This story is dedicated to Betty – with grateful thanks for all her help and support both in beta reading my stories and for being a friend. Thanks are also due to Betty for providing me with the medical information.

World Of Silence
by
 

“There’s a letter for you dad.   It looks official,” Steve Sloan commented as he passed a thick, cream envelope to his father.    “As does mine,” he added, glumly surveying the heavy brown envelope addressed to “S. Sloan, Esq,” which bore the ominous frank of the IRS.

“Oh, I know what this is,” Mark said cheerfully as he slit the envelope open with the same knife he’d used to butter his toast, thereby coating the flap with breadcrumbs as he did so.    “Ah, yes I thought so,” he announced triumphantly as he withdrew a heavily embossed card.   “It’s my invitation to the annual medical conference for the Senior Heads of Internal Medicine,” he added by way of explanation.

“That’s great, Dad,” Steve said distractedly as he viewed the contents of his envelope, page after page of forms requesting financial information, with ever-growing horror.   As if he didn’t have enough paperwork to contend with at the precinct, he thought gloomily, as he drained the contents of his coffee mug in a single swallow.   Well, there went his evening!   Instead of the relaxing night he had in mind, he was going to be knee deep in paperwork instead.

COMMUNITY GENERAL

                “You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” Jesse Travis commented, noting the extra bounce in Mark’s step as the older man strode into the doctor’s lounge later that morning.

“That I am Jesse, that I am,” Mark replied, grinning broadly.   “Do you know what I have here?” He enquired, reaching into his jacket pocket and extracting his invitation, which he held aloft triumphantly.

“Uh … a winning lottery ticket,” Jesse tentatively ventured.

“Oh, it’s much better than that,” was the cheerful response.  “This,” Mark thrust the invitation into Jesse’s hands, “is my invitation to a medical conference specifically held for all the Senior Heads of Internal Medicine in the United States.”

“And that’s better than a winning lottery ticket because…?”    Personally, Jesse would rather sit and watch paint dry than attend a medical conference so he couldn’t quite figure out why Mark was so thrilled.

“I’m sorry Jess,” Mark apologised, “you’ve only been at Community General for a little under a year so you don’t know the history behind the conference.    The thing is,” he continued, “I’ve been trying to attend every year for the past 5 years, but each time something has prevented me from going.   The first year,” he paused for a moment to reminisce on the sequence of events that - thus far - had prevented him from attending, “that was the year Steve got appendicitis.  The second year we had a flu epidemic that decimated the hospital staff, the year after that Steve broke both his legs in a car crash.    The next …Do I really need to go on?” he enquired.

“No, I get the picture,” Jesse replied, grinning.    “But what makes you think you’ll get there this year Mark - if all the other years have been dogged by disaster?”

“Because THIS year,” Mark rubbed his hands together gleefully.   “I’ve got a good feeling about it Jesse.    This year I just know that there are going to be no last-minute problems and that I’m finally going to get to attend the conference.”

“So where’s it being held?” Jesse queried.

*****

“London!” Amanda exclaimed.   “Oh, Mark that’s wonderful.   I am so envious.  And so close to Christmas too,” she enthused.    “It will be…”

“Cold, dark and probably snowing,” Jesse chipped in, wilting at the malevolent glare his colleague bestowed on him.

“It will be terrific,” Amanda declared.   “Log fires, holly, mulled wine,” she added dreamily.

“I think it’s highly unlikely that the Hilton Hotel will have log fires,” Mark pointed out.    “I don’t think it’s quite in keeping with their image.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Amanda replied, her eyes gleaming with excitement.   “It’s the overall picture that matters.   The whole thing is just so … Idealistic; London, Christmas, snow.   Oh, I wish I were coming with you,” she said wistfully.

“Then why don’t you?    I’m being perfectly serious,” he continued, laughing at the incredulous expression on his colleague’s face.  “You’re overdue – way overdue - a holiday and it would be nice to have intelligent, not to mention attractive,” he grinned wickedly, “company.    And CJ would love London,” he added beguilingly.  

“We’ll come,” Amanda declared.

“I don’t suppose….” Jesse turned hopeful eyes towards his mentor.

“I’m sorry Jess,” Mark smiled gently.   “I have to have someone I trust in charge of the place while I’m gone.   Maybe next year.”

*****

“London!” Steve couldn’t have looked more surprised if his dad had announced his intention to travel to Mars.

“It’s not that far away,” Mark laughingly informed his clearly worried son.

“I know that dad.   It’s just that … Well I … worry about you.    After the last time…” His voice tailed off as he recalled the debacle of Mark and Amanda’s trip to Switzerland, when a deranged young man had taken over the controls of the plane.

“Steve.”   Mark reached out to squeeze his son’s arm reassuringly.   “Nothing is going to happen on this trip.    Amanda, CJ and I are going to have a wonderful time in London and we’ll be back before you know it - safe and sound.    Now,” he added sternly, nodding at the plethora of papers that were precariously piled on the kitchen table “Are you going to clear that up so that I can start supper?    Jesse and Amanda will be here in half an hour.”

 “Good,” Steve muttered, as he began to stack the papers together.    “They can help me with these forms.   I can’t make head or tail of them.”

*****

“So Steve, it’s just going to be the two of us while your dad, Amanda and CJ are enjoying themselves in London,” Jesse announced brightly, after supper was over. 

“Oh, I don’t suppose we’ll see very much of one another Jess,” at which response the young doctor visibly wilted.    He’d been hoping - really hoping - that the two of them might get to spend some time together.   He liked Steve; had liked him from the moment they were first introduced when he’d arrived at Community General some ten months earlier.    An only child, Jesse recognised in Steve the older brother he’d always wanted.

“I’m sure that Steve will be only too grateful to have you come over Jesse,” Mark swiftly interjected, having noticed Jesse’s crestfallen expression.

