False Positive

 

By Peggy

 

 

October 2000

 

___________________________

 

Author's Notes: A big thank you to the usual suspects. You know who you are.

 

___________________________



"You're late, Gage."

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Johnny brushed past Chet and headed for his locker. "Traffic," he sighed. "You know how it gets when it rains."

 

Kelly nodded knowingly. "Gonna be a busy day. Lots of accidents."

 

"Don't remind me." Gage stripped off his damp street clothes and dressed for work as quickly as he could. He was still the last one to get in line for roll call. To his amazement, Captain Stanley didn't say anything, just gave him a long, strange look and began handing out the day's assignments.

 

It was, as predicted, a busy morning. There was just something about the rain that seemed to bring out the worst in people, Johnny thought as he struggled to start an IV on a combative patient. The man had apparently added a little vodka to his orange juice at breakfast and then driven straight into a telephone pole on his way to work. "Ow! Damn!" Gage exclaimed as the patient's fist glanced off his jaw.

 

"You okay?" Roy asked, jumping into the fray and helping subdue the reluctant patient.

 

"Yeah, I think…" Johnny paused in mid-sentence and slipped a finger in his mouth. He probed a minute, then hissed in pain and frustration as he found what he was looking for.

 

"Your cap fall off again?"

 

"Yeah," Gage pushed the recalcitrant piece of dental work back into place, wincing as he did so.

 

"When are you going to get that thing fixed?"

 

"End of the week."

 

The week before, Johnny had broken a tooth on a piece of saltwater taffy brought back from the Stokers' Atlantic City vacation. The dentist had put a temporary cap on until a permanent crown could be made. Unfortunately, the cap wouldn't stay in place. This was at least the fifth time it had popped off. It had been just another unpleasant event in a long string of such events that had been plaguing him of late.

 

He'd been stood up by a date, left sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant eating breadsticks and trying to look inconspicuous. Then there'd been a fender bender on the way to work. The upstairs neighbor who had a new girlfriend and 'entertained' her every night: loudly. The broken tooth. A string of difficult, dangerous or just plain annoying rescues. And now this: miserable weather,

a patient who thought he was Mohammed Ali and the beginnings of yet another toothache. The day couldn't possibly get any worse, Gage thought as he helped DeSoto bundle the now snoring patient into the ambulance.

 

~**~

 

Captain Stanley was waiting for them when they got back to the station, a grim expression on his face. "John, I need to see you in my office." He turned and walked away without a backward glance.

 

"What did you do?" Roy asked with a teasing smile.

 

Johnny shrugged helplessly. "Ya got me. I was a couple minutes late this morning but Cap usually doesn't make a big deal out of that. He's been giving me these weird looks all morning though. Did you notice?"

 

"People give you weird looks all the time." DeSoto pulled out the drug box and began restocking it with the supplies they'd picked up while they were at Rampart.

 

"Oh, ha ha." Johnny slipped off his damp jacket and draped it over the side mirror of the squad.

"Guess I better go see what he wants. Be right back." He made his way to Stanley's office and rapped on the open door.

 

"Come in and close the door." Cap's voice was uncharacteristically gruff. "Sit down."

 

Johnny sat, confused and a little nervous. "Cap, I'm sorry I was late this morning but …"

 

"This has nothing to do with that," Hank cut him off. "You failed your drug test. You tested positive for cocaine."

 

Gage stared at his superior, dumbstruck. "S-say that again," he finally stammered.

 

"You tested positive for cocaine."

 

"No!" he protested, jumping to his feet. "That can't be right, Cap. It must be a mistake."

 

"The results came in this morning," Hank said quietly. "I couldn't believe it so I called the hospital and asked them to run it again. There's no mistake, John. I'm sorry, but as of now you're suspended without pay pending an investigation."

 

"B-but, Cap," Johnny struggled to get the words out. "You know me! You know I wouldn't do this!" He slapped his chest for emphasis. "I've never touched drugs! I hardly even drink. You know that!"

 

The older man's voice was quiet, almost defeated. "They ran the test twice."

 

"Well then the test is wrong! Maybe -- maybe they got the samples mixed up at the lab."

 

Hank shook his head. "You know that's impossible. There is a very specific procedure to make sure that doesn't happen. That's why they label the specimen jar with your name and social security number right in front of you. And I called the lab personally and made them double check it. The sample was yours."

 

"It can't be. It just -- there has to be an explanation for this." Gage looked at the captain beseechingly.

 

"Believe me, I'd love to hear it," Hank sighed. "You don't think I like doing this, do you?"

 

"No, of course not." Johnny slumped back into his chair and ran a weary hand through his hair. "Cap, look, I don't know what happened, but I swear to God I have never touched cocaine. Never. You have to believe me."

 

"I want to, Johnny. I really do. But for now, my hands are tied. You know the policy as well as I do. You're suspended for..."

 

Gage held up a hand, interrupting his captain. "Yeah, I know," he said dispiritedly. "I was on the committee that set up the protocols, remember?" They were silent for a long, uncomfortable minute, neither of them knowing quite what to say. Finally, Johnny heaved himself up out of the chair and started for the door. "Should I -- should I wait for my replacement or should I go now?"

 

"You can go now," Stanley's reply was so low it was almost inaudible. "Bellingham is on his way in to relieve you. I'll stand down the squad until he gets here."

 

Gage nodded silently and left the room in a daze. He slipped out of the office and into the engine bay where Roy, still restocking the squad, called out to him. Johnny ignored him, pushing through the door into the locker room and tugging off his uniform shirt. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely manage the necessary buttons and zippers but finally, mercifully, he was out of uniform and in his street clothes. Slamming his locker shut he whirled toward the door and ran straight into Roy.

 

"Johnny, what's going on? What are you doing?"

 

"Goin' home."

 

"In the middle of a shift? Are you sick?"

 

Johnny shook his head and tried to push past his partner, who was blocking the doorway. He felt like he was going to fall apart and he wanted to get the hell out of the station before he did. But DeSoto was unmoving.

 

"Then what's going on?"

 

"Not now," Johnny shook his head again, refusing to meet the other man's eyes. "I can't talk about it now. I need to get out of here."

 

"But, Johnny, you can't just walk out in the middle of a shift!"

 

"I can when I've been suspended."

 

"Suspended?" Roy stared at him, eyes wide with shock. "Why?"

 

"My drug test." Gage drew in a shaky breath. "I tested positive for cocaine."

 

"You -- you -- Johnny, that's crazy!"

 

"Yeah, that's what I said," Johnny kept his eyes trained carefully on the toes of his partner's boots. "Roy, man, I gotta -- I'm suspended, okay? I gotta get out of here."

 

"But, Johnny …"

 

"Roy, please! I have to go!"

 

DeSoto must have recognized the panicked edge to the younger man's voice because he stepped aside, allowing Johnny through the door. "This has to be a mistake," he said quietly. "We'll figure it out."

 

Gage was silent, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

 

"Johnny," Roy's voice became insistent. "I know you. I know you wouldn't use drugs. We'll figure this out. I'll call you later, okay?"

 

Johnny nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and fled the building.

