Disclaimer: Don't own 'em but sure enjoy using 'em. Definitely not makingany money from 'em...if I was, I wouldn't go in to work in the morning.

Author's note: I love a challenge. Especially this one. : )

A Trite Fright

By E51Writer

"Ouch! Damn it!!"

"Let me look at it, Johnny."

"Leave me alone, Roy."

"Turn around here, let me see."

"Roy - leave it alone."

"Oh, Gage have an owie?"

"Shut up, Chet."

"Hey, Marco, what's that Spanish word for with?"

"Con, Chet."

"Con?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, Gage, have ya heard this one?..."

"Johnny, Johnny con trite owie. How does your finger hurt?"

Johnny turned from the sink and faced the taunting fireman. "Have ya heard this one, Chet?..."

"Hickory Dickory Dock. You're an idiot, Chet"

With that, Johnny held up his injured finger to Chet. The men in the room didn't know whether to laugh or gasp at the sight. Johnny didn't give them a chance to do either - he quickly headed to the engine bay.

"What…?" Chet was left speechless.

"I think Johnny just shot you the bloody bird, Chet." Hank briefly chuckled. He quickly stopped laughing when he realized that there was quite a bit of blood on the bird. "Roy, go check on your partner, Pal."

Roy nodded as he turned to head off in the direction Johnny had just taken. The rest of the guys could hear him laughing as he exited the kitchen.

~*~*~

"Trite. That son of a…Trite! Nobody's ever used my name and the word trite in the same sentence." As he mumbled, Johnny opened the squad's equipment compartment. "Trite…”

"Let me help you with that."

Johnny looked up to see Roy reaching around him. "Did you hear what he said?"

Roy laughed.

"You think it was funny? Why don't you just go back…"

"Slow down, Junior. I'm not laughing at what Chet said. I'm laughing at what Cap said."

"Cap?" Johnny's mood suddenly changed.

"Yeah. Told Chet you gave him the bloody bird."

Both men laughed as Roy led Johnny to the back of the squad. "Sit down and let me look at it."

As if on cue, the tones sounded.

"Station 51, Station 110, warehouse fire. Sepulveda and Commerce. Time out 11:15."

"Shit, give me some gauze and tape. I'll wrap it on the way." Johnny was already closing up the boxes.

"Johnny, I don't think…"

"I'm fine, Roy. I'll wrap it and you can look at it later."

Hank responded to dispatch without even thinking. It was only after he confirmed the run that he turned to the squad. "Roy? Do I need…”

"No, Cap. See?" Johnny flashed his partially wrapped finger to his boss.

"You've been waiting for a long time to do that, haven't you you twit?!" Hank looked at Roy. Seeing his nod, he handed the call slip to Johnny. As he ran toward the engine, he swore he heard Gage laughing.

~*~*~

"Trite." Johnny's mood returned as he put the final piece of tape on his bandage.

"What's that?" Roy was immediately sorry that he asked - and that they were still a few blocks from the fire.

"That weasel said I was trite."

"No, he didn't. He said your injury was trite. Did you just call Chet a weasel?"

"Yeah, a little weasel. I've got a rhyme for him…"

"Rhyme?"

"Yeah, the one that ends with 'pop goes the weasel'. I'd like to pop that little weasel. Trite…"

Roy sighed with relief. The fire was within sight.

~*~*~

The engine stopped a short distance from the squad. Roy and Johnny grabbed their masks and tanks and headed towards Cap. Roy was in front of Johnny or he would have put a quick end to their involvement in the response.

Johnny grimaced as he tried to put the glove on his left hand. "Damn it." Not knowing what else to do, he used his right index finger to guide the middle finger on his left hand into its place in the glove. He sighed with relief when his hand was secured within the leather.

Hank turned toward the approaching paramedics. "No one's in there. Looks like you pulled fire duty on this run. Grab an inch and a half. Take the west side."

"You got the nozzle, Roy?" Johnny's voice carried a hopeful tone.