“I would?” Steve looked up enquiringly at his dad, saw the look on his father’s face and knew better than to argue with him.   “I would,” he said firmly, smiling over at Jesse before turning his attention back to the papers before him.

“Terrific.”    Jesse’s face lit up with pleasure.

“Just promise me that you’ll make sure Steve doesn’t burn the house down when he’s cooking, would you Jess?” Mark implored.

“Ha ha dad, that is so not funny,” came the swift retort.

*****

“So, what was that all about?” Steve enquired after Amanda and Jesse had left.

“What was what about?”

“Spare me the innocent look, dad,” Steve fixed his father with a mock glare.   “You know that I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself and I CAN cook,” he gently admonished.

“TV dinners and burgers - hardly what I’d call sensible eating,” Mark replied.

“Oh, and I suppose that Jesse is a cordon bleu cook is he?”

“No, Mark replied thoughtfully.   “But, he’s lonely Steve.    He’s only been in LA for

10 months and he hasn’t had a chance to make many friends yet.   I’d feel happier while I’m in London if I knew the two of you were looking out for one another.”

“I’m 39 years old dad,” Steve protested.    “I can look after myself.”

“Just humour me, please?” Mark entreated.   “Jesse works hard - too hard and he often doesn’t eat properly.        In many respects he’s a lot like you.     You get so involved in your work that you forget to sleep - forget to eat.   The last thing I want when I get back is to find you both exhausted and malnourished.   So, just look out for one another while I’m gone okay?   That’s not too much for a father to ask is it?” he added smiling affectionately at his son.

“No,” Steve replied, grinning as he realised how well he could benefit from the situation.   Because if he could persuade Jesse to do all of the cooking, he wouldn’t have to lift a finger in the kitchen for the entirety of the time that his father was away!

*****

“So, do you have everything?” Steve enquired for the third time as they waited at the United Airlines desk for Amanda and CJ to arrive.  “Passport, travellers cheques, not to mention your speech,” he added, grinning wickedly.

“Very funny,” was his father’s wry response.   “But, since I’m a guest at this conference and not a participant, I don’t have to make a speech, for which I’m extremely grateful.”

“It’s snowing heavily in London,” Steve’s handsome face was creased with worry as he imparted this piece of information to his father.    “They’re saying the weather there is the worst they’ve known in years.”

“Steve.” Mark fixed his son with a stern gaze.   “Please stop worrying.  Everything will be fine.   And the weather in England is ALWAYS bad; that’s what gives the country its own unique charm.   “Ah, – here come Amanda and CJ,” he added, having spotted his harassed colleague heading towards them, her young son clutched tightly in her arms.

“Mark – Steve,” Amanda greeted them breathlessly.    “I was afraid we wouldn’t get here in time.   There was an accident on the freeway.”

“Well you’re here now, that’s the most important thing,” said Mark.

 “Say goodbye to your Uncle Steve,” Amanda instructed CJ, who obediently held out a chubby hand, which was taken and solemnly shook by the glum looking detective.   Steve then turned to his father and, to Mark’s surprise, enveloped him in a tight bear hug.

                “Have a good trip,” he mumbled as he released his grip.   

“That was nice,” Amanda commented, as they headed through to the departure lounge.

Yes it had been, Mark silently admitted, particularly since Steve wasn’t the most demonstrative of people.   It wasn’t that his son didn’t love him, he did; Mark knew that.   It was just that Steve wasn’t a touch-feely kind of person, so the fact that he’d made a point of physically embracing him, made him uneasy.   Try as he might to shrug off the feeling, Mark couldn’t help thinking, as he turned to wave goodbye to his son, that it would be the last time he would see him.

THREE DAYS LATER - THE BEACH HOUSE 

“Is this,” Jesse regarded the blackened remains of the burger on his plate with considerable horror.    “Really meant to look so…”

“You asked for it to be well done,” Steve pointed out.

“Well done, yes,” Jesse agreed.   “But this … this is … charred.”

“You mean burnt don’t you?”

“Well … yes,” Jesse reluctantly admitted.   “Look Steve I don’t mean to be rude but.. Well … it’s been three days now and all we’ve eaten so far is burger and fries.    Now I like burgers don’t get me wrong,” he added hastily as Steve’s brow knitted into a thunderous frown, “but couldn’t we try something a little more ... Adventurous?”

“Such as?”

“Well I’m a pretty good cook.   I had to fend for myself after my parents divorced and my mom was out working all hours.    I make a pretty good meatloaf.”

“Meatloaf?”   Steve’s face lit up with undisguised interest.   “What else?”

“Oh, most things - spaghetti bolognaise - lasagne….”  As Jesse recited a list of the dishes he could cook proficiently, Steve struggled to suppress a smile.   His devious ruse had worked.   Having seen Jesse’s expression the first night he had dished up blackened burgers he didn’t think it would be too long before the young man would crack and volunteer to do all of the cooking!  

“Well?” Jesse regarded Steve nervously hoping that he hadn’t insulted the older man, knowing nonetheless that he couldn’t face anymore burnt offerings.        

“Okay the job’s yours,” Steve announced.    “Starting from tomorrow evening.”

“Great.   In the meantime,” Jesse stood up and headed for the fridge.   “Do you mind if I make myself a sandwich?”

THE FOLLOWING EVENING

“That was just...” Steve pushed his empty plate away from him and grinned over at Jesse.    “Great,” he announced.

“Better than burgers?”

“Don’t push it Travis,” the detective growled.   “Now,” he added pushing back his chair.  “How about watching some TV?”

                “I’d like to but...” Jesse’s face fell, “I have an early start tomorrow morning, so I guess I’d better head for home.”

“What, and miss the Jack Blood Action Fist movie?”   Steve teasingly enquired, watching with amusement as his young friend struggled with his desire to stay and enjoy the movie and his need for an early night.

“Why don’t you stay the night Jess?” He suggested, his conscience pricking him very firmly.    Given that he’d resorted to devious methods to ensure that Jesse did the cooking, the very least he could do was offer the young man some kind of a reward.    