 

~**~

 

It had all started the previous year when Bob Harvey drove Engine 8 into the side of a tractor trailer, setting off a massive chain reaction accident that killed two people: Bob and a teenager driving to school in a second hand Volkswagen. The tiny car was literally torn apart and so was its young occupant. An autopsy revealed that Harvey had marijuana in his bloodstream at the time of the accident. The news set off a firestorm of bad press. The top brass at the fire department had acted swiftly, instituting mandatory drug testing for all personnel. Gage and DeSoto had been part of the committee that had established the system.

 

Each month, ten firemen were chosen at random and ordered to report to Rampart within twenty-four hours for a drug test. A positive test resulted in automatic suspension for a period of two weeks. At some point during that two-week period, the fireman would be given the opportunity to take a repeat test, again on short notice. If he failed a second time, he was dismissed.

 

Agreeing to sit on the committee had been an easy decision for John Gage. Others who'd been asked to participate had declined, wanting to distance themselves from the whole messy affair or not wanting to be in any way responsible for a fellow firefighter losing his job. But Gage had no such qualms. He was as loyal to the department and his coworkers as anyone, but he'd seen the damage that drug use could do first hand.   He'd never touched drugs, never even been tempted.  Except for an occasional beer with the guys or a glass of wine while dining out with a date he seldom drank. As a result, the mere suggestion that he would take cocaine was appalling to him.

 

Gage drove home from the station with a heavy heart. He knew he was innocent, knew it had to be a mistake, but for the life of him, he didn't know how to prove it.

 

~**~

 

"You didn't answer your phone last night."

 

"And good morning to you too." Johnny stepped aside, allowing Roy to enter his apartment.

 

"I was worried about you."

 

"Sorry. I just didn't feel like talking to anyone, ya know?"

 

"It's okay," DeSoto nodded understandingly. "So, you got any coffee? I brought breakfast." He waved the white bakery bag in his hand.

 

"You got a raspberry filled donut in there, by any chance?"

 

"You know I do."

 

"Then I've got coffee. Grab a seat."

 

They settled at the tiny kitchen table. Johnny poured himself a glass of milk, sat a cup of coffee in front of his partner and dug into the bag. "This is great, Roy," he mumbled around a mouthful of donut. "Thanks."

 

"You're welcome." DeSoto's eyes were filled with concern as he asked, "Are you okay?"

 

Johnny shook his head and swallowed a huge mouthful of donut. "No," he said finally. "I mean, I'm not sick or anything. I'm just …" he trailed off with a helpless shrug.

 

"You get any sleep last night?"

 

"Not much." Johnny played with the remains of his breakfast, tearing the last donut into shreds. "Roy, I hope you know I didn't …"

 

DeSoto stopped him with a raised hand. "You don't even have to say it, Junior."

 

Johnny ducked his head, embarrassed by his friend's unwavering support. "Thanks. I'm glad someone believes me."

 

"Johnny, anyone who knows you knows this has to be a mistake."

 

"Cap didn't seem so sure."

 

"Cap's just doing his job," Roy reminded him gently. "You know the regulations. He had no choice. And it wasn't easy for him either. After you left yesterday afternoon, he stayed in his office for hours with the door shut."

 

Gage pushed the remains of the last donut away and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Roy, how the hell did this happen? If it wasn't a mix-up at the lab, if they didn't have the wrong sample, then how the hell did I test positive for cocaine?"

 

"Don't get upset, but I called Brackett last night …"

 

"Me too," John interrupted with a wan smile. "Great minds think alike. He probably told you the same thing he told me. A form of cocaine is used as an anesthetic and if you have it you can test positive for several days afterward. But Roy, it's usually used for surgery on the eyes or nose and I haven't had either."

 

"But what about the dentist? You had the broken tooth fixed the day before you took the test."

 

"Don't you think I thought of that?! But no such luck. I only had Novocain."

 

"Can you think of anything else? Any other way the cocaine could have gotten into your system?"

 

Johnny shook his head. "No. And believe me, I've tried." He swirled his finger through the ring of condensation left by his milk glass. "What am I gonna do? If I get kicked out of the department, I mean? This is the only thing I know how to do."

 

DeSoto grabbed the younger man's hand, stilling his nervous movements. "That's not going to happen."

 

"I wish I could be as positive as you." John shook off Roy's hand, pushed away from the table and walked to the window. It was raining again and he watched morosely as the water trickled down the glass. "I have to be realistic here. Even if the second test is negative people aren't going to forget the positive one. I might keep my job but I'll have no hope of advancement. Hell, they probably won't even let me be a paramedic. Can't have a suspected drug addict handling narcotics, can you?"

 

"Come on, Johnny, don't do this," Roy pleaded. "We'll figure this out. We'll clear your name."

 

"How? How are we going to do that? I know I didn't use cocaine. You know I didn't. But the test says I did! And when the chips are down, people are going to believe the test over me. So, I'll ask you again: what the hell am I gonna do now? I'm thirty years old. I never went to college. I don't know how to do anything except this. And who's gonna hire an ex-hose jockey with a coke habit?"

 

He didn't even remember slamming his right fist into the wall, but suddenly Roy was at his side, cradling the injured hand in both of his.

 

"You're bleeding," DeSoto turned on the water and gently washed the skin that had split over his partner's knuckles. "Hold that under there, okay? I'm going to get some bandages."

 

Gage nodded miserably. He flexed his hand cautiously and gasped in pain.

 

"What?" Roy was back, the first-aid kit from Johnny's medicine cabinet in his hands.

 

"Nothing. It's fine."

 

"Let me see." Roy palpated the injured hand gently. "I don't think it's broken but you might need a couple of stitches here. We better run over to Rampart and get it checked out."

 

Gage groaned and dropped his chin down onto his chest. He absolutely did not want to go to Rampart. But he knew how persistent Roy DeSoto could be. It was a waste of time to argue. "Yeah, okay," he replied wearily. "Let's get it over with."

 

~**~

 

Over the years, John Gage had walked through the doors of Rampart General Hospital more times than he could count, first as a fireman, then as a paramedic and unfortunately, sometimes as a patient. While there had certainly been times he was less than pleased to be walking through the doors, there'd never been a time he was ashamed to do so. Until he walked in, his injured hand cradled

against his chest and found himself face to face with Squad 14's B shift paramedic team.

 

"Hey, Gage," Sam Prentiss, normally outgoing and eager to talk, shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and directed his greeting somewhere in the vicinity of Johnny's left ear. His partner, Howie Thompson, said nothing at all. He just stared at Gage through narrowed eyes and snapped his gum.

 

"Hey, guys. How's it going?" Johnny did his best to sound nonchalant. "Busy day?"

 

"Yeah, we've only been on duty two hours and we just brought in our third victim. Guy was high as a kite before breakfast, if you can believe..." Prentiss froze, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi. He rocked back on his heels and stared at the floor as if the tiles were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen.

 

Thompson still said nothing; he'd swallowed his gum and was too busy coughing.

 

Just as the uncomfortable pause that followed was about to become unbearable, Roy spoke up. "We'd better go get that hand looked at, Johnny."

 

Prentiss saw his way out and jumped on it eagerly. "Oh, um, yeah. Hey, didn't mean to hold you guys up. And, uh, duty calls." He nudged Thompson none too gently. "Come on, Howie, we better get back to the station. You, take care, Gage. Hope your hand's okay. See you around."

