Do The Hustle

By Becca

"Gage!"

Johnny stopped short at the sound of Dr. Morton's voice following him down the E.R. hall. He turned and placed a hand on his chest, affecting his best "who me?" expression. Morton waggled "come here" with his finger, signaling him back to the nurse's station. Gage shot a puzzled glance at Roy, who simply shrugged, then turned and headed toward the physician.

"Did I forget something?" Gage asked, casually flipping through the supplies he had cradled in one arm.

"In a way," Morton replied. "You forgot to tell me why you're limping."

"Limping? What do you mean? I'm not limping."

"Now look, Gage, I'm a doctor, remember? I can tell when someone is limping."

"But …"

"No `buts'. While Dr. Brackett is away at the medical convention, he instructed me to look after all the paramedics. And that includes you," Morton stated firmly.

"I know that. But I am not limping! There's nothing wrong with me, right Roy?"

"Don't ask my opinion," Roy answered, "I don't think you'll like it." He had noticed his partner's limp, too, but hadn't had a chance yet that busy morning to ask him about it. He knew Johnny would deny the problem any way.

"Great," Johnny muttered, feeling the rope in this tug-of-war slip from his grasp.

"Look, just humor me," Morton pressed. "Let me take a look at you, and if I don't find anything, I'll admit that you were right and I was wrong."

Johnny sighed as Dr. Morton and Roy steered him not-so-subtly to the nearest exam room. Reluctantly, he sat on the edge of the gurney and gazed skyward as Morton hiked up the leg of Johnny's pants.

"Mm-hmm," Morton hummed smugly. Gage's right ankle was wrapped with an Ace bandage. Underneath it, the ankle was obviously swollen and purple. Johnny winced as the doctor palpated it gently.

Roy, who had been leaning against the exam room counter, was also surprised at the sight. "Johnny, how did that happen?" he asked.

"Look, it's nothing, really," Gage implored. "I just twisted it. It feels fine now anyway."

"And that's why you were limping," Morton retorted.

"I was not …," Gage's voice trailed off as his eyes met Morton's unyielding stare.

"Fine," Morton said. "Now that we have that settled, will you please tell me how this happened? I do have other patients, you know."

"I don't believe this," Gage said to himself. "He drags me in here against my will and then complains that I'm taking up his time!"

"So?" Morton asked impatiently. He leaned against the counter next to Roy and folded his arms sternly.

"Well, um, I was, you see, there was this, uh …," Johnny stuttered.

Morton leaned over toward Roy, "I'll bet you lunch that this story is going to involve a female," he whispered. They both chuckled.

"Well, do you want to know, or not?" Gage fumed.

"Okay, okay," Roy said, stifling a laugh. "What happened?"

"I sprained my ankle in my [inaudible] class last night."

"Your `what' class?" Morton prodded.

Johnny was mortified. "My disco dance class," he sighed. "I stepped the wrong way and landed on someone's foot. My ankle just turned under me."

Dr. Morton and Roy looked at each other and burst out laughing. Johnny didn't see what was so darn funny. Morton caught the angry expression on his young patient's face and worked to suppress his laughter. With forced seriousness, he turned his attention back to the injured joint, attempting some gentle range-of-motions. Johnny let out a moan.

The silence was now thick in the exam room. Gage knew he would never live this one down. How could he possibly explain taking disco lessons, not just to his partner, but more importantly to the brusque E.R. doctor with no bedside manner?

"You see," he started, "There's this girl …"