but thorough and he lifted his arm when Jesse moved it clear to work. He hissed when the needle went in to deliver a local anesthetic for the stitches, then sighed in relief as the pain faded. Next, the younger man started cleaning the wound and then, finally, did the actual stitching. Steve started to break the silence a few times and found that he couldn't, with Jesse so tight-lipped and on edge.

"Steve? Are you all right? What happened?"

Looking over at his father's voice, Steve offered a pained grin and joked, "I zigged when I should've zagged, but I'm fine. Right, Jess?"

"Twelve stitches, two cracked ribs, multiple cuts and abrasions. Sure, Steve, you're fine. Mark, would you finish for me?" Jesse ordered more than asked before rushing away.

Steve blinked in shock at the younger man's fast disappearance.

Chuckling as he walked over, Mark shook his head and put on a pair of latex gloves. As he cut off the threaded needle still hanging from Steve's side, the older man observed, "I think you need to take a lesson in ducking, Son. Didn't they cover it at the Academy?"

"Very funny," Steve retorted. "Look, can you hurry up? I need to talk to Jesse."

Lips pursed, Mark said, "Yes, I think you do. And if you break his heart, I'll...well, you don't want to know what I'll do to you."

Steve half-smiled at his father's threat, even though he took it seriously. He wasn't at all surprised to find that the other man had figured out how he felt about Jesse. They were closer than most fathers and sons, after all, having hashed through a lot of ‘issues' while Steve was still in his twenties. They still had their moments, but that was due to being cut from the same, stubborn mold.

Resting his hand on his father's shoulder, Steve promised, "I won't break his heart, Dad. Or, I'll do my best not to, anyhow. Hell, we're nowhere even near him giving it to me to break in the first place."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Steve," Mark replied, taping the bruised flesh over the cracked ribs. "Jesse's not exactly hard to read and when it comes to you, well, let's just say I'm a little apprehensive. Tread carefully, okay?"

Recognizing his father's concern and treating it with respect, Steve lowered his voice and stated, "He's not going to be some one night stand, Dad. I...I care about him."

Mark met his gaze and whatever he saw there seemed to put his mind at ease. He nodded firmly and then wrapped a bandage tight around Steve's midriff, further immobilizing the ribs. From there, he cleaned the cuts and scratches on Steve's face and then said, "You're all set. You know where to pick up a set of scrubs."

"I should just keep a spare set of clothes here," Steve commented dryly.

Winking, Mark agreed, "Maybe you should. Good night, Steve. Please try and stay in one piece for, oh, at least a week?"

Steve heard the worry underlying the easy tone and gave his father a brief, but tight, hug. "I will. Night, Dad."

Then he went in search of Jesse.

*  *  *  *

Jesse made it to the on-call room in record time, locking the door behind him just before he started to hyperventilate. Stumbling to sit on the cot, he put his head between his knees and struggled to draw in a full breath. It seemed an eternity before he got control, but he managed it eventually. Exhausted by the sudden rush of emotion, Jesse curled up on the cot and pulled the pillow in tight, unable to not see the images of Steve on the operating table, his chest open and organs fighting to keep going. All he could hear were the machines beeping and hissing and the cool, detached tones of the other surgeon working on Steve.

Too much blood. There'd been too much blood and Steve had died even before getting to the table. That he hadn't died again in surgery spoke of a will to live that staggered Jesse. He knew, now, that he shouldn't have been in the OR, but how could he not have been? Too late, he knew that it wasn't a rule to just keep grieving and worried families out of the way, but to save them from seeing things that loved ones just should not see.

Everything that he'd tried to repress for the last five months, or soothe by riding the waves the other day, washed over him, making Jesse nauseas and left him shaking in reaction. Then, without warning, the small bed dipped under someone's weight and strong arms picked him up. He struggled until Steve ordered, "Easy, Jess, it's me, you're okay, it's just me. Relax, baby, just take it easy."

Panting harshly, Jesse did as he was told and let the bigger man manhandle him over his lap to cradle against the broad chest. Steve had taken time to change into scrubs, which meant he'd been out of it for a long time. Still shaking, he asked, "H-how'd you f-f-find me?"

"One of the nurses got worried when you blew past the station to come in here and then didn't come back out," Steve answered, hand stroking over Jesse's hair. "What brought this on, huh? You okay now?"

Even though he knew he should say yes and pull himself together, Jesse only shook his head miserably and held tighter. It felt so good to be held for a change, to rely on someone else's strength.

"That's okay, you just rest. I know you're wiped," Steve murmured.

Between the other man's warmth, the soothing touches, and nonsense words, Jesse did finally relax...all the way into sleep.

*  *  *  *

Soft voices woke Jesse some time later.

