Cat and Mouse
A missing scene for “The Mouse”
It was only when Roy reached the ground floor, the female victim slung over his shoulder, that he realized what he'd done.
Johnny had been right behind him, he'd been sure of it. The explosion in the apartment complex had knocked his partner off his feet, but when Roy had called out to Gage with some alarm, he'd thought Johnny had mumbled an answer and he'd seen his partner begin to move. The victim was still unconscious, though, so Roy had turned his attention to her, carrying her out of the burning building and assuming that Johnny was following.
Only, he hadn't been, and Roy had just left his partner behind in a full blaze.
Roy's skin prickled cold in the face of the blinding heat, and he glanced around frantically for help. The cap could get someone up there to get Johnny out, or Chet would go—even with his avowed ongoing battle with Gage, Chet would have risked his life in a heartbeat for the paramedic—but there wasn't anyone close by to send. The victim was still motionless and unresponsive, and DeSoto had a duty to the public...but what about the duty to his partner?
Choking on the thought, he turned and awkwardly hurried toward the mouth of the complex and the knots of firefighters bringing in more equipment. This was ridiculous. Johnny wasn't going to die with several dozen firefighters around. Roy had a responsibility to his victim, but he could take a moment to find someone to send after Johnny.
"Hey, you need a hand?"
It was hard to hear the voice over the sounds of the fire, but Roy was a firefighter and tuned to that. Funny he'd been so oblivious to Johnny not following him out. Biting his lip, Roy half-turned to see who was offering.
Jake Anderson, one of the paramedics from 27. With a flash of private relief, Roy nodded and headed for Anderson. "Thanks." He could make sure the victim was tended to and get Johnny out himself.
Reaching Jake, between the two of them they eased the woman down onto a waiting stretcher. They were right next to 27's unit and Anderson's partner, Mauriello, was in the process of unloading their equipment. It wasn't abandoning his victim if she was in 27's purview, right?
Roy glanced at the paramedic next to him. "Could you take care of her? My partner's still inside."
Anderson gave him a surprised look, then glanced at the building, his broad, sunburned face creasing worriedly. "Yeah, sure," he answered. "Johnny never was very patient."
The joke fell a little flat but Roy didn't stay long enough to even pretend a smile. He was already turning back toward the scene, his thoughts rushing two steps ahead.
With a roar of burnt timber giving way, the roof of the complex crashed in, flattening several of the top floor apartments. Including the one he and Johnny had gone into after their victim. The one Johnny had never left.
Roy's stomach lurched. All he'd needed was two more minutes, just two, and now...
Sudden grief conspired with the smoke to make his eyes blur, and Roy almost missed the sight of a figure climbing down the ladder he'd descended a moment before. And flopped over the lemon yellow coat of the city firefighter was an unconscious county man, longish dark hair obscuring his face and "GAGE" stenciled in neat, upside-down letters on his tan turnout coat.
Roy went cold for the second time in five minutes. Then he was over by the rescuing firefighter before he'd even realized he'd moved.
"I'll take him."
The Pasadena fireman gave him a glance, saw his coat--or maybe his expression--and eased Johnny Gage's limp form over onto Roy. A quick touch of his helmet brim in acknowledgement and the unfamiliar firefighter was already scaling the ladder to return to his team before Roy even had a chance to thank him. If he'd have even been able to get the words out past the ever-growing lump in his throat.
And then he forgot the saving angel as he turned to more important matters at hand.
It was only a short, lopsided run to the squad, and Roy finally eased his partner to the ground beside it, near the apartment complex entrance. Finally. An unconscious prayer threaded through his mind as he ran through the routine: airway—uncompromised, and Johnny was breathing, though with a hoarseness that indicated some smoke inhalation. Putting on the oxygen mask only took half a minute, execution time whittled down by countless previous applications. Circulation—the beat was slower than normal but it was regaining normal rhythm even as Roy counted. His jaw started to unclench. Pupils looked good despite the trickle of blood down Johnny's temple, and the bp was close to Gage's average. Not even elevated to signal pain, but Roy ran experienced hands down all the gangly limbs, finding nothing.
It was as he traced over the ribs that Johnny's eyebrows drew together in a frown, then a wince. And then slightly muddy brown eyes were blinking at him.