“If you’re sure…”

“Absolutely,” Steve said emphatically, “and,” he continued, grinned wickedly,   “since you’ll be here in the morning, you can fix breakfast.”

THE NEXT MORNING

                “My dad called last night after you’d gone to bed,” Steve informed Jesse as he bounded up the stairs of his apartment; beaming with delight at the sight of his young friend standing at the stove cooking breakfast.  The heady aroma of bacon and eggs permeated the air, causing his taste buds to cramp painfully.

                “Yeah?” Jesse turned to face him.   “Is he enjoying the conference?       Is he enjoying London?   What’s the weather like?”

                “Slow down Jess,” Steve laughed at the rapidity of the questions before replying,   “yes, yes and snowing heavily.   He also,” he gratefully accepted the plate full of food Jesse held out to him, “wanted to make sure that we’re eating properly.    I told him that we were.  So,” he continued as he sat down at the breakfast table, “do you want to come round for dinner tonight?”

                “Don’t you really mean would I like to come round and cook dinner tonight?” Jesse replied archly.   “Oh, come on Steve - I’m not totally stupid.   You wanted me to do the cooking didn’t you?   So, why didn’t you just ask me?   It wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“Jess...” A wave of guilt washed over Steve at the way in which he’d tricked his friend.   “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he broke off as Jesse started giggling uncontrollably.

“What?” He demanded.

“Your dad phoned me at the hospital yesterday morning to tell me that you’d probably resort to devious means in order to get me to take over the culinary duties,” Jesse’s face was split in an impish grin.   “So,” he continued, ducking the bottle of sauce Steve threw at him, “what do you want to eat this evening?”

*****

“See you back here tonight around 7 PM,” Steve called out cheerfully as, having left the house, the two men headed for their respective vehicles.   The detective was about to pull out onto PCH when he noticed that Jesse’s car hadn’t moved and that his friend was, in fact, beating his hands on the steering wheel.   Killing the engine he got out of the car and strolled back across the drive, smiling as he heard Jesse alternately plead with - and then curse - his recalcitrant vehicle which was obdurately refusing to start.

“Problems?” He queried.

“My damn car spends more time in the shop than it ever does on the road,” came the plaintive reply.   “I don’t know what’s wrong this time,” he muttered as he once again turned the key in the ignition whereupon the engine emitted an alarming rattle, before falling ominously silent.

                “Come on,” Steve said decisively.   “I’ll give you a lift to the hospital.  You can call the AAA from there and have them meet you back here tonight.     Come on Jess,” he murmured, impatiently tapping his watch, “otherwise we’re both going to be late for work.”

*****

                They were fast approaching the LA Bridge, Jesse apologising once again for the inconvenience he had put his friend to, when it happened.    There was a loud bang and the car slew violently to the left.

“Dammit, one of the tyres has blown,” Steve exclaimed as he clamped both hands firmly on the wheel and fought to control the vehicle, which - to Jesse’s horror - was heading towards a broken section of the bridge wall.     Despite Steve’s frantic attempts to stop their inexorable progress; the car came to rest with its hood teetering precariously over the edge of the bridge.

And then it tilted - and began to fall - the cold, merciless water rushing up to greet them.

LONDON - 4.30 PM

                Having left CJ soundly asleep and in the capable hands of a fully qualified nanny, whose services were provided courtesy of the hotel, Amanda joined Mark in the hotel lounge to enjoy the quaint British tradition of “taking afternoon tea.”

But, as Mark raised the cup to his lips, he paled and, but for Amanda reaching out to snatch the cup and saucer from his shaking hands, would have scalded himself very badly with the contents.  

“What is it?   What’s wrong?” She enquired, crossing over to kneel beside him, oblivious to the curious stares of the other guests.

                “It’s Steve,” Mark croaked.

                “Steve?” Amanda regarded her friend with genuine puzzlement.   “What about Steve?”

                “He’s ... I can’t explain, but I need to talk to him; need to know that he’s okay,” Mark replied as, with shaking hands, he extracted his cell phone from his jacket.   “Amanda, my hands ... I can’t...” he looked at her beseechingly.

                “Of course.”   Taking the phone, Amanda punched in the number for Steve’s cell phone, frowning when she received a dead tone.   She tried again; the same thing happened.

                “The line’s dead,” she quietly informed the fraught man.   “I’ll ring Tanis at the precinct,” she said decisively as she punched out the familiar number.

                No, Tanis informed Amanda, Steve hadn’t yet arrived.   However, she was expecting him very shortly and, yes, she promised, noticing the anxious tone in the woman’s voice, she would ensure that the detective called his dad the minute he arrived.

                “Something’s happened to him,” Mark’s voice was raw with anguish when Amanda informed him that Steve hadn’t yet arrived at the precinct.  “Don’t ask me how I know - I just do.   Steve is in danger; terrible danger.”

LOS ANGELES

The car hit the water with such force that, for a moment, Jesse temporarily lost consciousness.   As he slowly came to, he was immediately aware of three things.   The first, that they were upside down.  The second, that it was pitch dark and the third - and most frightening of all - that the car was rapidly sinking and, even though all the doors and windows were closed, ice-cold water was beginning to flood inside.    Reaching up he flicked on the internal light, which lit up the inky blackness that enveloped them, its small glow blazing like a beacon of hope in an otherwise desperate situation.

“Steve?”

Jesse managed, with some difficulty, to turn toward his friend, only to discover that the detective was unconsciousness, a river of blood pouring from an ugly gash to his left temple.     Reaching down he was able, after a moment’s struggle, to unclip his belt and, once free, did the same for Steve.   Now all they had to do was get out of the car!   Jesse knew that there was little point in attempting to escape until the vehicle had reached the bottom of the riverbed and the pressure - both inside and out - had stabilised.   Until that happened, there was simply no point in trying to open the doors.  