 

And they were gone.

 

Johnny sagged against the nearby wall and hung his head. "Shit," he said quietly. "The word's out already. I might as well just hand in my resignation right now."

 

"Come on, Johnny, don't …"

 

"Don't what? Don't get upset? Don't let them get to me? Don't let it bother me that my career is over?" His voice was getting steadily louder and people were beginning to stare but he didn't give a damn. "Don't worry that half the department already thinks I'm a drug addict?"

 

"Johnny …"

 

"Hey, guys." Dixie McCall appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and laid a hand on Johnny's forearm. "What can I do for you today?" Her expression was pleasant, her voice sweet if a bit strained, but her hand on Johnny's wrist was like a steel band. When he tried to jerk away in annoyance, she dug her nails in ever so slightly and her smile became positively saccharine. "Looks like you hurt yourself, Johnny. Why don't we find you a nice quiet exam room?"

 

His anger cooled swiftly, and was just as swiftly replaced by embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled as Dix led him into room three.

 

"It's okay." This time the nurse's smile was genuine.

 

~**~

 

Mike Morton clipped the x-rays up on the view box and studied them intently. "No fracture."

 

"Well, I already knew that," Johnny grumbled.

 

Shooting him an irritated look, Morton snapped off the view box light. "Just a bad bruise. It'll probably hurt for a while but you know what to do. Tylenol for the pain, ice for the swelling and so on."

 

Gage nodded and started to slide off the exam table.

 

"Whoa, hold on a minute." Morton put a restraining hand on the paramedic's arm. "I'm not done with you yet."

 

"But you just said …"

 

"I know what I just said. But you, my friend, aren't going anywhere until I put a couple stitches in that laceration."

 

Johnny glanced at his hand. The skin had split over the knuckle of his third finger but it didn't look particularly deep to him. "Is that really necessary, Doc?"

 

"The wound is over a joint. If we don't stitch it, it's just going to keep reopening as you move your hand. It'll never heal. Two stitches, Gage. It'll take me five minutes."

 

"Yeah, okay." Johnny sank back down onto the table with a weary sigh and closed his eyes. He heard Dixie bustling around the room setting up the suture tray, heard Morton and Roy conversing in quiet tones over in the corner. "Guess I know what they're talking about," he mused silently. "Is there anyone in L.A. County who hasn't heard the news yet?"

 

Rampart was a lot like a small town. Everyone knew everyone else's business and gossip spread like wild fire. The same went for the tight knit community of the fire department and this was a particularly juicy piece of gossip. But it galled him that word had spread so far and so fast. He'd only found out sixteen hours ago for heaven's sake! But worse yet was how eager everyone seemed to be to believe it. Prentiss and Thompson had believed it. Dr. Morton believed it. Gage had seen it in the other man's eyes the minute he'd walked into the room.

 

"Okay, Mike, all set," Dixie announced. "If you can handle it from here, I'm going to go see if Joe needs help with that burn patient in room four." The nurse squeezed Johnny's uninjured hand and whispered, "Hang in there."

 

"Thanks, Dix," he said quietly, returning the squeeze without opening his eyes.

 

Roy left the room soon after Dixie, off to find a phone and let Joanne know where he was and when he'd be home. Johnny opened his eyes reluctantly and found himself alone with Dr. Morton. "Go ahead, Doc. Say what's on your mind."

 

Mike had the good grace to look embarrassed as he injected some Lidocaine into Gage's hand and pulled on a pair of gloves. "There are people who can help you. Rampart has a good drug treatment program."

 

"I don't need a drug treatment program," Johnny said quietly as he felt the tug of the needle piercing

his flesh.

 

"I had a friend in med school," Morton plowed on as if he hadn't heard the other man speak. "He was a good guy, would have made a great doctor but the pressure got to him. He started out small, amphetamines so he could pull all night study sessions before tests, then sedatives to help him sleep. Next thing we knew he was using cocaine. We begged him to get help and he said no. Said he could kick it on his own. It's harder than you might think, Gage. Certainly was harder than my friend thought. He died of an overdose two weeks before graduation."

 

"Well, I'm sure sorry about that, Doc. But I don't need a treatment program."

 

"Gage, I'm just trying to help you."

 

"I don't need your help," Johnny snapped in frustration. He knew Morton meant well but it annoyed him that the doctor was so quick to judge.

 

Morton shook his head resignedly and was silent as he tied off the last suture and bandaged the wound. Snapping off his gloves, he reeled off the wound care instructions in a defeated monotone. "Keep that clean and dry. Watch for signs of infection. You know what to look for. Come back if there's a problem. If not, just pull those stitches out in ten days."

 

"I will." Johnny pushed himself up off the table and headed for the door. He paused in the doorway and glanced back. "Doc, I appreciate what you're trying to do, honest. But I don't need any help because I'm not a drug addict."

 

"You can't deny it forever."

 

"Yeah, I can. Because I'm telling you the truth. I've never used cocaine. Hell, I've never even smoked a joint."

 

"But, Johnny, I saw the test results."

 

"The results are wrong."

 

"That's not possible."

 

"So everyone keeps telling me," Johnny laughed mirthlessly and pushed through the door. He knew he was supposed to sign discharge papers, knew Roy was around somewhere waiting to drive him home, but he didn't care. He needed to get out of Rampart, away from the whispers and the stares and he needed to do it now. He shouldered his way through the crowded hallway and out the door into the parking lot. It had stopped raining but the ground was still wet and he splashed through the puddles at a pace just short of a run.

 

He was nearly a mile down the road toward home before he noticed the car just over his left shoulder, keeping pace with him and holding up traffic. Roy. Their eyes met briefly and DeSoto flipped on a turn signal, easing over to the curb.

 

"Sorry," Johnny murmured as he slid into the passenger seat.

 

"It's okay."

 

"It's not. You've been a good friend, Roy and I..." Johnny broke off, his throat tight. "Sorry," he mumbled again.

 

Roy's hand, large, rough and warm, settled on the back of Johnny's neck. "It's okay," the older man repeatedly firmly. "I understand. We're gonna get through this, Junior. I promise." He punctuated his words with a gentle squeeze of his hand "You want to come home with me for a while? Jo's making stroganoff for lunch and Jen's home from school with a cold. I know she'd love to see her Uncle

Johnny. How about it?"

 

All John wanted to do was go home and lick his wounds in private. But he didn't want to hurt his friend's feelings so he nodded his agreement.

 

"Good." Roy gave his neck another squeeze before returning his hand to the steering wheel. "Let's go home."

 

~**~

 

Agreeing to spend the afternoon with the DeSoto's turned out to be the best decision John Gage had made all day. Joanne's warm welcome and firm belief in his innocence combined with young Jennifer's open adoration did his battered psyche a world of good. After lunch, the first real meal he'd had since the ordeal began, Johnny pitched in to help Roy with some repair work. Shoring up the sagging railing on the back porch and preparing it to be painted was actually rather tedious work, but it felt good to do something after spending most of the previous day and night feeling sorry for himself. By the time they'd finished, school was out and Chris DeSoto was home. Johnny spent an hour in the backyard, tossing a baseball with the boy and before he knew it Joanne was calling them in to supper.

