Warning:  Mature Themes!  (That's a euphemism for "smut" ;))

Disclaimer:  I cannot be held responsible for anything the cats say behind my back.

And Nothing But . . . . 

by E!lf

"That's a nice card there, Roy.  What is it?  Joanne's birthday?"  Captain Hank Stanley settled himself at the kitchen table and blew across his coffee to cool it as he studied his paramedics.  Roy DeSoto was sitting across from him, writing at length on the inside of a greeting card that had a small bird on the front.  John Gage sat next to him, reading over his shoulder.

"It isn't for Joanne," Johnny said, his voice sly.  "It's for other women!"

One corner of Roy's mouth quirked upwards good-naturedly as he pocketed his pen and passed the card over to his partner.

"Tomorrow's 'Nurse Appreciation Day'," he explained.  "We went in with the paramedics from B and C shift to get a bouquet for the emergency room nurses, but each shift is doing their own card.  This is just a blank card I found that has a nightingale on the front.  We figured if we each wrote a personal message on it, it'd be nicer than just giving them something pre-printed, you know?  We'll drop it off at the florist when we go past on our way to Rampart for supplies later and they'll deliver it in the morning with the flowers."

While he was talking Johnny was busily scribbling away.  He signed his name with a flourish and sat back, grinning, clearly pleased with his own contribution.  Cap reached across the table and snagged the card with one finger, dragging it over.  The rest of the engine crew had come in now and they stood and sat around, listening while Cap read aloud.

"I first worked closely with nurses when I was in the army, in Vietnam, where their courage and composure under fire rivaled that of any man.  Since that time, my respect for you has only grown.  I am amazed by your ability to combine technical excellence and professionalism with human compassion, to deliver a level of care that, without you, would not be possible.  As a paramedic, I strive always to do my job as well as you do yours.  Nurses are the heart and soul of the medical community and nowhere is there a finer band of nurses than that assembled in the emergency department of Rampart.  It is an honor to work with each and every one of you and I wish you all the best on this Nurse's Appreciation Day.  Sincerely, Roy DeSoto."

The other firemen all nodded.  Mike Stoker, standing behind the paramedics, patted Roy's shoulder.  "Nice job."

Cap shifted the card in his hand and read the other side, written in green ink in a neater hand.

"Dear Gorgeous Babes, Take it from a guy who has first-hand experience.  There's nothing that makes a fella feel better when he's hurt than being waited on hand and foot by a bunch of beautiful chicks.  Nowhere are there more beautiful chicks than the beautiful chicks at Rampart.  Not too many dogs in this henhouse.  Sure are a lot of foxes, though!  Happy Nurse Appreciation Day.  John Gage."

Johnny was grinning at them, waiting for them to be impressed with his eloquent prose.  Chet shook his head.  "And he wonders why he can't get a date!"

Johnny looked around at his station mates and read their looks of skeptical disbelief.  "What?  What?"

"You wrote that?" Mike demanded.

"Yeah, and?"  No one answered him.  Johnny put one hand on his chest and his voice rose defensively.  "Listen, I happen to think that any young lady would be delighted to be complimented like that!  Don't you think?"  He waited.  "You don't think?  Roy agrees with me, don't you, Roy? . . . Roy?"

Roy, looking slightly ill, tried to be diplomatic.  "Well, it certainly sounds like you mean to be complimentary.  Don't you think it could come off a little . . . sexist, though?"

"Sexist?" Johnny squawked.  "Sexist?!?"  He looked around at the other men.  They just stared back.  "Okay, fine," he huffed.  He pulled the card back, took out his pen and scribbled a couple more lines.

Marco read over his shoulder.  "P.S.  All that junk that Roy wrote -- I meant that too.  J.G."

"There!" Johnny said, once more pocketing his pen.  "Happy now?"

* * * *

Bubba Drury, the 300-pound, 56-year-old "delivery boy" for Frannie's Flowers, started his rounds at 5 A.M. and his first stop was Rampart General.  Drs. Brackett, Early and Morton had spent two hours the night before setting up a "We Appreciate Our Nurses" display in the short hall that led to the emergency room entrance.  In addition to a bulletin board of pictures and cards there was a long table to hold floral tributes, of which Fire Station 51's was only one among many.