“Steve!”   Reaching out, he slapped Steve hard around the face.   Now was not the time for niceties - there would be plenty of time to be polite when they were both safe and on dry land.   Right now, he had to rouse his friend because he needed Steve’s brute strength to help him open the door when the vehicle finally settled.   “STEVE” he yelled directly into the insentient man’s face.   “Wake up!   You have to wake up!”

His efforts proved fruitless, Steve remaining both unresponsive and unconscious.    If they were to survive the ordeal, then the onus for getting them out of the vehicle, rested very firmly on the diminutive blond’s shoulders.

With a strength born of desperation, Jesse managed to reverse both his and Steve’s positions until he was kneeling on the roof of the car, one slender arm wrapped around Steve’s waist.   The water continued its freezing, filthy ingress and, just as Jesse was beginning to despair that they would drown before they had a chance to escape, the vehicle came to rest on the bed of the river with a soft bump.

ON THE SURFACE

“Anything?” the Captain of the Coast Guard vessel enquired of the two divers as they surfaced to report on their progress or, rather, the lack of it.

“Nothing yet sir,” came the regretful reply from the diver nearest the boat.

“Keep looking.”

“Yes sir.”   The two men exchanged surreptitious glances before heading back under the oily surface of the water.   They were both very well aware that, as almost ten minutes had elapsed since the vehicle had fallen from the bridge, the occupants of the same were - in all probability - dead.

BENEATH THE SURFACE

“I have to let go of you for a moment buddy,” Jesse murmured into his friend’s unconscious ear, “but I’ll be back for you, just as soon as I’ve gotten the door open, and that’s a promise.”

With that, he reluctantly released his hold and turned his attention to the passenger door, where, using every vestige of strength he possessed, he attempted to force it open.   

Nothing happened.    He tried again; still nothing.    Hot tears mixed with the freezing water as he fought furiously to persuade the obdurate object to move.

                Still nothing.

                As he surfaced for much needed air, a mere inch of space all that was left between him and certain death, Jesse realised that, if he couldn’t open the door, he could break the windscreen.   All he needed was something like ... inspiration came in a flash.   Steve’s gun!     It probably wouldn’t fire but that didn’t matter because he planned to use it as a hammer.

                Frantically aware of the need to hurry, he extracted the gun from the holster strapped to Steve’s chest.   Reversing it so that he could use the butt as a club, he turned, submerged himself and began pounding at the windscreen as hard as he was able.

Still nothing.   

His lungs screaming for air, his strength rapidly waning, knowing that he - that Steve - had only seconds left before their lives were extinguished, Jesse raised the butt one final time.    Slamming it against the windscreen, he sent up every prayer that he had ever learned as he did so.

And felt the glass break.

*****

                Lights were exploding in front of his eyes and his lungs felt as though they were on fire.  He was seconds away from having to – needing to – draw breath, but if he did that then he knew, with grim certainty, that they were both finished.   

                It was the thought of Mark that spurred him on.  Jesse knew that if anything happened to Steve it would destroy the older man and he couldn’t – he wouldn’t, while he still had the ability to do something about it – allow that to happen.

                Pulling himself through the jagged gap in the windscreen, oblivious to the sharp teeth, which bit hungrily at his youthful flesh, he turned and beat at the glass with the gun butt to enlarge the opening.   That done, he reached for Steve, hauling his friend out of the vehicle and up to the surface – up to life.

*****

“You were both incredibly lucky Dr. Travis,” the Coast Guard Captain informed the shivering, white-faced young doctor as the vessel sped towards shore, where an ambulance was waiting to transport both men to Community General.

“Yes, Jesse whispered, his eyes fixed firmly on his friend who, covered with thick blankets, lay both immobile and unconscious – but alive – thank God alive – on the deck of the boat.  

“Your friend will be just fine,” the man soothed.   “You saved his life.”

Vague images flashed through his mind; of reaching the surface, of drawing in huge lung-fuls of sweet, crisp, air; of turning to face Steve, a cold hand closing over his heart as he realised that his friend wasn’t breathing.   

And then – as if by magic - a Coast Guard vessel had appeared and they were plucked from the water.   He’d fought, furiously, to stay with his friend, frantically administering CPR, swatting impatiently at the hands that reached out to help him, focused on one thing – and one thing alone – to save his best friend’s life.

                “Breathe, damn you, breathe!” He’d yelled, alternating between pumping hard on the detective’s chest, before switching positions to breathe life back into the unresponsive form.   He repeated the process until he was trembling with exhaustion and on the very brink of collapse

                And then, for the second time that day, his prayers were answered.  Steve hitched in a deep, ragged, breath, emitted a low groan and then, as Jesse rolled him swiftly on to his side, vomited up a seemingly endless amount of foul, brackish water.

*****

                “I need to make a phone call,” he abruptly announced as he returned to the present.

“All in good time,” the Captain soothed, reaching out to place a restraining hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

“No!” The man was taken aback at the vehemence in the young man’s voice.   “Now.   I have to…” Jesse swayed slightly.   “Call my friend’s father.   Please?”  He implored.

LONDON 5.30 PM

                Even though they’d been expecting – had been praying – for the phone to ring, when it did they both jumped, badly startled. 

                “Mark?”   Jesse’s voice was so clear that he could have been standing in the next room.

 “Jesse?   Oh, God Jess!” Mark closed his eyes and swallowed down the rising tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.   “How’s Steve?”

Jesse didn’t know why he was surprised that Mark knew that something had happened to his son; after all the man had a sixth sense where Steve was concerned.

                “He’s …  There was an accident, Mark.   Steve’s car went into the LA river,” Jesse closed his eyes as re-lived the dreadful moment when the car had teetered for long, agonising seconds before plunging headlong into the water’s murky depths.  

“Jesse!” Mark’s anxious voice snapped him out of his terrible reverie.  

“Steve is unconscious,” the young doctor continued, “but his vital signs are strong,” he added encouragingly.   “I’ll know more when we get to the hospital.   I’ll call you from there, okay?”