"Yeah, I'll take it."

The men headed toward the building - Roy in the lead. Johnny was relieved that he wouldn't have to be the one gripping the front of the hose on this day.

~*~*~

The 90 minutes of firefighting was followed by an equal amount of clean up time before the men of station 51 were released from the site.

"Damn, Gage, you sure are soft."

Johnny turned toward the taunting Chet. "Shut up, weasel."

Chet's head snapped up to look at his friend. "What did you just call me?"

Johnny laughed. "Nothing."

Chet watched Johnny wipe the sweat from his forehead. "I didn't think you called me anything, oh weak one. You're sweatin' like…"

"Like I've spent the last 3 hours putting out a fire and cleaning it up." Johnny glared at Chet. As he walked past the man, Johnny began humming - and laughing.

**What the hell is that tune? Hmmm, hmm, hmmm, hmm, hm, hm, hm, hmmmm…pop goes the weasel.**  "Hey!" Chet spun on his heels just in time to see the squad pulling away - with Johnny still laughing.

~*~*~

"Trite…" Johnny mumbled under his breath as he adjusted his gloves.

Roy rolled his eyes and frowned. **I'd like to pop that weasel Chet, too. Man, he has set me up for a long, long shift.** As his eyes rolled in Johnny's direction, his mouth fell open. "Hey there, Junior, what's with the gloves?"

"Huh? Oh. Just didn't take 'em off." Johnny's mind scrambled for a plausible excuse. "I was in a hurry to get away from Chet."

Roy glanced sideways at his partner again. He wasn't quite sure he bought the excuse. "Okay. Well, how 'bout taking 'em off now? You're sweating like we're still fighting that fire."

Johnny removed the right glove and was trying to make up an excuse for keeping the left on until they got back to the station when he was saved by the bell…or at least by dispatch. He grinned as he grabbed the mic to answer the call.

~*~*~

"Man, Gage sure is pissing me off."

"Why, Chet."

"With his rhyme at the station. And the one he was humming at the fire."

"Uh, Chet, I think you were the one who started with the rhymes."

"Yeah, but mine was funny. His have just been hurtful. He even called me a weasel."

"Well Chet, that's probably not quite as bad as being called trite."

"I didn't call him trite. I called his injury trite."

"Same thing."

"Oh come on, Marco. You have to admit, his injuries are getting boring. I mean, they are so commonplace that it's more of a surprise when he's not injured."

"You know he gets hurt more than the rest of us because he's the one who has to take the most risks on the job."

"Yeah, I guess that was a huge risk he was taking this morning when he was cutting the vegetables."

"Dios mio, Chet - that's not fair. You really hurt his feelings, you know."

"Yeah, well…"

Hank rolled his eyes as Mike glanced in his direction.

"Can't you stop that tiresome dialog back there?"

"Chet, give it up for a while, will ya Pal?"

"But, Cap…"

Hank was never so happy to hear the tones over the radio in his life.

~*~*~

"Station 51, MVA, 1500 block of Cassius, Time out 14:25."

"Engine 51, 10-4."

"Squad 51, 10-4."

~*~*~

"Man, we are never gonna get to eat lunch."

Roy couldn't help but notice the odd tone of relief in his partner's voice. **What's going on with you, partner?**

Johnny put his right glove back on.

~*~*~ 

"What the hell? How many cars you count, Mike?"

"Seven."

"Seven people are gonna have a bad day."

"Eight, Cap. The truck driver isn't going to have much fun either."

The men jumped off the engine and were quickly met by the guys from the squad.

"The truck driver is standing over there. You guys go check him out. We'll take a look in the cars just to be sure there aren't any other victims. Chet, grab a hose in case we need a wash down. I don't see any gas but ya never know."

As Johnny and Roy approached the truck driver, Vince came out of the supermarket near them.

"Johnny, Roy. I just gave the license plate id's to the last store on this block. I'd expect some unhappy people to show up shortly."

"The driver hurt?"