Head Nurse Dixie McCall was helping the three doctors arrange the table when Bubba arrived with a cartload of flowers.  As the doctors set out the bouquets, Dixie opened the cards with each and arranged them so they could be read easily.  She opened the card from 51's A-shift paramedics, read the left side and smiled, read the right side and rolled her eyes.  Brackett noticed.

"What is it, Dix?"

She handed him the card and he read it.  His mouth quirked in amusement and he passed it to Early and Morton.  "He means well," Brackett said.

"He certainly means well," Joe Early agreed.

"Yes, he means well," Mike Morton sighed.

"Oh, Johnny always means well," Dixie said.  "But it might not be enough to keep him out of trouble this time."

* * * *

Bubba Drury wasn't the only one out early that morning.  Joanne DeSoto pulled her station wagon into the parking lot of a seedy-looking motel and rolled to a stop near one end, where a greasy spoon connected to the cabins.  The strange man in her passenger seat leaned over as if to kiss her.  She stiffened and put up her hand, catching his face in her palm.

"Mister Witherspoon!" she said severely, "what are you doing?"

He blinked rapidly.  "Oh, I'm so sorry!  I'm still half asleep and I forgot it wasn't my wife driving me to work!"

Joanne considered this for half a second and decided her life would be simpler if she pretended to believe him.  "Now, are you going to need a ride home?" she asked her neighbor.  "Because I'm sure my husband could come get you."  She did not say, "My big, strong husband who carries an axe at work" or "my darling husband, who routinely kicks down doors" or "my talented husband, who can break your arm and set it", but the implication of the words not said was clearly there in the car with them.  Mr. Witherspoon backed off even more.

"Oh, no, but thank you so much!  The shop promised to deliver my car to me here, no later than one today.  I do thank you for the ride this morning, though!  I'm so sorry I had to drag you out of bed so early."

There was still a note of longing in his voice when he mentioned "bed", so Joanne smiled sweetly and spoke with malice aforethought.  "Oh, that's quite alright.  Roy often takes a nap when he gets home, and the kids are at their grandparents', so I'll just climb back under the covers with him."

Witherspoon's smile turned sickly.  "Well, I guess I'd better go open the restaurant.  Thanks again.  You have a nice day, Mrs. DeSoto."

"Oh, I plan to.  You do the same."

He got out, finally, and she leaned over and locked the door behind him and waited while he unlocked the restaurant and disappeared inside.  "Putz," she said to herself as she backed the wagon out and headed home.

She was driving down a wide, four-lane street, almost deserted at this early hour.  She guided the car on auto-pilot, her mind occupied with the possibilities of a day spent in bed with her husband, with no children around to put limits on their activities.  Suddenly a motion out of the corner of her eye dragged her attention back to the road.  A tanker truck, still a block away and coming toward her in the opposite lane, was swerving wildly back and forth across the road.  She looked for a safe place to pull off and get out of the way, but the truck was everywhere.  It crossed in front of her, swerved back and came at her head on.

In that instant, Joanne DeSoto was sure she was about to die.  The tanker loomed over her, filling her windshield.  At the last second it swerved again and bore past her driver's side window.  The wind of its passage rocked her car and she heard an intermittent, high-pitched whine as the side of the truck just barely brushed against the side of her car.  Heart pounding, shaking all over, she looked up at the rear-view mirror just in time to see the big truck topple over and slide down the street on its side.

Joanne braked to a stop and looked around for a payphone.  The sliding tanker truck had come to a stop almost next to one.  She turned around carefully, still shaken, and drove back as close as she dared.  Parking her car in the street, with the emergency flashers on, she got out, ran to the phone and called to report the accident.  The woman on the phone reassured her that help was on the way and she hung up and stood looking indecisively at the truck cab.

She was scared.  She had no idea what the tanker was filled with, but she knew that if it was flammable, fire was a distinct possibility.  It could even explode, though she realized that exploding vehicles were much more rare than television or the movies would have one believe.  She liked her life, loved her husband, needed to be there for her children and didn't want to take any unnecessary risks.  On the other hand, she knew she wouldn't be able to look herself in the mirror if the truck driver died and she hadn't at least tried to help him.