 

By the time he'd helped Chris with his homework and read Jen not one, but three, bedtime stories, it was nearly nine-thirty. Roy drove him home and they rode in companionable silence for most of the trip.

 

"Thanks a lot, Roy," Gage said as he climbed out of his partner's car. "For everything. And thank Jo for putting up with me all day, would you? "

 

"You're one of the family, Johnny. You're welcome any time. I hope you know that."

 

"I do," Johnny replied with a smile. "G'night, Roy."

 

"Good night, Junior. Get some sleep."

 

"Tonight, I think I will."

 

~**~

 

Fueled by the support of his best friend and the return of warm, sunny weather, Johnny's spirits stayed high for the next few days. The fact that he'd be getting the call to take the repeat drug screen any day -- and that his future depended on the results -- lingered in the back of his mind but he refused to dwell on it. Instead he kept himself busy, helping Roy paint his porch and cleaning his own

apartment until it sparkled. On Friday, he went to the dentist and got his tooth fixed. About time, he reflected, as he drove home. The damn temporary cap had been a thorn in his side all week.

 

And to add insult to injury, it had come loose and flown out of his mouth in the middle of dinner the night before. And, of course he'd been out on a date when it happened. Sonya, who worked at the grocery store around the corner from his apartment building, had been a good sport about it.

 

"I had braces when I was in high school," she'd informed him cheerfully as she rinsed the runaway cap in her water glass and handed it back to him. He'd accepted it, face flaming with embarrassment, as she'd continued. "You know, the kind with the rubber bands on them? Those darn bands would pop out at the most embarrassing times."

 

Sonya was great. She worked at the grocery store and went to college part time, studying to be a CPA. It had taken him weeks of pouring on the charm to persuade her to go out with him and they'd ended up having a wonderful time. If his lip and half his tongue weren't still numb, he'd swing by the grocery store and ask her out again. Maybe later, he thought, as he pulled into his parking space. Maybe when he could speak properly, he'd walk down to the store, buy the makings of a romantic dinner and invite Sonya back to his place when she got off work. Maybe he'd buy the makings of a romantic breakfast while he was at it.

 

The phone was ringing as he let himself in the door. He dashed for it. "He'o?" Johnny cringed. Damn Novocain. The permanent cap hadn't fit quite right and the dentist had been forced to reshape the tooth to accommodate it. As a result, he now sounded like Elmer Fudd.

 

It was the call he'd been waiting for all week. "John Gage?"

 

"Yeth." He cringed again. God, he sounded ridiculous.

 

"This is Bonnie calling from Chief Montgomery's office at LACFD headquarters. The Chief asked me to inform you that you have twenty-four hours to report to Rampart General Hospital for your mandatory drug screen."

 

Johnny acknowledged her using as few words as possible and hung up the phone with a sigh of relief.

Thank God, he thought to himself. He was eager to take the test, prove his innocence and get on with his life. He glanced at his watch. Almost eleven. The Novocain would be wearing off in an hour or so. He'd wait it out, have some lunch and head for Rampart.

 

~**~

 

After a quick stop at the out-patient registration desk, Johnny made his way to the lab. He told the bored young woman at the reception desk why he was there and soon found himself on his way to the bathroom with a specimen bottle in hand.

 

"Johnny, wait!"

 

He paused, one hand on the doorknob, and turned back. Dr. Brackett was headed toward him with a determined expression on his face. "Hey, Doc. What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing's wrong. I got the notification from the fire department that you'd be in and I ask the lab to give me a call when you arrived. I want to supervise this personally just to ensure there are no mistakes."

 

"You want to watch me pee?"

 

"No," Brackett laughed, putting an arm around the younger man's shoulder and leading him down the hall. "I don't want you to give a urine sample at all. I want to do a blood test. It's a lot more accurate."

 

"And a lot more expensive. I don't think the department is going to pay for it and I can't afford it."

 

"I talked to the chief this morning and it's all taken care of."

 

"It is? Well, great. Thanks, Doc."

 

"I'm glad to do it." Brackett ushered him into a one of the small cubicles where blood was drawn and introduced him to the med tech on duty. "Jeff, I'm going to draw the blood and label the collection tubes myself. I'd like you to supervise this from start to finish, okay? I don't want any mistakes or any mix ups on this one."

 

"I'll take care of it," the tech promised, handing Brackett the needle and collection tubes he'd need.

 

Johnny shifted uncomfortably as Brackett swabbed the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad. "Hey, um, Doc? How long has it been since you've drawn blood?"

 

"It's been a while," the doctor admitted, tightening the rubber tourniquet around his nervous patient's arm.

 

"How long's a while?"

 

"Not that long. Now hold still," Brackett admonished with a chuckle. He slid the needle easily into the vein and drew the necessary blood. "There, all done. Haven't lost my touch." Brackett labeled the test tubes carefully, holding them up when he was done. "Okay, we're all witnesses. This blood sample came from John R. Gage, social security number 203-84-1603. Agreed?"

 

"Agreed," Jeff chimed in.

 

Gage nodded. "Yeah, it's mine."

 

"Okay, Johnny, we're all set. We should have the results by tomorrow. I still don't understand what happened last time but I'm sure this test will be negative. Go on home and try not to worry, okay?"

 

"I'll try," Johnny replied distractedly. He watched Jeff take the vials of blood and disappear down the hall. His whole future was riding on the contents of those little glass tubes and it was unsettling to let them out of his sight.

 

"It's going to be fine." Brackett's normally gruff tone was soft and reassuring.

 

"Yeah," Johnny shook off the dark mood that was threatening to descend. "Yeah, Doc, I'm sure you're right. And thanks for doing this. I really appreciate it."

 

"Like I said, I'm glad to do it. Now, go on, get out of here. I've got work to do and since it's Friday,I'm sure you've got a pretty lady out there waiting for you somewhere."

 

"Not yet," Johnny grinned, picturing pretty red-haired Sonya smiling at him over a glass of wine. "But with a little luck, there will be soon."

 

~**~

 

"I want to wake up like this every morning," Gage thought with a grin. Sonya was curled up at his side nibbling his earlobe.

 

"Good morning," she purred as he opened his eyes.

 

"Morning," he greeted, pulling her closer, relishing the feeling of bare skin on bare skin.

 

"So, you got anything to eat around here? Your ear is pretty tasty," she bit it gently, making him squirm, "but it's not very filling."

 

"I make a pretty mean omelet."

 

"Well, get to it then because I'm starved!"

 

"Yes, ma'am! I'll get right to work!" Laughing, Johnny untangled himself from the sheets and pulled on the boxer shorts and t-shirt he'd discarded the night before. "And since we provide only the best service here at Chez Gage, I'll even bring you breakfast in bed. You stay right here, okay?"

 

Sonya nodded and curled up under the sheets in a thoroughly adorable fashion. Johnny dropped a quick kiss on her bare shoulder and headed for the kitchen.

 

He was whistling tunelessly and chopping vegetables for the omelet when he heard the knock at his door. "Oh, man!" The last thing he wanted to do was deal with a vacuum cleaner salesman or someone handing out religious pamphlets. Maybe if he just ignored them, they'd go away.