"No, he said he leaned over to try to catch his coffee cup as it fell from the dashboard. He took out seven cars before he was able to pull back into his lane."

"Oh man, my boss is gonna kill me." The truck driver was running his hand through his hair as he talked to the policeman.

"Let's not worry about that now. Are you hurt anywhere?"

The truck driver turned to see the two paramedics at his side. One was reaching for his wrist, the other was taking off his right glove. Slowly.

"Nah. I didn't get hurt at all. Not a cut or a bump. But I got a feeling I'm gonna have one helluva headache - and a huge pain in my ass when the boss gets done with me."

Johnny laughed as he leaned over and picked up what little equipment he and Roy had brought over to the man.

"Well, if you're not hurt…"

Roy turned and looked at Johnny - amazed that he was ready to abandon the victim so quickly. Johnny shrugged his shoulders at his partner.

"No, I'm not hurt at all. I'm fine. Sorry to bother you guys."

"Not a problem." Johnny smiled and nodded as he turned and headed toward the squad.

Roy shook his head and gave the ritual instructions to the truck driver. "If you start to feel bad, make sure you see your doctor…"

Johnny stowed the equipment and - without thinking - removed the right glove again. His mind began spinning as he again tried to think of a reason to keep his gloves on.

By the time Roy reached the squad, Captain Stanley was there.

"What's with the glove there, Pal?"

"I was just going to get to the bottom of that myself, Cap." Roy reached out to take Johnny's gloved hand.

"Nothing's 'with' the glove, Cap. Just haven't had time to take it off yet. C'mon, Roy, let's get back in the squad and make ourselves available."

"Nope - let me see it, Johnny."

"It's nothing, Roy. Just a little cut is all. I don't want to bore anyone. I know my injuries are too common - almost to the point of being tri..."
Johnny started to move towards the passenger door of the squad.

"Johnny…"

"No, Roy, really. It's not like it's a big deal. Just leave it alone."

"John, let Roy look at the finger. That's an order."

Chet and Marco walked over to see what was going on. From the look on Cap's face, it wasn't something very good.

"Cap…"

"I won't tell you again, John."

Johnny looked up at Chet and opened his mouth but quickly closed it. Just as quickly, he gave in to his anger - and fear - that had been building. "Get the hell out of here, Chet." The tone of Johnny's voice surprised everyone, even himself. "Trite." Johnny mumbled the last word under his breath.

"What's up with you, Gage? I come over here to find out…"

"You come over here to make fun of it again. Well, it's not something to make fun of." **Shit! Why'd I say that?**

"What the hell are you… "

"Chet! Enough. John - the glove."

Johnny's head dropped. "I can't."

"You are pushing my limits, Gage."

Johnny's head shot up. He knew Cap was a little beyond unhappy. "No, Cap, that's not what I meant. I…I can't."

Roy had his scissors out before anything else could be said. He began to cut the glove when he suddenly stopped. There was blood on the scissors. "Let's go sit down, Johnny." Roy led his friend to the back of the squad. Once Johnny was seated, he began cutting the glove again.

The engine crew gathered around the paramedics, equally dreading and anticipating the sight of Johnny's bared hand.

"Ugh." Johnny moaned when Roy reached the palm area.

"Hang on, Johnny, I've got to get the glove off." Roy made another cut and Johnny cried out in pain.

"Oh God, give me a minute, Roy." Johnny gasped for air in an effort to stop the bile rising in his throat. His sweating - which hadn't stopped since the fire - increased as he doubled over, his hand in his lap.

"Just breathe, Johnny. Slow it down. Chet, get me the drug box and the biophone."

"LA, engine 51."

"Go ahead, 51."

"LA, engine 51, we've got a code I at our location. Respond an ambulance."

"10-4, engine 51."

Chet returned with the requested equipment. As he set it on the ground next to Johnny, their eyes met. Chet silently apologized. Johnny gave a slight nod of his head before closing his eyes and enveloping his hand in the fold of his body again.