The front end of the trailer blocker her view of the cab.  Cautiously, she ran around it, worrying now about the possibility of gore and carnage waiting for her on the other side.  She rounded the end of the tank, circled the underside of the cab, lying there with its wheels still spinning, and came out next to the windshield.  The driver was standing up with his head poking out the passenger side window and Joanne breathed a sigh of relief and came closer.

"I've called for help.  Are you all right?  Don't try to move around too much.  The fire department will be here soon."

"Hey!  You're the lady in the station wagon!"

"Yes, that's right."

"Hey!  Here!  I need you to sign this."  He tried to hand her a pen and a piece of paper.  She backed away.

"What is it?"

"It's a paper admittin' that this wreck is your fault.  You gotta sign it."

"I'll do no such thing!" she told him angrily.  "It wasn't my fault.  You caused this yourself!  I was just lucky I didn't get caught up in it too."

"You know you caused it," he said.  "You was over on my side of the road.  I never woulda wrecked if you wasn't where you wasn't supposed to be.  I got a perfect driving record.  I never had a wreck in my life.  Come on, ya dumb broad.  Sign the paper!"

Intent on their argument, neither of them noticed the hiss of gas escaping from the tanker, nor the light, strange odor that slowly surrounded them.

* * * *

With a traffic accident involving a tanker, L.A. called out an engine company, two squads and a foam truck and dispatched two ambulances, but Station Fifty-One was first on scene, arriving even before the police.  They parked well away from the accident.  Captain Stanley took in the scene, the trucker slumped in his cab and another slight figure lying on the ground outside, and ordered his men to use their breathing equipment.  Roy was almost suited up when he recognized the car parked in the middle of the road and realized just who was laying on the ground.

"Joanne!"  He started for his wife at a run, but Johnny quickly caught him and wrestled him back to the perimeter.

"You've got to get your equipment on, man.  You can't help her by exposing yourself to whatever that is."

Quickly they finished suiting up, then ran for the wrecked tanker.  Roy caught Joanne up in his arms and carried her back to the squad.  Cap, Chet and Marco had met them at the wreck.

"Was that Joanne?" Cap asked, aghast.

"Yeah.  Come on, we've got to get this guy out of here so I can get back over there.  Roy can't treat her."

They made short work of popping the windshield out of the cab and put the driver on O2.  Johnny quickly checked him for spinal injuries and found none.  They strapped him to a backboard as a precaution, slid him out and ran him to the squad.  On the way they met the paramedics from 36.  Johnny turned the truck driver over to them and went to help his partner.

Roy had Joanne on the other side of the squad, with the little truck between them and the tanker.  He had her on oxygen and was taking her blood pressure.

Johnny pulled off his mask and tossed it aside.  "Come on, man.  I'll do that.  You know you can't treat her."

"I know.  I just . . . I had to . . . I . . . ."

"I know.  It's okay.  Why don't you set up the biophone and contact Rampart."

Roy passed Johnny the stethoscope and turned away to set up the phone.  "What was in that truck?" he asked.

Kirk and Wheeler from 36 had come around with the trucker and were set up on the pavement just a few feet away.  Kirk looked up.  "We don't know yet.  Your captain's trying to find out now."

While Roy was making contact with Rampart, Joanne and the truck driver both began to stir.  Joanne yawned and stretched and pushed herself up to a sitting position in spite of Johnny's attempts to keep her lying down.

"What's going on?"  She blinked and looked around, caught site of the truck driver and scowled at him.  "Oh, I remember."

Deputy Vince Howard came up with a notebook and went down into a crouch between the two groups.  He addressed Joanne and the trucker.  "Can either of you tell me what happened here?"

"Yeah," the trucker said.  "I was just trying to get this broad to sign a paper saying that the wreck was her fault."

"It was not my fault!" Joanne countered hotly.  "I was just driving along, thinking about sex and planning what I'm going to do to Roy when he gets home this morning, when all of a sudden this moron starts swerving all over the road.  He came clear into my lane and almost hit me head on and then, when I went to try to help him, he tried to bully me into saying the wreck was my fault!"

Vince was frozen, hand poised over his notebook.  " . . . thinking about . . . I'll just say you were minding your own business."  He turned to the trucker.  "What's your version?"

