Thank you all for the incredible response to the last chapter. It looks like a lot of you were waiting for Mark to wake up.

Extra special thanks for all the good wishes extended to me. They really meant a lot – and I hope, in some way, this expresses my thanks.

As always, please heed the warnings (see chapter one). They are there for a reason.

Synopsis: A devastating accident destroys lives and tears friendships apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones I created.

ONLY HUMAN.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jesse felt Amanda squeeze his hand and he spared her a glance, but her face was blurred through his watery eyes.

It didn't matter – he knew exactly what her expression would be like: softly sympathetic and gently encouraging. But he didn't need any encouragement and the tears in his eyes were ones of joy.

Not even trying to hide the grin on his face, he turned towards the bed.

But his eyes found Steve's first. His best friend was beaming at him like he'd hit the lottery and Jesse, unashamedly, returned the grin. Everything that had recently gone between them was forgotten in that instant.

Every moment of pain and shame; every shred of guilt – almost every shred of guilt – was alleviated.

But he still needed absolute forgiveness from Mark before he could even consider letting go completely.

Mark's words had been a balm, but he needed to hear more – rather than take them all at face value. Mark had awoken mere seconds ago: there would be confusion, disorientation and possibly a healthy dose of 'Survivors Syndrome' colouring his emotions.

Jesse wasn't about to rely on any of them.

He approached Mark slowly, easily keeping a smile on his face. He was genuinely happy to see Mark awake and aware – and seeming to bare no animosity at what had happened to him; least of all towards Jesse.

But he had to be sure. And he had to prove to Mark that he was still a good doctor and – some insecurities still nagging at him, in spite of himself – worthy of his position at Community General:

"How do you feel?" Jesse asked – and he asked in the same tone as he would for any other patient. He wasn't quite sure if he could allow this to be personal – not so soon. "Any pain?"

"Jesse, what are you..?" Steve asked, the smile suddenly falling from his face – and his bewilderment evident in his voice. This wasn't how he'd envisaged their reunion to be: "What are you talking about? I mean, you can't..."

"It's alright, Steve," Mark interjected quietly. "Jesse's just doing his job. He has to see me as just another patient. If the situation was reversed..."

"No! No wait. I'm not 'just doing my job'. I'm not..." Jesse's heart had sunk at his mentor's words – he'd been trying to be both a doctor and a friend – but more a friend.

He'd thought – hoped – that Mark might see it for himself. But then, thanks to Steve, he was forced to try and elaborate: "I... I care about you, Mark."

"Just like you care about all of your patients," Mark retorted – a quirk to his lips taking the sting from his words.

Jesse forced a smile of his own, but then squeezed his eyes shut. His feelings were on the verge of overwhelming him.

In his head he had failed: he didn't know how to communicate with his patient; didn't know how to react to, or interact with him; didn't know what he could say – even as he recognised Mark's gentle teasing as a kind of olive branch: an extension of friendship, silently saying that it didn't matter what had gone before.

But he couldn't take it at face value; couldn't trust his instincts any more. His gaze fell to the floor and all of his good feeling fled.

He hadn't been ready for Mark's awakening – he thought he was, but he wasn't – and he wasn't sure when, or if, he ever could be.

Mark heaved in a deep breath. He was still somewhat reeling from the fact that he was still alive; was still weak and confused; was still trying to come to terms with his new disability – and the psychologists who were seemingly beating a path to his door.

He needed his son by his side – and he knew he had that, unequivocally. But he also knew his son would need his best friend.

Mark could see the anguish in Jesse's eyes; he knew something of what had gone before – and there was only one way he could see for them all to move forward.

"Where's Amanda? Wasn't she here before?"He asked; aiming a supplicating glance at Steve and deliberately injecting a certain of amount of bewilderment into his voice.

Steve glared back at him. Though he knew why his dad was effectively asking him to leave, it didn't sit any the better with him. But it was his dad and he was alive – in spite of everything – and he wasn't sure he'd be capable of denying him anything.

But nor was he about to let him have everything entirely his own way. For better or worse, he knew that Mark and Jesse shouldn't be having this conversation alone.

He got to his feet and yanked the door open; it didn't take a genius to figure out that Amanda would be lurking just outside the door.

And he was right.

Without giving her a moment to protest, he hurled her unceremoniously back into the room.

Mark and Jesse looked back at them with identical expressions of disbelief – and they both sought out the privacy they both felt they needed; albeit in their own way:

"Steve, just give me a few minutes. Please," Mark requested; his sympathetic eyes straying towards Jesse.

Jesse's response – though similar was much more flustered: "Please... I need..." His nervous gaze never quite knew where to rest, so it settled nowhere. "I should examine..." He trailed off miserably under the strength of Steve's glare.

"You don't need to examine dad, Jess. Amanda's been here all along." He smiled at her, warmth and gratitude evident in his features. Then he looked back at Jesse and his eyes hardened with absolute intent: "It's not about you, Jess. It's not about me. It's not about dad, or Amanda. It's about all of us."

Amanda nodded and let go of Steve's hand. She moved to sink into a chair at Mark's bedside – and her expression offered Steve her full support.

"It's about family. And that's what we are." He looked at Jesse, waiting for him to nod his acquiescence, before adding: "All of us."

A lengthy silence ensued – a silence that quickly grew to be uncomfortable. Steve couldn't find the words to break it and he wondered if his idea really had been a good one. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet uncomfortably: "I just thought..."

"No, you were right, son." Mark, looking reassuringly strong, interrupted his murmuring. "I think it's right we should talk about what happened to me."

