Date: Fri, 28 Apr 2006 16:54:07 +0000
From: rich h <palouse1@hotmail.com>
Subject: seal rocks part 9

OK, I was pretty whiny there in the preface to the last part about not
getting any reader response.  I've received a lot since then, and I thank
you deeply for it all.  Please don't stop, though - it's too fun (and ego
stroking, let's face it) to receive.

This is of course entirely fictional, and all rights are reserved - you
should know the drill by now.  I hope you continue to like the story as it
develops.

By the way, I sent the last part via a different e-mail address, which
confused people.  You can write me at either this address or
sanclemente1@gay.com, though I look at this one a lot more frequently.
Sorry if that messed anyone up - you can't tell the players without a
program.


The sun was shining through the curtain around his bed when he awoke.  He
felt groggy, but much more aware of himself and his surroundings than he
had been.  How long have I been out, he wondered, and how badly messed up
am I.  He raised his arms, cautiously, as if they might break.  His head
ached just a little from the effort.  The hep lock was in his left hand
still, and his eyes followed the tube back to the long plastic bag hung at
his bedside, which slowly dripped some clear fluid.  He touched his face,
felt a few bandages on his cheeks and eyebrows.  He felt around his mouth,
tactilely examining the restrainer lodged in his mouth.  The realization
that it was there made him conscious of his tongue beneath it, and also
made him feel vaguely like gagging.  His tongue felt thick and prickly as
he pressed it against the underside of the retainer.  He frowned, and the
bridge of his nose gave off a sharp bolt of pain.  He grunted loudly in
protest, his legs instinctively jerking.  Well, they work too -- that's a
relief.

	A nurse pulled aside the curtain.  "Well, good morning," she smiled
at him. "You feeling better?"  Jesse nodded, blinking a bit at the light.
"Good," she said absently as she looked over the bag of liquid and his hep
lock.  "OK, time to rise and shine.  You need to go urinate.  You want some
help?"  Jesse stared at her blankly.  Help?  Pissing?  He realized that he
did have to go really bad, though, so her suggestion to do so was a real
incentive.  He sat up, too quickly.  His head throbbed and the room seemed
to grey over.  The nurse held him up by the shoulders as he slumped,
groaning.  "Little at a time, now.  You took a nasty blow to the head."  It
took a minute or so for his vision to clear before he got up the nerve to
put his feet onto the floor -- an act that again made him woozy.  The
nurse's hands were on his bicep, gentle but reliably firm.  Safe.

	He looked at her when he was ready and nodded.  She smiled back
encouragingly.  "That's good, now just take it easy -- it'll be better the
more you move around."  He rolled slowly forward onto his feet and stood,
swaying (he felt) alarmingly for several seconds before his sense of
balance came back to him.  His head hurt, and he put his right hand to his
temple.  "That'll pass too," the nurse said soothingly.  "Just walk now,
slow and easy.  The bathroom's right over here."  She walked beside him,
rolling the rack on which his IV bag was hung along with them.  He found
the movement reviving, and by the time he'd taken a dozen or so baby steps
towards the bathroom, he was able to take a long breath in through the hole
in his restrainer and feel refreshed.  That, unfortunately, made his
bladder ache for release even more.  He shuffled quickly towards the
toilet.  "No, Jesse, you need to go in this," she said, holding up a large
plastic jar with measuring marks on its side.  "We need to see how much
fluid you're losing, to be sure you're properly hydrated.  Just put it on
the lid."  She set it up for him, smiling.  "There.  Now go for it."

	He obviously was supposed to pull out his cock and pee now, but the
idea of exposing himself in front of this nice, vaguely Hispanic woman was
acutely embarrassing.  She noticed his reluctance and laughed.  "It's OK,
Jesse, I do this all the time.  It's part of my job.  You going to be able
to aim all right?"  Jesse nodded, but as he looked down and fumbled to free
himself from the hospital gown he began to doubt himself.  He held himself
out over the jar's opening, trying to focus on his target.  His bladder
released itself spectacularly, and he missed jar, toilet lid, and almost
the floor.  He groaned with mortification as the nurse stepped to his side
and directed his stream into the jar.  "It's OK, it's hard to focus right
now for you.  You were sedated there overnight, and you have a concussion."
She went on calmly talking to him as she held his penis in position.  To
his horror, the feeling of another's hand on him began to make him
tumescent.  He stood frozen, unable to think of what to do, as the last of
his urine leaked out.  The nurse smiled up at him.  "That's OK, too.  It's
no big deal, it happens.  I'm actually surprised you weren't erect when you
woke up, having to urinate that badly."  She expertly tucked Jesse back
into the gown, turned and washed her hands, then screwed a lid onto the
jar.  She looked at the marks on the side.  "Good," she said.  "Good color,
no blood, good volume.  You're going to be just fine, Jesse.  Now let's get
you back into bed, all right?"