“Okay,” Mark agreed.   “In the meantime I’ll get the first flight back to LA.”

*****

To his immense frustration, Mark’s intention to return to the States hit an unavoidable – and insurmountable – snag.    The inclement weather.

“I’m sorry sir, but all United Aircraft planes – all aircraft, in fact, are grounded - for the foreseeable future due to the weather,” an apologetic voice informed him.

“What about another airport?” snapped Mark, his overriding need to return home and be with his son, causing him temporarily to forget his manners.    “Surely there must be…?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”   The harassed United Airline’s clerk apologised.    “But I’m afraid that’s the case.   All airports will remain closed until further notice.   Sir, please believe me,” she continued earnestly, “if I had it within my power to get you on a plane and home then I would do so, but I can’t.”

COMMUNITY GENERAL

                They were fast approaching the LA Bridge, Steve paying little attention to Jesse’s constant apologies; when there was a muffled explosion.   He knew instantly that a tyre had blown from the way the vehicle bucked and fought his every effort to control it.

                He didn’t panic; why should he?   After all, he was an experienced police officer and had received extensive training in dealing with this very type of situation.   Except nothing could have prepared him for the cold, hard reality of his vehicle heading towards an unrepaired section of bridge.  Could not have prepared him for the dizzying fall into the water’s hungry maw; could not have prepared him for the fact that, when he encountered such a potential disaster, he wouldn’t be alone.

“NO!” He yelled, snapping instantly awake, his anxious eyes raking the room.  Jesse!   Where was Jesse?  

                As if in answer to his silent question, the door to his room opened to admit the young doctor, who crossed the room in three swift strides, and gathered the detective into a bone-crushing hug.  

It was only when Jesse released his hold, stepped back and began talking, that Steve realised he had a problem.   He could hear nothing; nothing at all.

ONE HOUR LATER

                “Mark, it’s Jesse.”

                The older man knew, from the tone of Jesse’s voice, that the news concerning Steve’s condition wasn’t good.   He was glad that he was already sitting down because the entire strength drained out of his body leaving him as weak as a new-born baby.

                “Tell me,” he croaked.

                “Steve is...” Jesse swallowed hard before continuing.    “He was knocked unconscious in the accident Mark.   He’s awake now,” he hastened to add, “but we won’t know the true extent of what we’re facing until we’ve run a whole battery of tests.”

“Tests for what?”  Mark felt a cold hand close over his heart.   “Tests for WHAT Jesse?” He anxiously repeated the question.

                “Steve has lost his hearing,” came the quiet response.   “We ... Adam Fulbright and I ... think that the blow to his head must have damaged Steve’s inner ear or auditory nerve.   Adam’s scheduled Steve to see an otalaryngologist and an audiologist first thing tomorrow morning.”

                After he had rung off, Jesse promising to keep in constant touch until Mark was able to get a flight home, the worried man began agitatedly pacing his room.     He knew - as did Jesse - that sensorineural hearing loss was often irreversible and his heart was flooded with grief as he realised that his son may be forever destined to live in a world filled only with silence.

NOON - THE FOLLOWING DAY

“The audiogram shows 100% hearing loss in both ears,” Adam Fulbright informed Jesse, having tracked the young doctor down to the doctor’s lounge where he sat gazing gloomily into his coffee mug.   “I’m neither surprised, nor alarmed, by that result.   As I said previously, as far as I’m concerned, the blow to the head is the clear cause of Mr. Sloan’s hearing loss.”

“But you’re still going to refer him to an otalaryngologist and an audiologist aren’t you?” Jesse queried, his boyish features creased with concern.

“Oh, most certainly,” came the reassuring reply.   “Although,” he sighed, “I must warn you that I think that their input is unlikely to get us any further than where we are right now.   Either Mr. Sloan’s hearing will return in the next few weeks or,” Fulbright’s countenance was heavy with regret, “it will never return.”

It’s only when we lose something that we begin to appreciate its true value in our lives.   Thus it was with Steve who, as he lay in the narrow, uncomfortable hospital bed, realised just how much he had taken for granted the everyday sounds that had - until now - permeated every waking moment of his busy life.   The constant ringing of the telephone at the precinct, the friendly banter of his colleagues, his father’s warm melodic voice; Jesse’s irrepressible giggle, the sound of the waves as they rolled ceaselessly to the shore.    The list was as endless as it was heartbreaking.   As he began to comprehend the true impact of what the loss of his hearing would have on his life, he felt a growing sense of terror building up inside him.

                He wasn’t aware that he was no longer alone until a gentle hand reached out and squeezed him on the shoulder.   Rolling over he came face to face with Jesse.

                “I brought you something,” Jesse could have cheerfully kicked himself for forgetting that his friend could no longer hear him.   Smiling apologetically, he indicated the notepad and pen clutched tightly in his hands.   He tried not to flinch at the look of abject dismay on Steve’s face at the realisation that, for the moment at least, this method would be the only means by which he would be able to communicate with others.

“Don’t worry,” Jesse scribbled hastily.  “This is only temporary until your hearing returns,” only thankful that - unlike speech - the written words would not reveal both his hesitancy and doubt as to the veracity of that statement.

“My dad?” Steve croaked.

“He’s been delayed by the weather,” Jesse wrote furiously.   “But he’ll be here just as soon as he can.”

“I need him,” Jesse could have cried at the little boy lost tone in Steve’s voice and he only hoped, as he left his friend to get some much-needed rest, that Mark would soon be home.

TWO DAYS’ LATER

Every day upon rising Mark performed the same ritual.   First, he would throw back the heavy curtains to check on the weather and then, that done, he would head straight for the telephone to call the airline.     The answer he received was always the same: “Sorry, but all airports remain closed.”