"Go ahead, 51."

Roy was relieved to hear Dr. Brackett's voice on the other end of the line.

"Rampart, we've got a 28 year old paramedic. He has some sort of cut to the middle finger on his left hand."

Brackett raised a quizzical eyebrow towards Dixie. He was just about to ask when Roy spoke again.

"Rampart, Johnny's hand is still in the glove. I've been trying to cut the glove off but he is in extreme pain. He is diaphoretic. Stand by for vitals."

"10-4, 51. Did you say his hand is still in the glove? Can you see how bad the cut is through the cut in the glove."

Roy frowned as he looked at his partner. "Negative, Rampart. The finger was cut before he put it in the glove." Roy waited for the doctor's
acknowledgement, hearing the evident frustration in his voice. He then set out to get a quick set of vitals which he relayed to Rampart. After receiving the anticipated orders, he started an IV with an MS bolus. Against his better judgment, Roy let Johnny remain sitting. **You're going to lay down as soon as that ambulance arrives, friend.**

"Rampart, victim is still in pain when I attempt to cut the glove."

"Wrap the finger tighter and transport, 51. We'll remove…"

"Oh shit!  Roy!!"

Roy turned at the panicked tone in his superior's voice. As if in slow motion, he watched as Johnny dropped his hand to the side, blood oozing over the edge of the cut leather. As Johnny began to topple sideways, Cap quickly moved in to hold him up.

"Roy?" Brackett was confused by Roy's lack of response to his last order. "Roy?"

"Chet, tell Brackett what's going on. Marco, grab a blanket. Cap, let's sit him down of the ground. When we have the blanket, we'll lay him down."

"Roy…"

"Yeah, Johnny?" He looked at the woozy paramedic.

"I don't feel so…"

Cap stepped to the side just in time to avoid being covered in what was left of Johnny's breakfast.

"He just vomited, Rampart." Chet listened to Brackett's request. "Okay, Rampart. Roy, Brackett wants a new set of vitals." Chet turned his attention back to the phone in his hand. "No, Rampart, the ambulance hasn't arrived yet."

"Chet, tell Rampart that Johnny's out. Here's the new vitals." Roy handed a slip of paper with the requested information to his station mate.

"Roy, this isn't a little injury, is it?" Cap couldn't believe that a little cut had gone this bad.

"No, Cap, there's nothing TRITE about it." Roy emphasized the word as he glared at Chet.

Chet swallowed before relaying Rampart's next order - Roy's words cutting him like the knife that had cut Johnny earlier. "Roy, Rampart says that since he's out, cut the glove off and apply a proper pressure bandage."

Roy nodded as he went to work. Blood spilled from the glove as he neared the finger. A collective gasp sounded throughout the group as the glove finally fell away and the crimson, blood-soaked bandages came into view. Roy sucked in a breath as he continued, cutting away the bandages. "Damn it, Johnny." Roy cussed under his breath as the wound came into sight.

"Oh, man! I can't believe that." Chet nearly lost his breakfast as well.

Roy quickly applied new bandages to Johnny's finger. "Chet, give me the biophone."

"Rampart, squad 51."

"Rampart, the glove and bandages were removed. I've reapplied pressure bandages. Rampart, be advised the cut is approximately 2 inches long, crossing the inside of the second knuckle. Bone and ligaments are exposed. It appears that there is ligament damage."

"10-4, 51. Has the ambulance arrived?"

"Affirmative, Rampart. It is just pulling up."

"Transport immediately, 51. Once in route, begin a second IV. D5W."

"10-4, Rampart. Transporting. IV in route." The men made quick work of getting Johnny loaded.

~*~*~

"Dix, get Rodgers down here. I want the best. If we're going to save the use of that finger…" Brackett let his thoughts trail off. "I'll be in 3." With that, Brackett left to prepare himself for the scene about to unfold.

~*~*~

"Ro…y…"

"We're on our way to Rampart, Johnny. You're going to be fine."