	He was able to move more easily now, and as he walked back toward
his bed he saw Dr. Stassi standing in the door.  He raised his hand to
wave.

	"Looking good, Jesse.  Feeling a little better today?"  Jesse
nodded as he thudded back onto the bed, feeling suddenly very tired.  The
nurse and Dr. Stassi huddled a second, and he saw them looking at his jar
of piss.  How gross is that, he thought.

	Dr. Stassi stepped over to him and smiled.  "Let's have another
look at the stitches, all right?"  Jesse nodded, and lifted his head to
make it easier to free his mouth of the restrainer.  "Now don't stick your
tongue out, just open your mouth and relax.  If you stick out your tongue
it'll just pull on the cut and the sutures."  Jesse did as told, while
Dr. Stassi looked carefully with a small flashlight.  "Good.  I only put a
couple of stitches in there, and only shallow ones at that, across the
deepest part.  Your tongue is very vascular.  That means it has a lot of
blood vessels, and that means it bleeds a lot when cut.  But it also means
that it heals quickly.  Now hold still here, I'm going to clip these off
and let's see how things look."  He reached into Jesse's mouth with a small
pair of scissors; Jesse's eyes widened.  "Don't worry, Jesse, I promise I
won't cut you any more."  Still, Jesse couldn't help shrinking a bit from
the feel of the cold metal as it lay against his tongue.  He felt them
snip, and a slight jolt, then another, and another.  Dr. Stassi handed the
scissors to the nurse, receiving now a pair of long tweezers.  Jesse felt a
tug and some stinging on his tongue, again repeated twice more.  Dr. Stassi
again examined him with the flashlight.  "That's good," he said, sitting
back and smiling at Jesse.  "Try to talk now, just a little."

	"OK," Jesse said.  His tongue felt raw and tender, like it had a
huge burn mark from a too-hot pizza all over it.  "How's that?"

	"Good," Dr. Stassi said with a smile.  "Now try not to talk much
for a day or two, let that tongue heal on its own.  Don't stick it out to
look at it or anything, you'll just stretch it out and break it back open
again, all right?"  Jesse nodded.  "Now, your mother and Detective Manuel
need to speak to you -- are you up to that?"

	The events of the previous night rushed back to him.  "Is my dad
OK?  Did they find him?  Sir, he didn't --"

	"Slow down, Jesse," Dr. Stassi said calmly, palms out.  "Let them
talk to you, OK?  And keep your answers brief for now."  He seemed more
solemn.

	Jesse lay alone in the room for a few minutes after that, kicking
through all that he remembered.  How could he explain that his dad hadn't
molested him without telling them everything?  He couldn't get Mike in
trouble too, he was in enough trouble himself.  The tension made his head
throb, and he lay back, eyes closed against the pain, trying to figure out
what to say.  No choice but the truth, he decided -- or at least part of
the truth . . .

	His eyes opened at the bustling noise of his mother rushing in.
She looked bruised all over her face, and her eyes were red as if from
crying, but she had her best cheerful smile on.  "There's my baby!" she
cried, kissing his forehead and smoothing his hair.  "Are you feeling
better, Jesse?"

	"I'm fine, Mom -- how about you?  You look awful."

	She seemed surprised to hear him speak.  "I took out the sutures,"
Dr. Stassi said from the door.  "He needs to talk as little as possible
today, though, to give his tongue a chance to heal.  All right?"  He looked
hard for a second at Detective Manuel, who reflexively smoothed his
moustache again and looked sharply at Jesse.

	"Mom," Jesse said, trying to stay calm, "are you all right?"

	She nodded bravely.  "I -- I slipped and fell, Jesse -- that was
most of it.  You father was angry, and --"

	"Bull, Mom.  He hit you."  He felt anger rising in him.  The
bastard, look what he did to her.  I ought to kick him in the balls the
next time I see him -- he deserves it.

	"Yes, Jesse, but please," his mother interrupted him, her tone
pleading.  "Your father was -- was so very unhappy.  His job had been going
bad for a while, and -- and he had been drinking, and I -- I had no idea
that he -- he hurt you like he did, Jesse, I'm so sorry, oh my baby please
forgive me . . ." She dissolved in tears and put her hands on Jesse's
cheeks.