 

The knock sounded again. "Damn." Laying his knife aside and wiping his damp hands on the seat of his boxers, he headed for the door. "Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, I'm coming," he called as the knock sounded for a third time. Whoever they were, they were certainly persistent.

 

Mindful of his half-dressed state, Gage paused to glance through the peephole before opening the door. What he saw froze the blood in his veins. Roy stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes on the floor, looking more uncomfortable than Johnny had ever seen him. Captain Stanley stood beside him,

his face carefully blank but his posture rigid with tension.

 

Johnny's legs felt watery and he grabbed the doorframe for support. "Oh shit."

 

"Johnny?" It was Roy, tapping gently at the door. "Johnny, please open the door."

 

He did and stared at them silently. For once in his life, he couldn't think of anything to say. And it was just as well because he feared that if he opened his mouth he'd vomit.

 

"Can we come in?" Cap's voice was low and grim.

 

Johnny nodded, still dumbstruck, and stepped back to allow them entrance.

 

"I guess you know why we're here," Hank looked almost as defeated as Johnny felt. "Dr. Brackett called me at home an hour ago. He had the lab run the test three times. He personally supervised the last two. You tested positive for cocaine. I'm sorry, John, but I have no choice except …"

 

The rest of the captain's words were drowned out by the roaring in Johnny's ears. He grabbed at the door frame again, struggling to stay on his feet. Suddenly there was a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, guiding him toward the sofa and pushing him down.

 

"Bend over, put your head between your knees." Roy shoved him unceremoniously into position. "Slow your breathing down." DeSoto sat beside him, keeping a steadying hand on the younger man's arm. "Come on, Junior. Stay with me here. Slow deep breaths, okay?"

 

Johnny nodded, fighting the blackness that swirled at the edge of his vision. He would not faint. Not in front of Roy and Cap. Finally, thankfully, the wave of dizziness receded. He felt his heart rate and respiration return to normal. Cap thrust a glass of water into his hands and Gage drank it down gratefully. Sagging back against the sofa, he scrubbed his face with shaking hands.

 

Hank perched on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of Johnny. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about this, John. You're a good man, a good friend. I don't want to lose you. And I want to believe you when you tell me you're innocent but …" He trailed off helplessly.

 

"But the tests don't lie, right?" Johnny finally found his voice, shaky as it was. "So now what? I'm out of a job, aren't I?"

 

"There'll be a formal hearing next week. You'll have a chance to refute the charges."

 

"How?!" Johnny surged up off the sofa and began pacing the room angrily. "God knows I'd love to, but how? I know the test is wrong. I know I didn't do this but I can't prove it. All I have is my word and my reputation and I guess neither of those mean much right now."

 

"Johnny? Is everything okay?" Sonya stood in the bedroom doorway wrapped in a sheet, her pretty face clouded with concern. "I heard shouting."

 

"It's -- yeah -- it's fine." Flustered and more than a little embarrassed, Johnny rushed to her side and ushered her back into the bedroom. "Just a little misunderstanding with a couple guys from work. Nothing for you to worry about."

 

"Are you sure? Because you sounded really upset."

 

"I know. I'm sorry if I disturbed you." Johnny plastered a smile on his face and struggled to keep his voice from shaking. "But it's okay. Really. Why don't you hop back into bed while I get rid of them, okay?"

 

"Well, if you're sure …" She sounded doubtful.

 

"I'm sure, I'm sure. I promised you breakfast in bed, didn't I? And never let it be said that John Gage isn't a man of his word. So climb back in there," he smoothed the rumpled bottom sheet and fluffed up the pillow as he spoke. "Make yourself comfortable and I'll be back in a few minutes with a breakfast fit for a queen."

 

Sonya acquiesced, allowing him to tuck her in and accepting his kiss with a hesitant smile. "Johnny, if I can do anything to help …"

 

"Nope. Everything's under control. Sit tight and I'll be right back." Johnny fled the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

Roy and Hank were hovering by the front door looking uncomfortable. "We should go," the captain spoke up quickly.

 

"Yeah," Johnny nodded sadly. "Yeah. I think you should. I've got company and, uh …" He groaned in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. "Hell, there's really nothing left to say is there?"

 

"I am sorry, John. Sorrier than I can say. And my door is always open if you want to talk."

 

"I know, Cap. Thanks."

 

Roy lingered behind after the captain had slipped out the door. "Call me later."

 

"I will."

 

"I mean it, Junior. I want to hear from you before the day is over. We're not going to give up without a fight."

 

" I think we've already lost this battle." DeSoto bristled, obviously ready to argue but Johnny cut him off before he could get a word out. "Don't. Okay? Not now. I just -- Roy, I can't deal with this right now. I'll call you later. I promise."

 

When he'd finally persuaded Roy to leave, Johnny headed back to the kitchen to resume breakfast preparations. He told himself that he wasn't going to think about his problems for the rest of the morning. There was nothing he could do about it, after all, and there was a beautiful girl in his bedroom waiting for her breakfast. He grabbed the knife and set to work. And if his eyes were blurry with unshed tears, well, that was because he was chopping an onion, wasn't it?

 

"Is the coast clear?" Sonya poked her tousled head around the doorway.

 

"Yeah, they're gone. Thought you were waiting for me in the bedroom?"

 

She stepped into the room and came to stand by his side, stretching up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. She'd obviously raided his dresser drawers, as she was clad in a pair of his boxer shorts and a faded Search and Rescue t-shirt. All in all a very charming picture, but he was too busy trying not to think about his problems -- and failing miserably -- to truly appreciate it. "I got lonely in there all by myself." She batted her eyelashes at him teasingly and grabbed a mushroom off the counter, popping it into her mouth. "Plus I'm starving. When is this masterpiece of yours going to be done?"

 

"Soon," he promised.

 

"Can I do anything to help?"

 

"Nope."

 

"Okay then. But don't say I didn't offer."

 

"I won't." Johnny flashed her a smile and went back to work. Sonya hoisted herself up onto the counter and sat there, swinging her legs like a little girl and stealing bites of mushroom and green pepper as he continued chopping. It was every lonely bachelor's dream come true, he thought sourly, and he was too miserable to enjoy it.

 

Johnny liked this girl, liked her a lot, and normally he'd have been doing his best to dazzle her with his charm and chase her back to his bed. As it was, he had his hands full just trying to keep up his end of the conversation. And based on her increasingly worried expression, he wasn't doing a very good job of it. When she hesitantly suggested she should go home -- clearly hoping for an invitation to stay -- he simply nodded and offered to drive her.

 

"I have my car," she reminded him.

 

"Oh, right. Well, let me at least walk you out." He pulled on jeans and sneakers and escorted her to her little blue Gremlin.

 

"I had a good time, Johnny."

 

"Me too."

 

"Thanks for dinner and," here she pulled him down for a long kiss, "breakfast," she finished a trifle breathlessly.

 

"You're welcome."

 

"So, you'll call me, right?"

 

"I will."

 

"Soon?"

 

"Soon."