This morning as, with a heavy heart, he drew back the rich green velvet drapes fully expecting to be confronted with the same blizzard-like conditions that had greeted him thus far, he was - for a moment - totally dumbfounded.    For it was as though someone had picked up a paintbrush and decided to create an entirely new landscape.   Gone were the overcast skies and endless snowfall, in their place bright sunshine and a clear blue sky, totally unblemished by cloud.    Mark pinched himself, just to make sure that he wasn’t still dreaming and - when the vista before him remained unchanged - crossed swiftly over to the phone on his bedside table to call the airline.

*****

                “DAMMIT,” Steve yelled, hurling the TV remote across the room where it hit the far wall and shattered into fragments.

                He didn’t know why he was bothering to watch TV anyway, since he couldn’t hear what was being said and his efforts to lip-read had proved totally futile.  

                Curling himself into a tight ball, he closed his eyes and willed himself to go to sleep since that was the only place he felt safe.   Awake, he felt frustrated, vulnerable, isolated but most of all frightened.   Frightened that this was his life from now on, frightened of what the future held.

                A gentle hand touched him on the shoulder.   Turning, fully expecting to see Jesse, Steve’s spirits soared when he saw his father standing beside his bed.  

                “Dad,” he croaked, reaching out as a drowning man would for a lifeline.   Strong arms encircled him, pulling him close and he gave way to the tears that he’d been holding back for far too long.

*****

“What will I do dad?” Steve enquired, after the emotional storm had passed.   “If my hearing doesn’t come back?”

It was the question Mark had been dreading; had hoped they would not have to discuss - for a while at least - but, since Steve had raised the issue ...   Picking up the notepad and pen, he started writing.   When he’d finished he handed the notepad to his son.

                “It’s very early days yet,” he’d written.    “Head injuries are tricky and they take time to heal.    The bruising and swelling you’ve sustained need to subside before we’ll know for sure what we’re facing.”

“That’s not what I asked dad,” Steve persisted.   “What if my hearing doesn’t ever come back?   What then?”

                Again, Mark picked up the pen and paper and began to write, his heart aching at the content of his “conversation”.    Steve watched his father’s face as his hand moved across the page and it was clear that the words hurt Mark to write as much as they were going to hurt Steve to read.

“We explore other avenues of helping you to communicate with others,” he read when he - somewhat reluctantly - took the notepad from his father. Lip reading and sign language, for example.   It will take a lot of time and patience on your part, but you’ll be able to communicate with other people through those forms and then we can burn this damn notebook!”

“I’ll second that,” Steve murmured as he read his father’s last comment, before falling silent for the longest time as he mulled over the possibilities his father had outlined.      Yes, he could learn to lip read and, yes, he could learn sign language, but his life would never be the same.   What about his job?   Who’d ever heard of a deaf cop!   He felt a wave of misery wash over him as he realised that his job would be the first of many casualties as he struggled to adapt to his new way of life.

“I’m scared dad,” he admitted, his anguished blue eyes meeting those of his father’s.   “Really scared.”

Mark threw the hated notebook down on to the ground and again enveloped his son in his strong, protective embrace.

“I’m scared too,” he whispered.

TWO HOURS’ LATER

                Having persuaded his exhausted son to take a sedative and get some much-needed rest, Mark set out in pursuit of Jesse.

His search led him to the doctor’s lounge where he discovered the young doctor slumped on the couch looking at - rather than actually reading - a magazine.   He looked up at Mark’s approach and the older man was surprised to see a look of guilt flash across Jesse’s boyish face.

“Hello Mark.”    Jesse’s greeting was so subdued - so totally out of character with his normal, ebullient self - that alarm bells started ringing in Mark’s head.    

“Are you okay?” He enquired.

“I’m fine,” Jesse replied quickly before bolting from the couch like a scalded cat and making for the door.

“Where are you going?” Mark queried, regarding his fleeing comrade with astonishment.   “I wanted to talk to you about Steve.   I wanted to...” he smiled warmly and crossed over to squeeze Jesse’s arm, “thank you for saving his life,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Jesse mumbled, his face suffused with embarrassment because of one thing he was certain; he didn’t deserve Mark’s gratitude since it was his fault that Steve had been hurt in the first place.   If he hadn’t stayed over to watch the movie, if his car had started.  If.. if.. if..   He could feel himself buckling under the weight of his guilt.

“Jess?” Mark regarded the ashen-faced young man with growing concern.   “Are you all right?   Only you seem a little...” he searched for the right word.   “Distracted.”

Slipping a comforting arm around Jesse’s slender shoulders, he was startled when the young man visibly winced with pain.

“You’re not all right are you?”  Mark’s professional gaze took in Jesse’s flushed features and the beads of sweat on his brow.    “My God Jess!” He exclaimed, as he placed his cool fingers on said brow.   “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” Jesse gently extricated himself from his mentor’s grip.   “Busy though.   Very busy.   Lots of patients to see.    So I should really...” he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

“Oh, say Mark,” he said weakly, raising his febrile eyes to meet the man’s concerned gaze.   “I guess I’m not feeling so...”

Mark caught him as he fell.

*****

“Dr. Travis has septicaemia,” Adam Fulbright informed Mark, who - seated by Steve’s bedside - had been anxiously awaiting news of Jesse’s condition.  

“Blood poisoning?   But how?”

“His back and shoulders are covered with cuts Mark, several of which are quite badly infected,” Fulbright continued.     “Your son also sustained similar injuries as a result of being pulled through the broken windscreen of the vehicle.   The water in the LA River is hardly the cleanest, as you know.   Bacteria infiltrated both Steve and Jesse’s bloodstreams through those lacerations.      We took the precaution of starting your son on a course of oral antibiotics, Cefaclor to be more precise, right after he regained consciousness, to combat the risk of any possible infection.   I assumed Dr. Travis would minister to his own needs.   I assumed wrongly,” he said ruefully.     “However, thankfully we’ve caught the infection in its early stages.   A course of antibiotics coupled with a week’s rest and Dr. Travis will be back to full fitness,” he concluded.