	Jesse wasn't in a forgiving mood.  "He didn't hurt me," he said
simply.  He'd explain the rest later; first things first.  "Where is he?"

	His mother looked up at Detective Manuel, who looked sharply at
Jesse.  "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, son," he said in a level
voice.  "We picked up your father last night and put him in jail.  We told
him what your condition was, and your mother's - and what we'd discovered,"
he added with a small emphasis.  "He was very belligerent until we told him
everything.  Then he got very quiet."

	"This morning," Manuel continued, shifting from foot to foot as if
uncomfortable, "we found him dead in his cell.  He hung himself, son.  I
think the knowledge of what he'd done -- to his family, to you -- was just
too great for him.  We tried everything we could to revive him, but we were
just too late."  He looked straight at Jesse.  "Your father's dead, son.
I'm sorry."

	Jesse was aware of his mother, weeping quietly at his bedside, her
shoulders heaving.  He felt the morning light warm but diffuse on the side
of his aching face.  He realized everyone was looking at him, waiting for a
reaction.  He had no idea what to say.  "But -- but he didn't hurt me," he
finally whispered.  "I told you that."

	"We all understand, Jesse.  We know he didn't mean to hurt you, and
perhaps he was even careful.  And we know you're a tough kid.  But we also
know what happened.  The good thing is that you won't have to testify about
it now, not to anyone.  We can help you through this, all of us.  That's
part of our job -- not just getting the bad guy, but helping the victim."
Detective Manuel's expression had not changed, but his voice was soothing
now.

	Jesse's mother clutched his arm.  "I promise you, baby, I'll do
anything to make you -- whole again, so that you can forgive your
father. He was a good father, Jesse, whatever he did . . ." She began to
cry again.

	Jesse looked at the eyepatch on his mother's face, the bruises and
sutures.  He saw the splint on the fingers of the hand that held his arm.
She was sobbing now, her face in her arm, and the marks on her neck where
his dad had choked her clearly visible.  The bastard, he thought, look what
he did.  He deserves the blame for everything.  It's all his fault.  And
I'm not even lying about it.

	He looked at Detective Manuel with as much resolution as he could.
"I'll be fine.  He didn't hurt me.  He couldn't get to me, not ever.  He
never hurt me."  His mother let out a single sob.  Dr. Stassi was looking
intently at his shoes, the nurse's eyes were shiny.

	Detective Manuel regarded Jesse for a long moment, then nodded.  "I
can tell that, son -- you're a strong young man.  That's a fine attitude to
have, that it never got to you."  He looked at Dr. Stassi.  "I don't see
much need to ask a lot further, not now at least.  I think they've both got
a lot to deal with, and we've pretty much confirmed what we already knew.
Are they still going to do the DNA tests?"

	Jesse's eyes widened.

	"Do you need them now?"  Dr. Stassi asked.  I think we'll just
prolong this whole thing by doing them now."

	Detective Manuel thought for a moment, preening his moustache.  "I
don't think so," he said at last, as Jesse tried not to exhale too loudly.
"Let me see about it.  Don't destroy the samples, but hold off on the
tests.  If we can close this out without that expense, so much the better."
He turned back to Jesse, taking a step towards the bed.  "Son, you have a
lot of healing to do.  You and your mom.  We have victim assistance
programs that can help.  Your doctor will talk about them with you in a few
days, when you're feeling better.  You just need to know -- both of you --
that you're not alone in this, and that we'll all do whatever we can to
help.  All right?"  Jesse nodded, his eyes starting to well up now.  His
father was dead.  He was responsible.  He did it.  He did everything.  It
was all his fault.  He deserved this.  The loss, the rage, the shame,
overcame him, and he began to sob quietly, inclining his head to his
mother's beautiful loving, pummeled face.

	They took his mother back to her own room for some treatment after
that, and left him alone.  He stared out the window for a long time,
watching seagulls flit past every so often.  He felt a surge of grim
satisfaction.  This is what the bastard deserves, he thought.  I'm the
great disappointment, huh?  Suck on this, you drunken fucking bully . . .
He kept crying, though, and couldn't seem to stop no matter how hard he
tried.  When someone brought a small tray of lunch to him, he found he
couldn't eat it without starting to sob.  They'd been at dinner . . .