 

Johnny stood on the curb and watched her drive away, lingering until her little car was long out of sight. Finally, he turned and made his way wearily back into his apartment. Sonya was a sweet, charming, lovely young woman with a warm heart and a generous spirit. He hadn't liked a woman as much as he liked her in a very long time. He would have liked the opportunity to get to know her better. But within a few days, she'd realize that he'd lied, that he had no intention of calling her and it wouldn't matter how much he liked her. She would hate him. "I'm sorry, Sonya," he whispered, leaning his forehead against the cool wood of his front door. "But what the hell do I have to offer you now?" The tears he'd been fighting all morning flooded his eyes and his throat. This time, he let them fall.

 

~**~

 

Johnny spent the remainder of the weekend holed up in his apartment. He knew the minute word of his situation got out; his phone started ringing off the hook. For the most part, the guys from Station 51 were supportive, if a bit unsure of what to say. He had several offers to go out for drinks, come for dinner, shoot some hoops and the like but he declined them all. He appreciated what his friends were trying to do but he just couldn't face them, couldn't bear to see the pity in their eyes -- or the curiosity. Though all of them had proclaimed their belief in his innocence, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt there were those who privately thought him guilty. He just didn't have the energy to deal with it.

 

Roy, of course, refused to be put off. He had a healthy dose of stubbornness inherited from his Irish mother and a key to his partner's apartment. When John stopped answering his phone altogether on Sunday afternoon, it took DeSoto less than two hours to show up and force his way in. Johnny knew his friend was worried about him and had his best interests at heart. But he was so caught up in his own anger and self-pity that he looked at Roy's attempts to draw him out as an unwelcome intrusion. Things rapidly degenerated into an argument that resulted in Roy slamming out the door shouting, "If you decide to grow up and face this thing like a man, you know where to find me!"

 

Johnny paced the floors for an hour afterward; too angry and keyed up to sit still. He felt out of control, felt as if the walls were closing in on him and he didn't know how to deal with it. "I gotta get out of here," he muttered. Hastily packing some clothes and supplies, he climbed into his Land Rover and headed for the mountains.

 

~**~

 

Johnny had been gone for three days. He had to return to the city in the morning for his disciplinary hearing and he was dreading it. Knowing he was about to lose his job was one thing, actually hearing the words was quite another. How he was going to get through it without breaking down and making a fool of himself he didn't know. He'd hoped the time away would help him center himself and allow him to come to peace with what had happened but it hadn't. If anything, he was even more unsettled than when he left.

 

"How the hell did this happen?" he asked himself as he lay on his back staring at the stars. The sky was breathtakingly clear this far from the city but he was too caught up in his unhappy reverie to notice what a beautiful sight it was. "How did it happen?" h e wondered again. He'd been wracking his brain ever since that first terrible meeting with Captain Stanley. He would never willingly take

cocaine. Could it have gotten into his bloodstream accidentally? He'd certainly been exposed to enough patients who used drugs; it was entirely possible he'd gotten the residue on his skin. But he washed his hands dozens of times a day. There was no way the powder could have stayed on his skin long enough to make its way to his bloodstream. The idea that he was being set up crossed his mind briefly but he quickly dismissed it as ridiculous. Sure, someone could have doctored the first lab test but Brackett had taken great pains to ensure that the second one was accurate. He supposed someone could have slipped it to him in a drink. But why? He had no enemies that he knew of. Why would someone go to such trouble to destroy him?

 

In the end, he decided, it didn't really matter how or why it had happened. It had happened and now he had to deal with the consequences. He needed to accept that his life as a firefighter was over and move on. But to what? He'd never been anything except a firefighter.

 

He'd helped his parents on the ranch, of course, taken a half-hearted stab at working the rodeo circuit and spent a few months working construction right out of high school. But all he'd ever really wanted to do, for as long as he could remember, was be a fireman. He'd joined the Lame Deer

Volunteer Fire Company the very day he turned sixteen and met the minimum age requirement. He spent as much time hanging around the station as his schoolwork and his chores would allow. His parents had been less than thrilled when he announced his decision to pursue firefighting as a career. In fact, his mother had forbidden him, saying it was too dangerous. He'd done it anyway, borrowing money from Jim Nighthorse, the Lame Deer fire chief and making the long drive to Billings in his ancient, wheezing Chevy Nova.

 

Two years later, a magazine article about the shortage of firefighters in Los Angeles County captured his attention. He'd never been outside of Montana before so it was an enormous -- and frightening -- step. But one he'd never regretted taking. He'd made friends in Los Angeles and carved out a life for himself. Now it was all slipping through his fingers.

 

And now what? His meager savings would support him for a few months but then he'd have to find work. The LA Times want ads didn't have many listings for ranch hands or moderately good calf-ropers. He could work in a factory but the mere thought made him shudder.

 

A job in health care wouldn't be bad. Not as exciting as being out in the field as a paramedic, but acceptable. He supposed he could borrow money and go to school. But who would hire a nurse or a respiratory therapist with a cocaine habit? Hell, they probably wouldn't even let him be an ambulance attendant with this blot on his record.

 

He knew his parents would welcome him home with open arms but that wasn't what he wanted. Running home to mommy and daddy wasn't the action of a responsible adult. Besides, they couldn't really afford to take him on as an employee. Times were tough and they were barely getting by as it was. Over and over again he asked himself the same question: what now? And over and over again he came up with the same answer: I don't know.

 

~**~

 

Johnny hated his dress uniform. Oh, it looked impressive and it wasn't too uncomfortable but he only seemed to wear it for unpleasant occasions. The funerals of fellow firefighters mostly and now to his disciplinary hearing. There was a part of him that was tempted to show up for the proceedings in the dusty jeans and flannel shirt he'd worn for the last day and a half. Why go to the trouble of showering and getting dressed up when he already knew the outcome? But Captain Stanley would be there and Roy, of course, so he'd show up appropriately attired out of respect for them if for no other reason.

 

Before he left, Gage paused in front of the mirror in his bedroom and took a long look at himself. He picked a piece of lint off his slacks and set the white cap carefully on his head. "Last time I'll ever wear this," he thought. The pain of that knowledge was like a knife in his chest. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer; he turned away from the mirror and left the apartment without looking back.

 

~**~

 

Roy was waiting for him outside the doors of the hearing room. "Hey, Johnny." he said quietly.

 

"Hey yourself."

 

"I tried to call you."

 

"I had to get away for awhile."

 

"I figured. You okay?"

 

Gage smiled humorlessly. "No. You?"

 

"Not especially." Roy's answering smile was just as strained.

 

They stood there, silently, hands shoved into pockets, eyes on the toes of their shoes. There were a million things Johnny wanted to say to his partner but he just couldn't seem to get the words out. Based on Roy's rigid posture, he suspected the other man was feeling pretty much the same. "If we were women," Johnny thought with a wry smile, "we'd be crying on each other's shoulders right about now." But rough, tough, macho firemen didn't do that. No matter how tempting it might be.

 

"We're ready." Captain Stanley stood in the doorway, looking as if he'd aged five years in the last week and a half.

 

Gage nodded. "Let's get this over with." He pulled his hands out of his pockets, tugged his jacket into place and pushed through the door only to stop dead in his tracks.