"Like she said," the trucker said.  "I was trying to bully her into saying the wreck was her fault.  Our boss tells us to do that, to keep the company's insurance from going up.  Always try to get the other driver to take responsibility.  Especially if it's a broad, 'cause broads are really easy to bully."

"Well, what really did cause the wreck?"

"Heck, I don't know.  I probably fell asleep at the wheel.  I've been driving eighteen hours."

"Aren't you required by law to log a nap in there somewhere?"

"Yeah, sure.  I log it, I just don't take it."

"You mean you falsified your log?"

"Oh, sure.  I do it all the time.  I probably would have wrecked anyway.  I'm a terrible driver.  You know, this is my fourth wreck this year?"

"Don't you think maybe you should get a job that doesn't involve driving?" Vince asked.

"Oh, I can't do that!  I've got a wife in Fresno to support."

"Yes, but --"

"And one in Sedona.  And one in Grant's Pass.  And a kid in Grant's Pass too.  Doesn't look like me, though.  You know, I wonder if that bitch's been cheating on me."

At that point Cap came up and pulled his breathing apparatus off.  "I can't find any markings on that tanker," he said.  He addressed the trucker.  "What's your load?"

"My load?"

"In the tanker.  You're the truck driver, right?  What are you carrying?"

"Oh, that.  It's sodium pentothal."

"Sodium . . . . Truth serum?"

The trucker gave him a loopy grin.  "Would I lie to you?"

* * * *

While 36s took the truck driver in in one ambulance, Johnny took Joanne in the other.  Her vitals were good and she was breathing okay, but no one knew how much of the stuff she'd gotten and Brackett wanted her brought in for observation.  Roy promised to find a way to get her station wagon home and then follow them to Rampart, kissed her goodbye and swung the ambulance doors closed.  Two thumps on the back and they started for the hospital.

Joanne was feeling talkative and before they'd gone very far she pulled the oxygen mask off.  "Sometimes I'm really jealous of you," she told Johnny.

"Jealous of me?" he repeated, his voice gentle.  "Why's that?"

"Because you and Roy are such good friends.  He's my husband.  He isn't supposed to love anybody but me!"

"Now, Jo.  You know it isn't at all the same thing!  He's my partner.  And my best friend.  We're like . . . well . . . brothers.  You wouldn't feel jealous of Roy's brother would you?"

"No . . . I guess not.  It's just, I guess I get worried that somehow I'll lose him to you.  Like, in a fire or an explosion or an accident.  And sometimes, when it's really late at night and, like, it's that time of the month, I even start thinking about what happened to Ethel Warner, although I suppose she was asking for it and I'm certainly never going to do anything like that!"

"Ethel Warner?" Johnny asked.  Later he would kick himself for not just letting the conversation die right there.

"Ethel Warner.  Well, her maiden name was Ethel Warner.  She was Sullivan later.  And then Garner.  And then something German-sounding with too many consonants.  And now she's something else, I think.  Anyway, she's this woman we went to high school with.  See, when she was married to her first husband she got into doing all kinds of kinky things that she'd tell everybody about whenever you'd see her at a party or something -- whether you wanted her to or not.  Well, at some point she decided that it'd be fun to have a three-way -- you know what I mean by a 'three-way'?"

"Uh, yeah," Johnny said, "but, you know, I'm thinking you really need to put this oxygen mask back on."

She fended him off easily and kept talking.  "Okay, so she decided it'd be fun to have a three-way with her husband and his best friend.  They didn't really want to do it, but she talked them into it, and she even got them to let her watch while they . . . you know."

"See, we just put this little plastic mask over your nose and mouth and then I slip the elastic behind your head to hold it in place."

She pushed it away and went on as if he'd never interrupted her.  "She said it was the most erotic thing she'd ever seen, but then six weeks later he dumped her and he and his friend set up housekeeping together on Catalina.  And I guess it worked out okay because Bill and Greg are a very nice couple and she did get married again . . . and again . . . and again.  But Roy's mine!"

The ambulance attendant was in the corner, convulsed with laughter.  Johnny glared at him and spoke firmly to Joanne.  "Jo, that is NOT going to happen.  EVER.  You absolutely, positively do not have to worry about that.  Okay?"

"I know."  She sighed.  "And I don't mean to get silly about it.  But, Johnny, I love him so much it makes my heart hurt."