	It was sometime in the afternoon when he heard a familiar voice
crying "Jes??"  As he sat up, Mike appeared in the door, then flung himself
across the room to Jesse's bedside, his face flushed.  "Oh God, Jes, are
you OK?  I'm so sorry, Jes, so sorry . . ."  He took Jesse's hand and held
it hard against his own chest, his eyes welling up.  Jesse looked into them
and started crying again, too.  Their heads met gently, forehead to
forehead, and they cried.  Jesse was vaguely aware of Mike's mother
standing in the doorway as if she'd intruded into some very private scene,
her hand over her trembling mouth.  Jesse's attention, though, was all on
Mike, whose chest heaved against the back of Jesse's hand as he kept
whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over.

	Jesse found himself comforting Mike, even though he was still
crying himself.  He knew what Mike was sorry for.  "It's OK, Mike, I know.
It's OK."  He ran his hand through Mike's glorious soft brown hair, feeling
its silky texture.  He felt better all over.

	He knew he had to communicate with Mike somehow, let him know what
was going on.  He looked at his friend's bleary eyes.  "Mike," he
whispered, "you know my Dad's dead?"  Mike nodded, his face puffing up
further.  "He did this, Mike.  To me, and to my mom.  He deserved it, OK?
And -- and they discovered more, Mike, when they brought me in.  They --
they found I'd been raped, Mike."  His friends stopped crying and stared at
him with a terrified look.  "They figured it all out, Mike -- that it was
my dad that did it.  That was why he hung himself, Mike.  They figured it
all out. OK?"  He stared hard at Mike.  You have to understand, dammit, you
have to.

	Mike blinked slowly, pulling back from Jesse a little.  "Th --
that's what you said??"

	"That's what they figured out, Mike," Jesse repeated, stressing the
"they".

	A long few seconds passed before Mike slowly drew back from him.
"Oh, God, Jes, no."

	Jesse nodded at him, firmly.  "They figured it all out, Mike.  I
didn't tell them.  They figured it out.  It's all written up and
everything."  He set his face.  "It's over and done with.  They know, it's
in the reports and stuff, and it's final.  OK?"

	Mike blinked at him, his mouth open in horror.  "Jes," he finally
choked out, "No.  Don't."

	"I didn't.  They figured it all out themselves."

	Mike's mother stepped up to the bedside.  "Jesse, I'm so sorry for
your loss, and for all that's happened.  Mike here has been a wreck all
last night and today about it.  I never realized how truly close you two
were.  Pl -- please know that Don and I are always here for you and your
mother.  You're like family to us all."  Her eyes were misty.

	"Thanks," Jesse mumbled, feeling suddenly embarrassed.  He needed
to talk to Mike in private.  "Have, um, you seen Mom?"

	"I'm on my way.  I thought you and Mike might want a little time
alone anyway, and I know he doesn't want to sit in with your mother and me.
You stay here with Jesse, all right darling?"  Mike nodded, his face ashen,
and pulled a chair up next to Jesse's bed.  His mother leaned over, Kissed
Jesse's forehead, and smoothed his hair.  "It'll be all right, dear.  It'll
all be all right."  Jesse nodded, and she left, a hand over her mouth.

	Jesse couldn't look at Mike for several seconds.  He knew what he
was doing was the right thing, but he felt ashamed at the same time.  He
finally got up the nerve, and saw that Mike had been regarding him warily
the whole time.

	"So that's it, huh?  Your dad molested you, and no questions
asked?"  Mike seemed quietly incredulous.  "You can do that to your dead
father?"

	Jesse shook his head, slowly so it wouldn't hurt.  "Look at what he
did do, Mike.  Look at me, look at my mom.  You know he killed Tina?  He
fucking shot her.  Don't go making me feel guilty, dude.  He earned this.
He's dead, and I'm glad he's dead.  I only wish I could have beaten the
motherfucker to death myself."  He was as pissed off at himself for crying
as he said this as he was at his father.

	Mike wiped his eyes.  "Dude, nobody deserves to be accused of
raping his own son.  It doesn't matter what an asshole he might have been,
it's not right."

	"So what's your idea??  They know, Mike.  They examined my -- my
ass, or whatever.  They know what we did.  You want me to tell them?
`Yeah, me and Mike fucked each other raw for a couple of days there.'  You
want that?"

	Mike shifted in his chair, eyes downcast.  "Of course not.  I don't
want to - to tell people.  Y'know, about us and all.  Not yet, anyway."  He
looked at Jesse.  "I feel like this is my fault too.  I was such an asshole
to you about the whole thing with -- with Ernie."  He whispered the last
part.  "I was just so freaked out.  I mean I should have just been cool
with it and you could've stayed over again, and you'd be OK and --"

	"It was gonna happen, Mike.  It would've happened.  He was wound
too tight, that's' all.  Only question was when he'd snap."  Jesse sighed.
"I should have known it, too.  It's been so bad lately, I just thought he
was being a jerkoff.  I -- I never worried about him," he sniffed.
Goddammit, stop crying, he thought.