"Sor…ry."

"For what?"

"For not…tell…ing…you."

"Well, don't worry about that now."

"Tell him…I…did..n’t…mean it."

"What?"

"Chet. Weasel…did…n’t…mean…it."

"Yes, you did. And he deserved it after this."

"Nah…sor…ry…for the rhymes."

"He started it, Junior, or have you forgotten that?"

"Shit! Finger…hurts. More MS?"

"Not yet. Brackett wants to wait. You're going to have to have surgery on that, you know."

"Yeah. May..be he is…a wea…sel."

"Well, I know he's feeling pretty bad about what he said."

"What?"

"When he said…never mind."

"Trite. Called…the in…jury trite."

"Yeah. But just forget about it, Johnny. Forget about Chet right now."

"Tired, Roy."

Roy watched as Johnny lapsed into unconsciousness again. Thankfully, they weren't that far from Rampart.

~*~*~

"Any change, Roy."

"He came around for a while, Doc. I was surprised the amount of dialog he participated in. I thought it wouldn't end."

Dr. Brackett looked up - a question on his face.

"I mean. It went on and on. I was just surprised. Given his hand and all. I thought it would have stopped much sooner than it did."

Brackett nodded. **Must be going around. People around here have been talking non-stop, too.**  He let out a low whistle as he finished removing the bandages. Looking around the room, his eyes stopped when they met those of Dr. Rodgers. "Phil?"

"It's bad, Kel. But I think we'll be able to work with this. Good thing the knife was obviously sharp. Of course, this would have been easier if he'd have come in right away."

"Weasel." Roy's word was soft.

The surprised doctors turned and looked at Roy. Recognition crossed Roy's face as he interpreted the looks being thrown his way. "Chet. Chet's a weasel. Johnny was right. If it wasn't for Chet, Johnny would have been in here sooner." Roy only relaxed when he saw smiles cross the faces of the doctors. **Damn you, Chester B., you're even causing trouble for him now. Of course, I didn't mean to say that out loud. But everyone needs to know that you sure were a weasel on this one!**

~*~*~

Johnny rested in his room. His finger repaired. His spirits back to their normal level - a fact that could be more attributed to the pain meds than his actual condition. Although the news that with a few weeks of healing and a few more of rehab, he would be able to return to work once he satisfied a manual dexterity test greatly, buoyed his spirits as well.

His good mood remained even when Chet entered the room.

"Hi, Johnny."

Johnny's smile widened. **He still feels guilty. Johnny!** "Hey, Chet. Come on in."

Chet walked across the room and stopped next to the bed. "Man, that's some bandage you've got there. What's that board for?"

"I have to hold my hand up for at least 15 minutes every hour. It's easier to have something to rest it on."

"Oh yeah. That makes sense. So, how ya feeling?"

"Pretty good, Chet, pretty good. Something's been nagging at me though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know that Ole King Cole rhyme? What's the line about the pie?"

"You mean 'four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie'?"

"Yeah, yeah. That's it."

Chet didn't ask. And Johnny didn't explain.

The small talk continued with Chet filling in Johnny on the happenings around the station. As Johnny started to tire - his eyelids becoming heavy - Chet wished his friend well and assured him he'd be back soon. Watching Johnny finally close his eyes, Chet turned and headed out of the room.

Johnny opened an eye as soon as he felt Chet take a step away from the bed. Repositioning his arm, he rested his elbow on the board and turned the back of his bandaged hand toward Chet. When Chet was within a couple steps of the door, Johnny closed his eye and spoke, "big and bandaged white bird only for Chet's eyes."

Chet hesitated for a moment before turning around. He stared, wide-eyed, at the 'sleeping' Johnny - the glistening white bandages on his middle finger clearly flipping him the bird. A smile slowly crossed his face as he turned towards the door again. As he opened it, he called over his shoulder. "Trite, Gage, really, really trite."

When the door closed, both men broke into laughter.

~*~*~

The end

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