His face softened.  "That's real sweet, Jo."

"Makes other parts of me feel pretty good, though."

"See, we put the mask over your face, okay?  And it, it gives you oxygen and maybe we can flush some of that drug out of your system."

"I think Roy's the sexiest man in the world!"

"And I can adjust the level of oxygen so if it feels uncomfortable I can make it send less, or more, or . . . ."

"Not that I've had sex with every man in the world though!"  Joanne seemed alarmed, as if she expected Johnny to actually think she had.  "I've never been with anyone else, ever.  Neither one of us has.  Though I did tell Roy, when he went overseas, that he could if he got lonely, if he pretended she was me.  And, besides, I thought it might be a good idea if one of us actually knew what we were doing."

Johnny froze in his attempts to put her on oxygen and the devil made him ask, "what did Roy say?"

"He just turned red and stuttered a bit and said he'd buy a book."

Johnny laughed at that.  "Okay, now, Joanne.  Come on and let me put this mask back on you."

"I have seen other men though," she mused, pushing his hand away.  "In a magazine.  Real pictures of actual men, completely naked, right out there for the whole world to see!  See, I was at my cousin's bridal shower . . . ."

* * * *

There was a big "Nurses' Appreciation Day" breakfast banquet planned for one of the upstairs conference rooms that morning.  It was timed to start before the overnight shift ended at 8 and end after the day shift began, so that all the nurses who wanted to attend would be able to enjoy at least a part of it.  Between the nurses who were on duty and the nurses who had come for the breakfast, pretty much the entire emergency room nursing staff was milling around the table in the hall, admiring the flowers and reading the cards.  In particular, they were passing around a certain card with a nightingale on the front.  Each nurse, upon taking it, would read the left side and smile, then read the right side, look grim, and mutter, "I suppose he means well."

Joe Early stood among them, looking at the flowers and cards.  Kelly Brackett came up beside him and spoke quietly in his ear.

"Joanne DeSoto got exposed to some sodium pentothal from a wrecked tanker truck.  Johnny's bringing her in.  The ambulance ought to be here any minute."

Joe looked at the nurses, then looked at the emergency room entrance, then looked back at the nurses.

"Maybe we should be somewhere else."

"That's what I thought."

Moving calmly but quickly and in an orderly manner, the two doctors exited the danger zone.

The ambulance pulled up outside and the two ambulance attendants, laughing, pulled the gurney down and wheeled it through the entrance.  Johnny, carrying the oxygen mask, followed close behind.

His face was a dark, dark red.

The opening door caught Joanne in mid-sentence.

". . . sister said, 'good lord, Joanne!  If you think the guys in Playgirl are little, Roy must be hung like a horse!"

All the women at the table turned and followed the gurney around the corner and down the hall, drawn after it as surely as iron filings after a magnet.  Johnny tried again to put the oxygen mask over Joanne's face and she fended him off and looked up at him, all innocent curiosity.

"Do you think Roy's hung like a horse?"

"I don't know!  I mean . . . I wouldn't . . . nnn . . . well . . . yee . . . ng . . . may . . . ungh . . . nnn . . . rrr . . . gah . . . I DON'T KNOW!!!  I DON'T LOOK AT THAT!!!"

"Oh."  She turned her attention to Dixie, taking her blood pressure.  "Dixie, you've seen my husband naked, haven't you?"

"Oh, sure.  I've cut both these gentlemen out of their uniforms a time or two."

"Well, do you think Roy's hung like a horse?"

Dixie considered it, squinting one eye closed and tipping her head.  She shrugged and nodded.  "Yeah, I'd say that's a pretty fair description."

"Dixie!" Johnny hissed, scandalized.  Joanne glanced up at him.

"What about Johnny?  Is he hung like a horse too?"

"Joanne!" Johnny yelped.  "Dixie, don't answer that!"

The head nurse gave him a very wise look from under lowered lashes.  "Worried?"

"No.  No!  I'm not worried!  I'm not worried.  I'm NOT!" he told the giggling horde of nurses.  "It's just . . . I don't . . . ."  He stepped back, straightened up and put on an air of wounded dignity.  "I just don't think it's very professional to all be standing here talking about mine and Roy's stuff and comparing us to horses and such!"