	"Jes, he loved you, don't you know that?"

	Jesse's chin set angrily.  "No, I don't.  Some love, beating me and
Mom up like this, and -- and fucking killing himself on top of it.  What's
Mom gonna do?  She can't sell houses worth shit.  We're gonna be fucking
broke, Mike."  He was crying harder now.  "I thought you'd get it.  I have
to protect you.  I got nothing else now.  I can't tell them about you -- us
-- whatever.  It'd just fuck things up for you."

	"I don't care."

	"Oh yeah?"  Jesse asked. His tongue was starting to hurt, he could
taste a small trickle of blood on it.  "Then go tell `em.  Now."  Mike sat
very still, with his hands over his face.  "See?  It's not so easy, is it?
And that doesn't even get into the web shit, and you know that'd turn up if
we told."

	Mike stood up and paced around Jesse's bed.  "It just feels so
wrong, Jes.  There's got to be another answer, somehow."

	Jesse shook his head, harder now, ignoring the dizziness the
movement caused.  "You figure one out and tell me.  I'd love to hear it."

	Mike sat back down, heavily, rubbing his eyes.  "I -- I just know
how scared I was.  I thought I'd fucked up so bad, the way I acted, and
then this . . .  I thought I'd -- like -- lost you, and shit."  He sniffed
loudly.  "I can handle a lot, Jes, but I can't handle that.  That can't
happen, or --"

	"Dude," Jesse whispered.  "It didn't.  That can't happen."  He held
his hand out, and Mike pressed it to his face.  Jesse wiped Mike's eyes
with his fingers.  The anger had flowed out of him, and all he saw or felt
was Mike's hurt soul next to him.  "I meant it, and I mean it now.  I
fucking love you, OK?" He smiled wickedly.  "I just wish I could jump your
bones right now without setting off some alarm or something.  They got me
wired for all sorts of shit."  He opened his gown at the chest, showing
Mike several sensors for vital signs taped onto his skin.

	Mike smiled softly and ran his hand over Jesse's exposed chest,
sighing.  "You are the hottest sick guy I ever saw, you know that?"

	Jesse laughed.  "That's a compliment, right?"

	Mike joined in.  "You bet."  He bent down and kissed Jesse softly
on the cheek, then, after glancing over his shoulder to make sure they
weren't being watched, on the lips.  Jesse longed to open his mouth to
Mike, but he knew he couldn't.  He pulled away with a sigh.  "Sorry, I
gotta be careful.  I can't split my tongue back open Frenching my boyfriend
-- people would talk."  The two dissolved into laughter.

	The noise they made drew the nurse who'd helped Jesse that morning
to the door.  "You take it easy now, Jesse.  You're not all better yet."
She strode in.  "My name's Carlotta," she said to Mike, extending her hand.

	Jesse smiled, perhaps a little too broadly.  "This is Mike.  He's
my -- my best friend, and all."  They grinned stupidly at each other.

	Carlotta stood quietly, regarding them for a moment with a smile.
"All right now, time for you to get some walking around time in.  I think
Mike here can help you out, so I can take care of actually sick people.
That all right?"

	"Sure!"  Jesse said, eager to be with his friend more.  He sat up
slowly, the spins less violent this time, then slowly stood.  Mike took his
right arm as if he might break if handled too roughly.  Jesse looked at him
and laughed.  "Dude, I'm OK.  I just get spacy when I stand up for a
second."

	"Now be sure to roll this along with you," Carlotta advised,
placing the rack next to Jesse's left arm.  "We want the saline in you for
a while yet."

	Jesse nodded, and with Mike at his side walked slowly out of the
room.  The floor was roughly circular, with a nurse's station in the canter
and rooms like spokes on the outer side.  A hallway led to a glass enclosed
pedestrian bridge past a bank of elevators.  Jesse walked toward the bridge
and its abundant sunlight, feeling strength and balance returning to him
with every stride.  He looked over at Mike and smiled.  "This feels good."

	Mike leaned in.  "You think this feels good?" he whispered.  "Just
wait, dude."  They started giggling, and Mike's arm wrapped around Jesse's
shoulder to hold him steady.  They stopped in the middle of the pedestrian
bridge together and stood, looking out toward the ocean they knew was just
over the bluff past the freeway beneath them, each with an arm casually
around the other, heads close together.  Carlotta watched them and smiled.
She could see he would be fine.