 

The tiny room was packed with people. All of Station 51's A and B shifts were there, half a dozen firefighters and paramedics from other stations, Malcolm Johnson and a couple of the other ambulance attendants he worked with regularly, even Craig Brice. Rampart was well represented as well. Dixie, Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early were all there. Johnny wondered briefly who the hell was running the ER.

 

Roy's hand settled heavily on Johnny's shoulder. "You didn't think your friends were going to let you go through this alone, did you?" he asked quietly.

 

"B-But these meetings are supposed t-to be closed," Johnny stammered. "How …"

 

"Cap," Roy said quietly. "I don't know how he pulled if off but he did."

 

Johnny didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He was deeply moved by his friends' show of support but there was a small part of him that almost resented their presence. He was about to be officially accused of being a drug addict, about to lose the career he loved. Having to do it in front of these people was only going to make the humiliation that much worse. But they meant well and he loved them for it so he pasted a smile on his face and accepted their hugs and handshakes with as much grace as he could muster.

 

Chief McConnike called the meeting to order and Johnny took his seat at a small table facing the panel. Captain Stanley sat beside him, serving as his advisor. The two men exchanged a nervous smile and turned their attention to the front of the room. Johnny bowed his head in shame as the charges against him were read.

 

"You've heard the charges against you, John," the chief concluded. "Now you have an opportunity to refute them, to offer testimony in your defense. You also have the right to have three people speak on your behalf."

 

Gage knew it, of course; he'd been on the committee that established the protocols. But he hadn't bothered to ask anyone to speak. What was the point? What was there to say? Blood tests don't lie, after all. Or so everyone seemed to think. He was about to tell them that he waived that right, that he would be offering no defense, when he felt a hand on his left shoulder. It was Cap's, put there as he stood.

 

"Cap!" Johnny hissed. He didn't want anyone to speak for him. He knew it was useless, so why should Hank Stanley put his reputation on the line defending him? The only response he got from his supervisor was a slight tightening of the grip. Cap didn't even look at him.

 

"I will, of course, have something to say, as will Dr. Kelly Brackett, the medical director of the paramedic program. But the first person who would like to speak on John's behalf is his partner Roy DeSoto.

 

Johnny was stunned. Not only because his friends and colleagues had obviously decided to do this on their own, but also because Roy hated speaking in public. He hated being the center of attention; it made him sick to his stomach and nervous as hell. Never in a million years would he have asked Roy to do this. His mouth was still agape as he watched his partner approach the table and take a seat at Johnny's right.

 

Gage immediately leaned over toward his friend. "You don't have to do this, Roy," he whispered in his ear.

 

Roy looked at him incredulously. "Yeah, I do."

 

Resigned, Johnny sat back in his chair and looked straight ahead, careful not to make eye contact with any of the five men who would decide his fate. But out of the corner of his eye he could see Roy, fumbling to get something out of his breast pocket with shaking hands. Johnny closed his eyes.

He didn't want Roy to have to go through this for him.

 

When he reopened his eyes, Roy was smoothing a piece of paper on the table in front of him. He'd written down what he wanted to say. Clearing his throat, he began to speak.

 

"For seven years John Gage has been my partner. For seven years he has sat beside me in our squad, dressed beside me in the locker room, slept beside me in the dorm. For seven years he has covered my back, and the backs of everyone else at our station."

 

Johnny suddenly realized that Roy had had help. He hadn't written this alone. She might not be in the room, but Joanne was here, too. He dropped his chin to his chest until he could suppress the appreciative grin that threatened to come to his face.

 

"I think I know him as well as anyone," Roy continued. "Better than most." John nodded his head in agreement. "And I know without a doubt that what Johnny is accused of cannot be true."

Chief Montgomery spoke up, "How can you be so sure? In the light of the drug tests?"

 

"I've been a paramedic for a long time now. Long enough to have lost count of the number of drug-addicted patients I've treated. I know the signs and the symptoms of drug abuse. I've never seen any of them, not one" he stressed, "exhibited by John Gage. But more importantly, I know him.

I know what kind of man he is: honest, honorable and decent.  The idea that he'd risk his own life, or the lives of others, by taking drugs is ridiculous. It doesn't make any sense, not to me, not to anyone who knows Johnny. He's a good firefighter, a good man, and a good friend. I trust him with my life. And if he says he's innocent, then he's innocent and I don't care if you have a hundred positive drug tests!"

 

Roy blushed to the roots of his hair as a few members of the audience burst into applause. He fumbled with his notes, struggling to refold them and tuck them away in his pocket.

 

"Thank you," Johnny said quietly as Roy rose to leave the table.

 

Roy said nothing, just squeezed Johnny's shoulder and returned to his seat in the front row.

 

Dr. Brackett was next to take the stand. He spoke at length about Johnny's conscientious performance of his duty, his compassion, his kindness. He drew a chuckle from the crowd when he mentioned Johnny's proclivity for getting hurt. "We've tested his blood a dozen times over the years

and never found evidence of anything stronger than aspirin," he told the panel.

 

"I know the drug screens came back positive and I don't know why," Brackett admitted. "But I know John Gage and if he says he doesn't use drugs I believe him. There has to be a reason for the false positive readings. We just don't know what they are yet. Given the time to do a proper

investigation, I'm sure we could find an explanation. I urge you to give us that time, give Johnny that time. He's been an asset to the paramedic program and to the community for a long time now and I think he deserves that much."

 

Captain Stanley rose and approached the panel. "I've been with the fire department for over twenty years," he told them. "I've seen a lot of men come and go and I can tell you in all honesty that John Gage is one of the finest firefighters it's ever been my privilege to work with. It would be a real shame if we lost him. Particularly over something like this.

 

"Now, I'm not making light of the situation. Just the opposite. Drug use is a big problem, one that needs to be addressed. Last year's tragedy hit us all pretty hard. We all knew something had to be done to insure it didn't happen again and mandatory drug testing is part of the solution we came up with. I thought it was a good idea at the time. I still do. But it seems to me we didn't think it through enough. I've given this a lot of thought over the past week or so and I'm not sure we're being fair."

 

"In what way, Hank?" Chief McConnike asked.

 

"Look, if Johnny says he doesn't use drugs, then he doesn't use drugs. He's never lied to me and I have no reason to doubt him now. I want to make sure everyone in this room understands that. But what if he did? What if any of us did? Who here hasn't known a firefighter who cracked under the pressure? Someone who started drinking or gambling or whatever as a way of coping with it? I've known a few guys like that and I'm betting all of you do too."

 

There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the panel.

 

"So is kicking them out the solution? If one of our own is sick or hurting because of the job, do we just toss him aside like garbage or do we help him? If we turn our backs on our brothers when they need us most, what does that say about us? We have to do something about the drug problem but there has to be a better way than this. Instead of an all or nothing rule, I think we should deal with it on a case-to-case basis. Take the man's service record into account; consider what might be going on in his home life. Sometimes firing him might be the only choice but sometimes there might be other options.

 

"John Gage and the men like him work long, backbreaking hours. They go without food, they go without sleep. They're never gonna get rich, they're never gonna be famous, the only way they're likely to get their name in the paper is, God forbid, in the obituary column. We ask them to risk their lives every day. And they do. To make this city a better, safer place for all of us, they do. So when they're in trouble, don't we owe them better than this? Don't we owe them our compassion and our help? Don't we owe them another chance?"