Roy's heart was pounding much harder than his patient's, emotions ragged from the unusual oscillation between despair and hope, but he managed a calm, "Does that hurt?"
Johnny murmured something, frown deepening.
Roy leaned closer, "I didn't understand—what did you say?"
Gage reached up to remove the oxygen mask, which Roy promptly replaced. With a grimace, Johnny spoke up. "I said, that tickles."
Roy blinked at him, his heart's hammering dying down as he suddenly didn't know whether to walk off and let Johnny finish his own diagnosis or throttle his partner and then neither of them would have to worry about it. It was a choice he had to make pretty often, in fact. Roy picked his usual option, repressing a sigh and sitting back on his heels, wryly commenting, "I think you'll live."
From behind the mask, Johnny gave him a grin that was just weary enough to remind Roy that his partner still had some legitimate complaints even if his sense of humor had remained regrettably unaffected. Then Gage was turning on his side, struggling to push himself up into a sitting position.
Roy pushed him back down with a stern look and gentle hands. "You just stay there and rest a minute 'til I'm sure you're all right."
"I'm all right," Johnny grumbled back, voice muffled by the mask, but he was still drawing deep breaths of oxygen and coughing, wincing as he jarred what would no doubt be some spectacular bruises.
"They had to carry you out of there," Roy answered flatly. "Either you let me check you out or we'll let Doc Morton take a look at you at Rampart."
Johnny gave a mock shudder. "Anyone but Morton." His face was beginning to regain some color, and he watched Roy speculatively as DeSoto rechecked his vitals, then pulled up Johnny's shirt to visually check his ribs. "'They' carried me out? Who's 'they'?"
Roy shrugged, more intent than usual in his examination. "One of the Pasadena guys."
"Huh," was Johnny's brilliant response to that. His hand was on the oxygen mask now, lifting it each time he spoke. Roy ignored it. Gage was sounding less and less hoarse, barely coughing now, and the younger paramedic knew as well as Roy did when to use the O2.
"Move your arms and legs," Roy ordered, and Johnny obediently did, all of them moving with relative ease and no sign of discomfort from Gage. But Roy was very aware his friend was still watching him and he was uncomfortable with the penetrating gaze. For being an overgrown kid most of the time, Johnny Gage could be awfully perceptive when it came to his partner, and the last thing DeSoto wanted just then was Johnny figuring out what was bothering him. Besides, the younger man had to have put together by now that Roy had left him behind. What more was there to discuss?
All that was left was taping the cut on Johnny's forehead, which Roy did despite his partner's winces and muttered ouchs. Johnny asked about the lady, and Roy could at least tell him good news there—Jake had given him a thumbs-up sign when DeSoto had glanced over a minute earlier.
He wasn't ready for the next question, Johnny's eyes suddenly serious.
"I guess I almost bought it in there, huh?"
Roy slowed a little. That was the last thing he wanted to think about. "Yeah," he said quietly.
"You want to know what I'd have done if I were in your place?"
That stopped him altogether. Figured that Johnny knew. Roy often underestimated the thoughtful side of his partner, lulled by the childlike facade, but it was because of that depth that Johnny Gage had eventually become Roy's close friend as well as a trusted partner. Sometimes, like now, the frivolity fell away and Roy was reminded just why they had become so close.
It was what they risked every day on the job. What he'd almost left behind because he'd had to choose between duty and his best friend. Roy gave Johnny an intent look, wanting an answer very badly, and nodded once.
"Yeah."
"I'd have probably...thrown both of you over my shoulder and just...blew the flames out in front of me." Johnny waved a hand in front of him, demonstrating.
Roy stared at him, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. The answer was flip but Johnny's eyes were still serious. There was no answer and his partner was trying to tell him as much in his own inimical way, and that he wasn't holding it against Roy. It was a relief of some sort, and Roy gave him the appropriate grimace, shoving the oxygen mask back into place.
But it just wasn't enough.
The Pasadena fireman came over, introducing himself and then teasing Johnny, who answered back in kind. That was the usual coinage of conversation among firefighters, light banter to counter the life-and-death seriousness of their work. Johnny was more adept at it than Roy, growing more outrageous the more serious things became. And it was a gift Roy was grateful for far more than he'd ever have said. Sometimes it was all that made the bad times bearable.
But he barely listened this time, busy putting the equipment away until the city man said good-bye, only straightening then to add a belated greeting and thanks.