"Oh, no," one of the nurses said sarcastically.  "It's so much better to stand around and talk about our stuff and compare us to dogs and foxes and poultry and such!"

Johnny picked out the nurse who'd spoken.  Her name was Janine.  He and she had gone on one disastrous date and they were not on good terms.  "Janine, I've never compared you to a fox or poultry," he said smartly, thinking he'd scored a point.

He should have known better.  If it's a generally a bad idea to argue with a nurse, arguing with the entire emergency room nursing staff was pretty well guaranteed to be a losing proposition.  Surprisingly, it was Sharon Walters, the shy little nursing student, who spoke up.

"No one's compared you to a horse yet, Johnny."

"She's right," Sally Johnston said.  "I mean, as far as Roy's concerned, we'll take his wife's word for it.  But if you want to be compared to a farm animal, we're just going to have to see some evidence."

Johnny looked around for help.  Brackett, Early and Morton were gathered around the nurses' station, easily within hearing distance, but they were focused on the charts in their hands and paying no attention.  Also, their shoulders were shaking.  With the distinct feeling he was getting no help there, Johnny turned back to the women.

"It just so happens I'm very particular as to whom I show my evidence," he said.  He held up one hand and raised his voice to speak over the catcalls and derision this elicited.  "But," he said, "but, if I were to show you my evidence, you wouldn't just be comparing me to a horse, let me tell ya!  You'd probably compare me to a . . . a . . . "   He fished around for something larger than a horse while the girls offered suggestions.

"A jackass?"

"A poodle?"

"A hamster?"

"A camel!" Johnny said triumphantly.  The nursing collective was unimpressed.

"You're used to long dry spells?"

Carol snorted indelicately.  "One hump or two?"

Before Johnny could come up with a response to that he lost their attention.  One of them whistled softly and then the entire group was staring past his left shoulder with a silent intensity that was downright scary.  With a sinking feeling, Johnny turned to look behind him.

Roy had arrived.  He'd just rounded the corner and started down the hall towards where they'd gotten stalled on the way to a treatment room.

Like Johnny, Roy was just wearing turnouts over his underclothes.  He'd left his coat in the squad.  The suspender had slipped from his right shoulder.  His trousers dipped slightly on that side and his rumpled white tee shirt had come untucked.  The waistband of his boxers showed in a thin, white sliver above the tan turnouts.  And he was tousled and sexy, sweetly concerned and absolutely innocent of the conversation that was taking place.

One of the nurses whickered softly and another whispered, "hi ho Silver!"

He caught up to them and took Joanne's hand.  "Hi, sweetheart."

She gave him a goofy grin.  "Hiya, Trigger!"

"Huh?"  He looked around.  "What's going on?"

"Johnny will tell you," Dixie said.

"Oh, no, Johnny won't!" Johnny countered.

"I was just telling the girls about Miriam's bridal shower," Joanne said.

Roy smiled down at her and brushed the hair off her forehead.  "That's nice.  You had a real good time, didn't you honey?"  He was under the impression that bridal showers were for eating delicate little cakes and talking about wedding gowns.

Joanne nodded and gestured towards his fly.  "Honey, take out your --"

Johnny slapped the mask over her face.  "Time to get Joanne back on oxygen!"

"I think we need to put Johnny on oxygen," Sharon said slyly.

Roy glanced at his partner and was concerned by what he saw.  "Johnny?  You okay?"

"Huh?  Oh, sure.  Yeah, sure!  Uh, why?"

"Why?  Because you look terrible!  Your face is all red and your eyes are dilated and you're sweating like crazy.  Did you get exposed to that truth serum too?"

"No . . . no . . . well, maybe indirectly . . . ."

"Well, maybe you'd oughta have somebody take a look at you."

"NO!" Johnny howled, jumping back and going into a half-defensive crouch.  "No!  No looks.  Nobody's looking at me.  And if you're smart, Roy, you won't let them look at you either!"

"Roy was exposed to that gas, too, wasn't he Miss McCall?" Sally asked, her voice just a trifle too innocent.  "Maybe we should keep them both for . . . observation."

Roy, distracted by Johnny's antics, glanced over.  "Who, me?  Oh, I'm fine."