	Jesse eventually walked, Mike in tow, to his mother's room on the
far side of the nurse's station.  She wasn't there.  "They went downstairs
to get some air," Carlotta explained.  "Your mother should be leaving
tomorrow."

	"What about me?'

	"We'll see what doctor thinks about your recovery.  I think he's
ordered another head CT to be sure you're progressing.  We'll see."

	By themselves in the room, Jesse couldn't resist groping Mike's
crotch a little.  Mike giggled and pulled away.  "Dude, you're sick and
all."

	"You're denying a poor injured guy a small favor?"  He touched
again.  "Hmmm, it's not so small any more, now, is it?"

	Mike sighed.  "C'mon, Jes, you know I can't do anything back.  No
fair."

	Jesse chuckled devilishly.  "If stuff was fair, I wouldn't be all
fucked up like this to start."  His hand was deep in Mike's jeans pocket,
rubbing him erect.  The tops of Mike's high cheekbones began to flush
slightly.  "There," Jesse breathed, "no way can we get fucked up, dude.
Never."  He nuzzled into the crook of Mike's neck, taking in the deep aroma
of his hair, listening to Mike's shallow breathing as he caressed him.  It
was the best he'd felt all day.

	They stood like that for several minutes, until Jesse suddenly felt
a wave of exhaustion overtake him.  His stomach growled, reminding him he
hadn't eaten.  "Damn," he mustered, sinking onto the bed.

	Mike bent over him.  "You all right?"

	Jesse slumped forward a bit, holding the rack like a cane.  "Tired,
all of a sudden.  Didn't eat lunch"

	Mike was kneeling before him.  "I'll get somebody."  Their fondling
was now long forgotten, Mike was just concerned about his friend.  That was
how their mothers found them when they opened the room door a minute or so
later.

	Jesse's mom had her eyepatch off; her right eye was deep red
instead of white.  She rushed to the bed.  "Jesse, are you all right?"

	"Yeah, Mom, "Jesse said softly.  He didn't really feel al right --
his head and tongue hurt, he felt dizzy, and mildly sick to his stomach.
"Just overdid it a little, I guess."

	Mike's mother called for Carlotta, who appeared a moment later with
a wheelchair.  "I thought he might overdo things a bit -- seeing his friend
and everything."  She helped Jesse into the chair.  "You feeling queasy,
Jesse?"  He nodded.  "That normal with a concussion -- it'll go away."  She
looked at his saline bag.  "I'll have doctor order something to calm your
stomach.  From the urine output you've been having I don't think we'll need
this much longer."

	Mike stared at Jesse.  "Dude, you been measuring your piss??"  His
mother tried to shush him, but the question -- and his horror was so absurd
that she, Jesse's mom, and Carlotta couldn't keep from breaking out into
laughter.  Mike was unapologetic.  "No way, that's just like gross!!"  The
laughter only, Jesse trying not to join in because it only made him feel
more like puking.

	He was back in his bed a few minutes later, trying to rest.  Mike
and his mother had left (Mike with a surreptitious squeeze of Jesse's hand
as he departed), and his mother had remained only a short time more,
stroking his hair and assuring him that things would be all right.  He
closed his eyes for a while.

	It looked like later afternoon when he awoke, realizing before he
opened his eyes that he was not alone.  He figured it was Carlotta, or his
mom sitting by the bed, or something, so he stayed still, with eyes closed,
luxuriating in the comfort of being half awake.  "Jesse?"

	His eyes shot open.  Ernie was standing near the door, his hands
clasped in front of him.

	"I hope I'm not intruding."

	"N -- no, not -- I mean, it's -- but they can't see you -- I mean
my mom -- "

	"Is down getting her eye looked at," Jesse said evenly.  "I made
sure nefore I came up.  We have a few minutes."

	"Um, OK.  Cool.  Thanks, uh, for like coming and -- and all."
Jesse had no idea what to say.

	"I only wish I could do more," Ernie said quietly.  Did this guy
ever blink?  He stepped to the bed, holding out a small piece of paper.  "I
thought this might help, at least a little."

	Jesse took the paper.  It was a deposit receipt, for an account in
a San Diego area bank in the name of Ron Gantry.  It showed an electronic
deposit of $ 1,427.55, dated that day.  "That's your share of just the
first bit of pay per view sales.  The hits on the site have been very high,
and we've priced them accordingly -- hourly, daily, and so on.  It's very,
very successful.  I know that can't make up for -- for all that's happened
here, but it's a ray of sunshine, I think."