After Fulbright had left, Mark relayed the contents of the conversation to Steve.

                “It’s Christmas in just over a week’s time dad,” Steve regarded his father thoughtfully after he’d read what Mark had written.   “I know that Jess didn’t have any plans, other than working here that is.    Obviously he won’t be well enough for that now, so can we invite him to stay with us at the beach house?”

“I’ll ask him,” Mark scribbled.   “Now rest.”   He underscored the last word twice to emphasise its importance.   “I’ll come back and see you later.”

JESSE’S ROOM

“Okay young man, you and I have some straight talking to do” Mark said firmly, levelling Jesse with a stern glare.

“Yes - we do,” Jesse replied, steadfastly avoiding Mark’s gaze.    “I’m so sorry, Mark,” he whispered.

“Sorry doesn’t quite cut it, does it Jess?”

“No I guess not.”   Jesse plucked helplessly at the blankets with trembling fingers.   “But I didn’t mean for it to happen Mark.”

“I’m really not interested in your excuses Jesse.”    Mark knew he was being hard on his young colleague, but he was angry that Jesse had put his health in such terrible danger.   “I want to know what on earth you were thinking of.”

“Well I … that is ... I wasn’t planning to stay Mark but, well, you see Steve invited me to stop over and watch the movie.”

“What?” Mark wondered what possible connection watching a movie could have with the young man’s blatant disregard for his health.

“And then,” the plucking became more frenzied, “in the morning my car wouldn’t start and so Steve said he would drive me to work.     I’m sorry.” Jesse raised his tortured blue eyes to meet those of Mark’s.  “Really and truly sorry.   If I hadn’t stayed the night then none of this would ever have happened.”

“Jesse,” Mark’s voice was quiet as he sat down next to his distressed friend.   “I think

we’ve got our wires well and truly crossed here.     I came in here to ask you why you didn’t seek prompt medical treatment for the cuts and scratches you sustained, not to blame you for the accident.   Why on earth would you think I would hold you responsible for what happened?”

“Because I was,” came the sad response.    “If I hadn’t stayed to watch the movie then none of this would have happened.”

“You’re quite sure of that are you?” Mark gently enquired.  

“Yes,” came the resolute reply.  

“But don’t you see,” Mark reasoned, “that the accident would have happened anyway?   And, if you hadn’t been in the car with Steve...” he shuddered; he really did NOT want to even contemplate the alternative scenario.     “What happened was NOT your fault,” he said firmly.    “I don’t hold you responsible anymore than Steve does.    In fact he asked me to invite you to stay with us at the beach house over Christmas.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” Mark replied.   “So, what do you say?    Will you spend Christmas with us?”

Jesse’s smile was all the answer Mark needed.

ONE WEEK LATER - CHRISTMAS EVE

Jesse arrived at the Beach House a little after 10.30 AM, laden down with brightly wrapped presents, which he placed under the tree in the living room.   

When he saw the gifts, Steve’s face fell.   With everything that had happened, he hadn’t had a chance to think about what presents to buy, much less go out and buy them.   Not that shopping was feasible in his condition.    He couldn’t drive, which meant relying on either his dad or Amanda.   Then, of course, there was the inevitable problem of communication.   He didn’t think the overworked and harried store assistants would appreciate having to write everything down as they enquired what he was looking for so, again, he would have to rely on his father or Amanda.   With only one day left to Christmas, Steve didn’t think he could possibly ask either his father or friend to take time out of their busy schedules to help him shop.

Seeing the dismayed expression on his son’s face, and guessing the reason behind it, Mark squeezed Steve’s arm reassuringly before reaching for the much-hated notebook.

“Jesse’s presents are for CJ,” he wrote.   “We agreed that we wouldn’t buy for each other this year.   The most important thing is that we’ll all be spending Christmas Day together.”

Steve nodded, turned away quickly so that his father wouldn’t see the tears gathering in his eyes.   He felt so useless.    The only contribution he’d been able to make to the festivities thus far was to help pick out the tree; a tall, elegant spruce pine, which now stood majestically in the living room, bedecked in all its Christmas finery.    Mark had taken care of the decoration, Steve having pleaded a headache.   He’d retreated to his apartment where he had lain down on the bed, turned his face to the wall, and given way to the tears that had been threatening to fall all that day.

Now, as he stood watching Jesse chatting animatedly to Mark, the young doctor’s face aglow with excitement, Steve knew that he had to get away - if only for a little while.

“I’m going for a walk,” he announced, surmising from the startled expressions on both his dad and Jesse’s faces that he’d probably shouted his intention out rather louder - and probably a whole lot more abruptly - than he’d intended.    “Alone,” he added as Jesse took a step towards him, making it clear that he was going to offer to accompany his friend.

Hating himself for the disappointed look that flashed over his young friend’s face, Steve grabbed his jacket and almost ran out of the house.

*****

Cocooned in his own private, silent world, Steve allowed his mind to drift back to the previous Christmas when his dad had held an open house party on Christmas Eve.   The beach house had echoed with the sound of laughter from the moment the first guest arrived to the time that the last one left.     It had been thoroughly exhausting, but immense fun.

Keeping his head down to avoid the brisk wind that was whipping the fine sand into his eyes, he reflected on how different things would be this year compared to last.    He was so deeply engrossed in thought that he didn’t notice the two teenage boys energetically throwing a Frisbee back and forth; the strong wind making their attempts to catch the buoyant missile very much a hit and miss affair.   He didn’t hear their shouted warning when the wind caught the object and hurled it in his direction with all the force of a bullet out of a gun.   All he was aware of was that something had hit him – hard – and then his legs buckled and he sank to his knees, blood pouring profusely from a deep cut to his left temple.