Jesse's head jerked up and his gaze was almost panicked. His eyes flit between the three of them and his mouth opened – but he couldn't seem to find any words.

"Jess..." Steve said, trying to head off the seemingly imminent panic attack.

"Jesse, you saved my life." Mark's words – strong and assured overrode him: "No matter what else happened, I am alive thanks to your actions."

Jesse looked back at him with tear-bright eyes and, in that moment, both Steve and Amanda ceased to exist.

Jesse spoke solely to his mentor – as though they were the only two people in the room:

"Mark, you can't... You can't just not care about what happened to you..." His eyes strayed towards his amputation site – and then darted quickly away.

"Oh, I care, Jesse. I care very much indeed." Mark retorted; his voice calm and controlled. "I care that my dear friend is hurting so badly over something so far beyond his control."

"But..."

Jesse's protest wasn't even given the chance to be voiced.

"But nothing!" Mark started to protest – then he gasped in a breath as something uncomfortable twinged in his chest. He'd tried to sit up – to force his point home to Jesse – realising, too late, what a bad idea it was.

"That's enough... Enough..." Jesse seemed reluctant but, as always, the needs of his patient came first. He reached towards Mark's IV line, intending to adjust the flow of morphine. But then Mark's hand clamped down on his forearm.

"Don't, Jesse. Not yet, please." Mark sank down against his pillows and hoped his words were enough. They appeared to be, as Jesse let out a deep sigh and sank down onto the edge of the bed next to him.

Mark kept a hold of his arm as he next spoke:

"Maybe there are surgeons – specialists – somewhere on this Earth who could have reattached the limb. I don't know. I do know that I wouldn't have even tried." Mark offered a sad smile – and was heartened to see it returned by Jesse: "But medicine changes by the hour and it's impossible to keep up with every ongoing advance. And I do know that, when your patient is in danger of bleeding to death or dying from septicaemia – when his arm is held together by little more than sinew – you don't have time to fly somebody in from Europe."

"But..." Jesse tried to protest – but even the one word he uttered was half-hearted.

"Jesse, sometimes it's too easy to forget exactly who your patient is," Mark interrupted, gently. "Sometimes it's even easier to distance yourself from them and just look at the symptoms, the injury. But I'm a doctor, Jesse." His sad smile returned: "And I think I knew what was going to happen to me even before you did."

At last, Jesse looked directly at him – and his eyes were brimming with tears.

"I'm sorry!" He gasped. Even though he had recognised every word Mark had said – and agreed with them all – the need to apologise was all-consuming: "I'm sorry!"

Mark's smile turned from sad to benign and he released Jesse's arm, instead reaching up to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Although I don't blame you in any way," he stressed: "I think it's important for you to know that I forgive you." The benign smile gave way to genuine warmth: "You are one of the finest young doctors I've ever had the privilege of knowing – and, not only do I forgive you, but I thank you. Not only did you save my life, but..." He deliberately glanced down at his mutilated arm: "I probably would have amputated at the shoulder."

Jesse squeezed his eyes shut. Mark's words had been high praise indeed. Whether intended or not, Mark had exonerated him completely.

The knowledge that his mentor wouldn't have even attempted a procedure he had, ultimately, been successful at filled him with a guilty kind of warmth.

Guilty because Mark's arm was still gone from the elbow down – and warmth because of the forgiveness extended to him – and the knowledge that Mark wouldn't have fared any better than him.

"I... Thank you..." Jesse gasped, still not quite able to fully grasp hold of his emotions.

He wanted to pull Mark into a hug; to physically display his every emotion: his joy; his relief; his gratitude – and his residual pain.

But it wasn't a thought he could follow through with. Mark was still too weak; too fragile. And the only way he could express his thanks was by patting the hand now resting on his shoulder.

Mark seemed to understand the sentiment, as he murmured: "You're very welcome, Jesse," before letting his hand drop back to his side and drifting off to sleep.

Jesse immediately missed the contact – but was left bereft for only the briefest of seconds. A strong hand dropped onto his shoulder, even as a gentle arm slipped around his waist.

Steve and Amanda.

He turned into their comfort.

"He's going to be okay..." he whispered, with a hint of disbelief in his voice. He hadn't realised just how much he'd been held to ransom – by both his fears and his nightmares – until that point. "He's really going to be okay."

"Yeah, he is," Steve breathed – realisation dawning in his voice: "You know, if I can see anyone adapting to this, then it's dad. And when he gets his prosthetic arm, it'll be like he's almost back to normal."

"That's right," Amanda added, smiling through her own tears – even though she couldn't source those tears; be they born of happiness or relief – or even a residual sadness at what they had all been through: "You know, I don't think it will even slow him down."

"Yeah," Jesse agreed, as they all turned to look down at the sleeping man. "I've never known anyone like him..."

They all sucked in a shocked breath when Mark's eyes suddenly opened. He blinked up at them and then yawned.

"You know, I appreciate the kind words," he said, with a kindly crinkle to his eyes: "But I am very tired – and I'll never sleep with all of you standing there talking about me."

There were assorted murmured apologies and two of the three left the room.

Steve, however, hooked his foot around a chair leg and dragged it closer to the bed. He wasn't a great believer in happy endings – and so wasn't ready to leave just yet.

And so he was the only witness as his dad settled back against his pillows and closed his eyes, murmuring: "Actually I was thinking of getting a hook, rather than a prosthetic arm..."

THE END

Thank you for every single comment left for this story – both good and bad. Feedback makes for a better writer and you all help me to grow.

This story has been a labour of love and I'm extremely happy to have finished it. It was very hard work at times.

I hope to be back with something new soon.

Best wishes – and thanks for reading.

Helen