	Jesse looked at the receipt.  He recalled his fathers' tension over
the past few months as he had paid minimums of credit cards.  He could
help, this could help.  "Only a few days?"  he asked quietly.

	Ernie nodded.  "Ordinarily, I'd have waited until the end of the
month to make the deposit, but I thought seeing it might help you a bit."

	Jesse blinked, trying to make sure his head was clear.  "Um,
thanks, Ernie.  This is -- a nice, y'know, gesture.  And all."

	Ernie smiled, a deeper, more open smile than Jesse had seen from
him before.  It made him look younger, almost boyish.  "I'm glad you didn't
feel it was inappropriate," he said.  "I lost my father when I was young as
well -- I know how, how destitute that can make you feel."

	Jesse felt grateful for the sympathy, but he really didn't want to
be talking about this stuff with the guy who'd pimped dirty movies of him
onto the Internet.  "Thanks, Ernie.  I, um, appreciate it."  He glanced at
the door.  "Look, dude, I really think you should go -- I dunno how I could
explain who you are and all if -- "

	"Not a problem, I understand," Ernie said, retrieving the paper
from Jesse.  "You just get better, and you and Mike and I can talk when
you're out of here.  There's already a demand for new product, so I hope
it'll be a good discussion."

	"Sure.  Thanks.  See ya."  Ernie waved subtly, then slid out the
door.  Jesse stared after him, processing things.  New product??

	Dr. Stassi interrupted his pondering a few minutes later.  "OK,
Jesse, let's have a look at you."  He seemed more cheerful as he examined
Jesse's tongue, bruises, and vitals.  "I think we can take you off the hep
lock -- you seem to be in good shape there.  You'll continue to be woozy
for a few days, and you may have some stomach upset, but I think you'll be
ready to go home with your mother tomorrow.  I'd like to do another head CT
in the morning, just to be sure, though."

	This was the second such reference.  "Another?"  Jesse asked.
"When did I have any - any, um, whatever that is?"

	"Last night, when you were brought in.  We had to check for
possible skull fractures, bleeding, things like that," said Dr. Stassi
evenly.  "this is just a followup one to be sure nothing bad has developed
since.  If it had, you'd likely be showing symptoms, but I need to be
certain.  We'll do it first thing, and if nothing shows up you'll be on
your way home by noon."

	Carlotta entered the room.  "Let's take out his hep lock,"
Dr. Stassi directed her easily.

	"Free at last, Jesse!" she teased him as she disconnected the
saline bag from the needle in the back of his hand.  Jesse got a bit queasy
as she undid the tape holding it in place, exposing the bare needle stuck
into his skin.  "Now, this will just tingle a little," she said soothingly
as she placed a gauze pad over the needle insertion site and pulled.  He
was unstuck in an instant, and she swabbed him with alcohol or something.
"Hold that over the puncture," she directed, putting his right hand onto
the gauze pad, "and raise your arm."  He obeyed silently.  They were so
nice to him, he almost wished he could stay.  Going home wasn't such an
attractive idea . . .

	Dr. Stassi had him follow a finger in front of his eyes again.  He
did better this time, though the finger still had an annoying habit every
so often of jumping about and becoming indistinct.  "That's a lot better,
Jesse," he said as he finished.  "Looking very good."  He patted Jesse's
knee, and sat on the bed.  "Now," he continued, his look serious, "we need
to talk about what happened."

	Jesse tensed up.  "Nothing happened," he answered.

	I understand how you feel, Jesse, but this is a very painful and
traumatic thing you've been through.  You need to confront it, come to
terms with it all.  I'd like you to get HIV tests for the next six months,
just to be safe."

	"What??"  The idea of AIDS terrified Jesse.

	"We just don't know about your father, Jesse.  It appears he wasn't
infected, but we know that people can be asymptomatic for some time after
exposure and still be potentially infectious."

	"But -- but . . . "  Jesse realized he didn't have the nerve to go
through with it.  He had to tell.  "He didn't -- didn't do that to me," he
whispered.

	Dr. Stassi looked at him kindly and stood up.  "It's OK, Jesse," he
said.  "You take your time about it all, OK?"

	"No, I mean he didn't do this!"  Jesse said, louder.  "I - I -- I
did -- " His head was pounding, he knew he was looking vaguely incoherent.