Johnny was already rattling on again, this time about the merits of Pasadena firemen, and Roy ignored him, heading for the squad.
Gage caught up within seconds, dispelling any lingering worries Roy had about his physical state, oxygen mask still clutched in his hand but now ignored. He cast Roy a dirty look without rancor, then helped him pack up the squad.
"You want to stop by Rampart and have one of the doctors take a look at you?" Roy asked as he shut one of the cabinet doors.
"Naw, I'm okay." Johnny’s voice remained a little raspy but he wasn't coughing any longer and his color was fine. Roy agreed with the diagnosis and just nodded, circling around to the driver's side of the squad and getting in as Johnny climbed into the passenger side. Another minute and they were headed back to the station.
One of those days, maybe he'd be making the trip alone. Roy wasn't one to dwell on the what-ifs, but it wasn't so much the dangers of their job that made his stomach knot. It was living afterwards with the thought that he hadn't done all he could to save his partner. Like having to choose between his duty and his partner's life. How did a man reconcile that?
"Roy?" Johnny said idly, his chin on his hand as he gazed out his side of the squad.
DeSoto gave him a sideways look. "Yeah?"
"You ever wonder what it would be like if we were plumbers?"
Roy blinked. Of all the things he'd expected Johnny to say, that was about the last on the list. Then again, his partner was nothing if totally unpredictable. "Plumbers?" he repeated blankly.
"Yeah," Johnny straightened, starting to grow animated as he usually did when warming to yet another harebrained idea. "You know, if instead of being called out to fight fires, we had to deal with...stopped-up drains and broken toilets."
Okay, now he was really lost, but that was pretty much par for the course with Johnny. "We'd keep better hours and get paid a lot more," Roy finally said.
His flat tone didn't deter Johnny a bit. A slight cough—nothing to worry about, Roy decided—and Johnny kept on as if Roy hadn't spoken. "It'd be a lot safer work—not much chance the house is gonna fall on you or you're going to run out of air while fixing drains." His hands moved, following his words. Sometimes Roy wondered if his partner wasn't part Italian.
But he sobered as Johnny's words sunk in. Sure there were a lot safer jobs out there. Most of them were safer, in fact. So that was the answer, getting some other job he'd never love half as much as firefighting and being a paramedic?
"I guess we wouldn't be able to be partners anymore—I don't think plumbers have partners. We'd probably hardly see each other."
"Is there a point to all of this?" Roy asked warily.
Johnny gave him a completely fake wounded look. "Hey, I'm just thinkin'. I wonder if we'd even be friends? There's nothing like trusting someone to watch your back to make people close."
"You're saying we wouldn't be friends if we didn't have to trust each other?" Roy flicked on the turn signal but the motion was automatic, his mind on the very strange conversation.
"No, I'm just saying that sometimes it takes a situation like that to find out who you can trust."
"And what if the person lets you down?"
"On purpose?"
"No." Roy answered before he even thought about it, and more vehemently than he'd have liked.
Johnny didn't seem to notice, giving an unconcerned shrug. "Then he's human. Can't expect more than a person trying their best, right?"
The world according to Johnny Gage. Sometimes Roy envied his partner's black-and-white way of looking at things. Then again, it sure made things simpler, didn't it? If Johnny wasn't worried about DeSoto growing careless with his partner's life, maybe that was an answer right there. And wasn't Roy usually the one warning Johnny not to blow things out of proportion?
He'd gotten lucky in more than just the trustworthiness of his partner.
"But only if we were firefighters instead of plumbers," Roy added slowly, chewing on a smile he didn't quite show.
Johnny's mouth curved into the beginnings of a grin, picking up on Roy's change of mood. "Or mailmen."
"Mailmen."
"I can't see you as a mailman, though," Johnny shook his head thoughtfully, "not with the way dogs don't seem to like you."
Roy was about to protest that dogs did so like him, when he realized he'd just be joining in Gage's lunacy. But then, that had probably been the idea. All he finally said was, "Maybe we should stop off at Rampart. I think you must've hit your head pretty hard, after all."
Johnny's mouth opened and then snapped shut again, and with a glare at Roy, he subsided into the corner of the seat to pout.
He couldn't help it any more. Leaning comfortably back in the seat, himself, Roy DeSoto grinned all the way back to the station.
The End
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