"Yeah, we heard."

Dixie clapped her hands together.  "Okay, ladies.  We need to take this out of the hallway.  Let's take Joanne into treatment three so we can finish interrogating her before the truth serum wears off."

Roy, perceiving this as a joke, grinned down at his wife.  "Don't give away any big secrets, honey."

"Oh, I don't think I have any secrets," she said.

"Not anymore," Johnny muttered.

The women took Joanne into the treatment room and a moment later the ambulance attendants, still snickering, came out with the empty gurney and left.  Dixie kept Roy and Johnny out in the hall.

"Now, Roy, she's going to be fine.  You boys go on back to the station and finish out your shift and by the time you're off duty and back here, I'm sure the doctor will let you take her home and put her to bed."

"Do you think that'll be necessary?" he asked concerned.  "Putting her to bed, I mean."

"Oh, I think she'll insist on it."  Dixie turned away from him and addressed his partner.  "And as for you, John Gage --"  She put one hand on his shoulder, stood on tiptoe and whispered at length in his ear.

Johnny turned dead white and then flushed bright red.  "You wouldn't," he breathed.

Mischief in her eyes, she gave him a wolfish, gaping grin and nodded.  "Uh huh."  She patted his arm.  "Just think of it as an added job safety incentive."

With that she turned and went into the treatment room.  They could hear a female voice saying, "so, Joanne, what's the longest --".  The closing door cut off the question.  Roy was left with the suspicion that they were discussing bridal veils while Johnny was left with the dread certainty that they were not.  Johnny got Roy by the arm and dragged him towards the exit.

"Come on, man!  We've got to get out of here!"

"What's going on?"

"You don't want to know."

"Yeah, I do.  I really do!  I mean, after all, that's my wife in there!  And you!  Look at you.  I've never seen you so shook up.  At least tell me what Dixie said to you there.  I thought you were gonna pass out on me!"

"You wanna know what she said?  She said the next time I, or you, or we or us or one of us or both of us --"

"Yeah, yeah?"

"She said the next time we come in, I mean we get brought in, like we get hurt or blown up or smoke inhalation or something, and we're unconscious, she said . . . she said . . . ."  Johnny stopped and looked at Roy, weighed a strong desire to rant against an understanding of just how embarrassed his friend would be if he ever found out about the conversation that had taken place.  "You wanna know what she said, Roy?  Do you wanna know?  Do you really wanna know what she said?"

"Yes!"

Johnny stepped into Roy's personal space, got right in his face and looked him in the eye.

"You don't wanna know," he said, and walked away.

* * * *

"Johnny.  Johnny?  Come on, Johnny.  Time to wake up now."

Johnny opened his eyes and blinked the inside of one of the treatment rooms into focus.  "Ah, man."  There was an IV in his left arm and he reached his right up to gingerly rub his face.  "Anybody get the number of that bus?"

"No bus," Joe Early said.  "Just about a half a brick wall.  What do you remember?"

"Um . . . we were at a fire.  An old warehouse?  And Roy and I were searching the second floo-- Roy!  Where is he?  Is he all right?"

"Now, now.  Calm down.  Everything's okay.  Kel's got Roy in the next room, it looks like he's going to be okay.  We're still waiting on some tests, but I'd say the two of you got off lucky again."

"You think he's going to be okay?  Is he hurt?"

"Some.  You both were.  I'll tell you what, if you'll lay here quietly and not give Dixie any trouble, I'll run over and see if Roy's awake yet and try to find out how he's doing.  Okay?"

"Okay.  Hurry back?"

"Sure."

Johnny lay back and closed his eyes.  "Damn," he thought.  Here he was in Rampart again, and he'd been trying so hard to avoid that.  Then he remembered why he'd been trying so hard to avoid that.  But here he was, brought in unconscious, lying naked on a treatment table with only a thin sheet over him.  Slowly he opened his eyes and looked to Dixie, standing quietly beside him.  He focused on what she was holding and flushed bright red.

"You wouldn't!"  He said.  "You didn't!"

Dixie closed her right hand around the end of a twelve-inch long wooden ruler and tapped it against her left palm.  She gave Johnny an evil smile.  "Maybe.  Maybe not," she said.  "Either way, I'll never tell."

The End.

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