"Don't worry," Mark's voice said. "Take as much time as you need. I made sure the nurses know not to let anyone interrupt."

Steve replied, "That's good, because I think he'll be down for a while yet. Dad, you should've seen him."

Mark sighed and observed, "We take for granted that he's just going to bounce back. That he doesn't get affected the way everyone else does. I should know better. I *do* know better."

Hating the self-directed anger in his mentor's voice, Jesse started to protest, but all that came out was a jaw-cracking yawn. When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurred enough that he had to wipe at them with the palm of his hand. That was when he realized that he and Steve were actually stretched out on the cot together, bodies pressed intimately close, the bigger man half-covering him protectively.

"My cue to leave," Mark finished kindly. "Get some sleep, boys."

The door closed before Jesse could say anything.

Steve's arm tightened around his waist as he said, "Go right back to sleep, Jess. We'll talk later."

"I'm not a kid," Jesse retorted, starting to pull away.

Steve sighed and asked, "For me, okay? I'm ready to drop and really, really comfortable right now. Don't make me move?"

Jesse bit his lip and then sighed. "Okay."

Lying there with so little space, and certainly none between their bodies, Jesse thought, There's no way I'm falling asleep again. Not with him right there.

He was wrong.

*  *  *  *

For the first time since his shooting, Steve slept without nightmares or a single, restless turn. When he woke and looked at the clock, seven full hours had passed and he felt better than he had in, well, five months. Nuzzling at the back of Jesse's neck, nosing aside the blond hair, he sighed in deep contentment. Not even realizing that his arm had fallen dead asleep from cushioning Jesse's head burst his bubble.

Of course, now that he was fully rested, his body decided that he was more than just comfortable despite the ache in his ribs and various, smaller hurts. It responded to Jesse's warmth and nearness in a definitive manner, blood slowly pooling in his groin. Grinning to himself, he muttered, "Down, boy," and slowly rubbed his hand over Jesse's stomach. As much as he wanted to let the other man sleep in, he suspected they were wearing their welcome thin. And besides which, Jesse probably had to start a shift sometime soon.

Jesse sighed and turned so that he cuddled up against Steve's chest, his cold nose pressing against the hollow of Steve's throat. The younger man hummed a kind of coming-awake noise and then froze.

Steve chuckled and rubbed a hand along Jesse's back and said, "Morning, Jesse."

Rolling back enough to look at him, an astonished and confused expression in place. "Steve? What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Steve questioned, surprised.

Jesse shook his head and said, "Last thing I remember is...wait, did you get shot again?"

"A graze," Steve confirmed. "You patched me up and then had a mini-meltdown. Since I've been having trouble sleeping, too, I figured we could kill two birds with one stone and we zonked out here."

Jesse started to pull away for real as he exclaimed, "I, geeze, Steve, I'm sorry!"

But Steve held tight, easily keeping him in place even with his minor injuries. When Jesse went still again, looking at him warily, Steve said, "We need to talk, Jess."

"No we don't."

"Yes, we do."

"Steve, I was just tired. I'm fine, honest."

"You don't have a meltdown because you're tired. Or, not just because of it."

"But I'm fine now, so..."

Having decided that actions would probably say more than words, he interrupted Jesse the most effect way he knew. Steve simply leaned forward and kissed him, firmly and without hesitation. It didn't last long, thanks to someone trying to open the door, but when he broke it off, Steve was pleased to see the wariness replaced with a dazed happiness. Smiling broadly, he reached up to cup Jesse's face and told him, "We do need to talk, but consider that an IOU."

Jesse licked his lips, eyes bright as he said, "I will, definitely."

Steve chuckled and kissed him again, a little slower and deeper, sliding his tongue inside for a short recon mission. Jesse groaned and returned it, tongue twining hesitantly against Steve's. Someone knocked pointedly on the door, though, and Steve sighed, pulling back. "Okay. Time to go. How about some breakfast?"

Rolling easily off the cot, Jesse nodded and said enthusiastically, "I'm starved! Oh, hey! Darren's working in the kitchen today! I bet he'd whip us up some pancakes! Man, you should try them, they're awesome!"

Steve unlocked the door and opened it on an irritated looking doctor he didn't know, probably a resident looking to get some sleep. Putting an arm around Jesse's waist, he drew the younger man by the annoyed doctor and continued to listen with half his attention as the smaller man waxed poetic about pancakes and hash browns.

In the elevator, Steven could only be grateful that Jesse did bounce back as well he usually did, at least for now. He still fully intended to get to the bottom of the mystery that was Dr. Jesse Travis, but for the time being, pancakes sounded good.

The company he kept, however, sounded even better.

end