	Dr. Stassi shook his head.  "Just rest now, Jesse.  There's lots of
time."  He walked quietly out of the room, ushering Carlotta with him, as
Jesse struggled to find the words.  Only after the door closed with a
gentle click did he manage to scream out, "DAD!!!" in a hopeless, agonized
voice, sobbing loudly and sinking back into the bed.  It couldn't be taken
back now, his sin was irrevocable.  Oh God, what have I done, he thought as
sleep washed over him. . .

	The lights were out; it was dark.  Someone was standing by the
door, the light from its opening and closing had awakened him.  He sat up
slowly.  "Hello?"

	"Hey Jesse," said a quiet female voice.  It was Kate.

	Jesse fell back into the bed, surprised.  "Whoa!!  How'd you get in
here?  Isn't it late?"

	"After 11," Kate said evenly.  "I used to do some candystriper work
here, so they kind of let me in when I want."  She moved towards him.  "Are
you OK?  I'm so sorry about your dad."

	"What - what did they tell you about my dad?  What do people say
happened?"

	Kate sounded confused.  "You know, that he beat you and your mom up
really bad, and killed your dog when she tried to defend you, and that he
-- he killed himself in jail," she answered, her voice growing quieter as
she went on.

	Jesse was sitting up again.  "Anything else?"

	Her blond head, silhouetted by the streetlight glow from outside,
moved back and forth.  "No," she said, sounding confused.  "Isn't that
enough?  What else happened?"

	Jesse thought hard for a moment.  They weren't telling anyone, he
realized.  The deed that dare not speak its own name.  "Just -- just the
part about Tina," he stammered.  "I wasn't even sure that had happened
myself."  The lies pained him.

	Kate nodded, he felt her weight settle on the edge of the bed by
his feet.  "I understand," she whispered.  "In some ways that's almost the
worst thing of all -- a poor dog.  Tina was so cool."  He could hear her
sniffle wetly.

	Jesse felt an intense need to move the conversation to other
things.  "I think I'm going home tomorrow," he said.

	"That's great," Kate said, her voice brightening.

	"Yeah, it will be."  I hope, he thought.

	"Cool that you don't have to share the room," she observed, looking
around.  "They're pretty slow here."

	"I never thought about it," Jesse said.  What was the point of
that?

	"Well," she said, standing again and moving a little closer to him,
" thought I should come here and give you a little something, if you're OK
with it."

	"What do you mean?" he asked.  He could see her more clearly now
that she was so close.  She was wearing a long doctor's lab coat.

	Kate giggled very softly, then slid the coat off her shoulders and
let it fall to the floor.  Even in this light, Jesse could see that she was
naked.  She pulled back his covers and ran her hand over his chest.  "Good,
you aren't hooked up to the EKG monitor any more," she said as she slid in
next to him.  Her body was atop his right arm as she pressed against him,
and as he instinctively pulled her closer he felt her bare skin warm and
velvety.

	"Holy shit, Kate," was all he could gasp.

	She giggled next to his ear.  "Now, I don't want you to like fuck
me or anything, OK?  I just want you to feel good."  She ran a hand down
inside his hospital gown until she got to his crotch.  He was hard as a
rock.  She began stroking him and kissing his throat and chest.  He took
her in his arms, groaning, and surrendered himself to her touch.  Her
breasts rubbed against his chest, her nipples large and very hard.  He
reached for her crotch, found her wet, and starting pushing fingers into
her.  She groaned loudly, which only added to his excitement.  Within
minutes he was tensing up, gibbering "K -- Kate I -- I'm gon' ," as she
moved away from him a little, stroking hard, and he erupted across himself,
his head flashing white with pain and pleasure.  Her other hand was over
his mouth, stifling his grunts.  When he was finished, she laid back
against him, rubbing her body over his and slickening them both.  She
kissed his neck for a few more minutes, than stood and put the doctor's
coat back on.

	I better go before they come check on you," she said with a smile
in her voice.  She reassembled his gown and covered him over again, bending
down to kiss his cheek.  "I care about you, Jesse.  Don't forget that, OK?"

	Jesse was trying to find the ability to speak again.  "I -- I can
tell," he sputtered.

	Even in the dark, Jesse could see her grin.  "Well, I'm glad you
noticed.  I may never take a shower again, you know."  She pulled the coat
tighter around her.  "OK, good night.  I'll stop in to see you at home,
OK?"

	"Sure"

	She peeked out the door, the light hurting Jesse's eyes, and then
was gone.  He laid back in his bed, tingling and sleepy from coming.  What
a day, he thought, as he drifted slowly off.