                “Go get Dr. Sloan.   Hurry Thad,” Ben Price urged.   “Oh, man, are we in trouble,” he moaned as he knelt down next to the dazed detective.    “I’m sorry Steve,” he babbled apologetically, feeling decidedly green at the sight of the copious amount of blood that was streaming down the side of the stricken man’s face.    “We did shout out a warning but you must not have heard us.   Dad will tan our hides for this that’s for sure,” he gabbled, unaware that Steve was unable to hear him.   Here’s your dad,” he added, immensely relieved to see Mark loping across the sand toward them.

                “I’m sorry Dr. Sloan,” Ben began apologising to Mark.   “It was an accident - honestly.   The wind caught the Frisbee and … we tried shouting to Steve but he didn’t even look up.”

“He can’t hear you Ben,” Mark said softly.   “He lost his hearing recently in an accident.”

“Bummer!” Thad exclaimed which, thought Mark, was a succinct description and pretty much encompassed everything that had happened.

“Can you give me a hand Jess?” Mark turned to his colleague who was hovering anxiously by his side.    “We need to get Steve indoors so I can take a proper look at him.    This head wound may need stitches but I can’t tell for sure until I’ve looked at it properly.”

“Stitches,” Thad moaned.   “Dad is going to kill us for sure,” he glumly informed his older brother.

*****

                A trip to Community General was not exactly how Steve had envisaged he would be spending the early part of Christmas Eve; nonetheless, after his father had cleaned the wound to his head, he’d declared that it required stitches.   Leaving Jesse to prepare lunch, he’d driven Steve to the hospital where he’d taken care of the matter both swiftly and efficiently.   They were back in the car and heading for home in just under an hour.   Steve sat quietly beside his father suffering from a headache of such mammoth proportions that it felt as though two men with sledgehammers were trying to pound their way out of his skull.

Upon entering the beach house, they discovered that Jesse, still weakened by his recent illness, had fallen asleep halfway through cooking lunch.    The saucepans had boiled dry on the stove filling the house with a cloud of thick, acrid black smoke.   

At the sound of the front door opening, swiftly followed by Mark’s exclamation of dismay, Jesse had woken, leapt to his feet and raced into the kitchen. Without stopping to think, he’d picked up one of the saucepans intending to remove it from the heat, succeeding only in burning his hand very badly.     The responsibility for restoring order was therefore down to Mark.    Switching off the gas he donned a thick oven mitt and moved both saucepans to the rear of the stove.    With that done, he then opened the windows and the balcony door to let in some fresh air, before dealing with the burn to Jesse’s hand.    Finally, he sat both men down and began fixing them all something to eat.

The rest of the day passed quietly.   Jesse was unnaturally subdued, mortified that he’d almost succeeded in burning the house to the ground, while Steve lay on the couch, trying to remain as still as possible in an attempt to ease his poor, beleaguered, head.    Around 9 PM he announced that he was going to bed, with Jesse retiring to the guest room shortly afterwards.

Left alone, Mark sat and watched the dying embers of the fire as they struggled valiantly to hold on to life before reluctantly relinquishing their grip.    Then he rose and went around the house checking that everything was secure before he turned in for the night.    His actions were mechanical; his mind numb.    He wasn’t sure how he - how any of them - were going to get through Christmas Day.    It should be a day of joy and celebration, as it had been so often in the past.   Instead, he feared it was going to be a day filled with sadness and tears and, for Steve - crushing and overwhelming silence.

CHRISTMAS DAY - 7 AM

                Steve had hoped that the Excedrin he’d dry swallowed before going to bed, coupled with a good night's sleep, would have succeeded in banishing his headache.   Sadly, his hopes were not to be realised and, while the pain wasn’t as bad as the previous day, the ache was intolerable and needed to be dealt with.

                Having used up his own supply of painkillers, he headed upstairs, knowing that his father kept a packet of Excedrin in one of the kitchen drawers.  Which one, of course, he wasn’t sure and he grew increasingly frustrated as his search proved fruitless.

*****

                Mark winced as, emerging from his bedroom, he heard the sound of yet another kitchen drawer slammed forcefully shut by his evidently frustrated son.   

“What are you looking for?” He enquired, before mentally chiding himself as he realised that there was no way Steve could hear him.

“The Excedrin tablets,” came the fractious reply.   “I know we keep them in one of these...” The words died in his throat as he realised the import of what he’d just said.

“Dad I…” Steve’s voice was thick with tears.    “Oh, God dad, I heard you,” he whispered.

Mark was across the room in three strides, where both men embraced one another and wept unashamedly.

“Hey guys, what’s for...?”

Jesse halted in his tracks as he took in the scene before him.    “What’s wrong?” He anxiously enquired.

“Nothing’s wrong Jess,” Mark replied, as he alternately laughed and wept with joy.   “Everything is just wonderful.”

CHRISTMAS NIGHT

“CJ is finally asleep,” Amanda announced as she rejoined the others in the living room.    “I don’t know who had more fun playing with his presents; him or you two,” she smiled first at Jesse and then Steve, who was toasting - or rather burning - marshmallows over the open fire.    “I hope you aren’t seriously expecting us to eat any of those?” She archly enquired.

“Why, what’s wrong with them?” Steve queried.   “They’re only a little burnt.”

“They’re a lot burnt, just like your burgers,” Jesse snickered, ducking in order to avoid the affectionate swat Steve aimed at his head.

“Speaking of burning...” Mark crossed over to his desk where he picked up the notebook that he had used to communicate with Steve.   “Might I suggest...?” He handed the now obsolete object to his son who took it, grinned, and then tossed it into the fire where the hungry flames swiftly consumed it.

Of course, they would still need to run tests and consult the requisite experts but, in his heart, Mark knew that Steve’s hearing had permanently returned.  As a doctor, he would agree with his colleagues when they declared that it was as a direct result of the second blow to his head that had resulted in the restoration of Steve’s auditory senses.   As a man, he would always believe that the wish he had hoped for, that he had voiced aloud in the dark and sleepless hours on Christmas Eve, had been heard - and granted.

Having wishes come true is, after all, what Christmas is all about.

The End