 

And then it was Johnny's turn to speak. "You can do this," he coached himself silently. "Just hold it together for five more minutes."

 

"John?" Chief McConnike prompted. "Do you have anything to add?"

 

"Yeah, uh, just a minute." Gage grabbed the pitcher of ice water that sat on the table and poured himself a glass. He gulped it down, ignoring the way his hands shook as he held the glass. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he glanced over his shoulder at Roy, who nodded encouragingly. Johnny turned his attention to the disciplinary committee, looking them in the eye for the first time since the hearing began.

 

"I've always been so proud to be a member of this department," he told them quietly. "I've put my heart and soul into my work. It's too important to me to risk by doing something as stupid and irresponsible as use drugs. I can't explain why I failed those drug tests. God knows I wish I could. I wish I could prove to all these good people that their faith in me isn't misplaced. But I can't. I can't prove to you or to them that I'm innocent; I can only swear to you on my honor that I am and hope that you will believe me."

 

There was so much more Gage wanted to say, but his voice and his nerve failed him at the same time. He knew that if he kept going he would only humiliate himself further by breaking down or by throwing his pride to the winds and begging for his job. He didn't want to do either, so he simply said, "Thank you," and sank back into his chair.

 

The members of the panel excused themselves to begin their deliberations. They warned that it might take several hours for them to reach their decision but not one person left the room. A few well-wishers approached Johnny during the wait but most people seemed to sense his need for privacy and kept their distance. Only Roy joined him at the table and remained by his side. They didn't talk much but it was comforting just having his partner there.

 

Less than an hour after they'd adjourned, the panel came back with their decision. Johnny's heart fell as he watched them file in and take their seats. As pessimistic as he'd been, a small part of him had still held out hope that he'd be allowed to keep his job. One look at McConnike's face, at the way he avoided Johnny's eyes, and those hopes were dashed.

 

"John, I want you to know that this was not an easy decision for any of us. You have a spotless record and have been a valued member of the department for nearly ten years."

 

Behind him, Gage could hear the crowd shifting restlessly and murmuring amongst themselves. They sensed what was coming and they weren't happy.

 

"Captain Stanley raised some questions that need to be addressed and we're going to recommend that the department review the drug testing protocols with an eye toward giving us more leeway in how we deal with those employees who fail.

 

But in the meantime, the rules are very specific. You know that, John, as you helped draw them up.You failed two consecutive drug tests and according to policy we are required to terminate your employment immediately."

 

Johnny closed his eyes and dropped his forehead onto his folded hands. Though he'd known it was coming, actually hearing the words out loud was so painful it nearly took his breath away.

 

If walking into the room had been awkward, walking out of it was nothing short of torture. His supporters crowded around him offering comfort and expressing outrage at the injustice of it all. Johnny tried to respond, tried to express his gratitude but all he seemed to be able to say was "I'm sorry." He'd let these people down and he couldn't bear to face them.

 

Thankfully, Roy seemed to understand and began shouldering a path toward the door, tugging the younger man in his wake. Mike Stoker saw what was happening and stepped in beside DeSoto. The two of them easily plowed their way through the crowd and out to the relative calm of the hallway.

 

"How you doing, Johnny?" Roy's voice was laced with concern.

 

"I'm okay." He wasn't really, of course, and they both knew it. "I just need to get out of here."

 

"Why don't you come home with me?"

 

Gage shook his head. "Not this time, Roy."

 

"Johnny …"

 

"No. I appreciate the offer. I just, I can't," he shook his head tiredly. "I can't, okay?"

 

Roy gave in reluctantly. "If you change your mind …"

 

"I know. I'm family and I'm always welcome, right?"

 

"Right."



~**~

 

Johnny slumped on his sofa, TV remote in hand. He'd flipped through all thirteen channels more times than he could count but nothing held his attention. He was emotionally exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lose himself in some mindless sitcom but his brain just wouldn't shut down. His savings would last another couple weeks but he had to find a job and soon. The rent was due, he still owed the dentist $150 for that stupid crown, his Rover needed new tires, he'd made nearly a dozen long distance calls to Montana last month when his mother had pneumonia so there would be an exorbitant phone bill arriving any day. And, oh God, how was he going to explain this to his parents?

 

Gage clicked the TV off and threw the remote down in disgust. The absence of the television's blue light threw the room into darkness. Startled, Johnny flipped on a lamp and glanced at his watch. It was nearly eight o'clock at night. He'd been sitting there brooding for almost five hours, so caught up in his misery that he hadn't even noticed the sun go down.

 

Pushing himself up with a groan, he stumbled toward the kitchen. He really didn't feel like eating but it had been a long time since breakfast and his stomach was protesting loudly.  As he leaned against the kitchen counter eating Chef Boyardee ravioli cold from the can, he noticed his answering machine blinking like a strobe light. He'd been distantly aware of the phone ringing a few times but had ignored it.

 

He had a sneaking suspicion who most of the messages were from. "Might as well get it over with," he sighed, reaching over and hitting the play button. Sure enough, it was Roy just checking in. Then checking in again. There was a message from Cap, another from Roy, offers of dinner from Mike's wife Sue and from Dixie and -- "Oh, God." Johnny froze, a forkful of ravioli halfway to his mouth.

 

It was Sonya. Her voice was hesitant and unsure. "Hi, Johnny. It's me, uh; it's Sonya. I was just calling to say hi. If, um, if you've been busy or if you lost my number, I understand. I just wanted to let you know I had a really nice time last weekend and I hope we can get together again soon. My number is in the book or you can always stop by the store. So, um, call me, okay? Bye."

 

Johnny ripped the machine off the wall and hurled it against the refrigerator. It shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Kind of like his life, he thought sourly

 

~**~

 

"Hey, Gage, me and Brian are going for a drink. You wanna come?"

 

Johnny heaved the dead battery out of the '76 Pinto and set it on the floor at his feet. "No thanks, Nick. I'm just gonna finish up here and head home."

 

"You sure?"

 

"Yeah. Thanks though."

 

"Lock up when you leave, okay? And if you change your mind we'll be at Tony's."

 

Johnny nodded and turned back to the Pinto. Aside from the new battery, it needed a tune up and, he suspected, a new fuel pump. There was enough work to keep him busy until at least eight or nine o'clock that night.

 

Nick, the owner of the small service station where John now worked, was a nice guy. Brian, the other mechanic, was very young and a bit of a flake but he was an okay. Gage wouldn't have minded having a few beers with them once in a while but he consistently refused their offers. What they didn't know, and he couldn't bring himself to admit, was that the guys from nearby Station 18 hung out at Tony's Bar & Grill. The thought of walking in there in his grease stained overalls and seeing the pity on the faces of his former colleagues was more than Johnny could bear.

 

In the six weeks since his job had been taken from him, Gage had done everything he could to distance himself from his old life. He'd made a halfhearted attempt to keep in touch with the guys from 51 but it was a dismal failure. He knew they meant well but the few times they did get together it was painfully awkward. So, Johnny stopped returning their calls and prayed they would understand.

 

The only one who refused to be put off was Roy. The DeSotos insisted he come for dinner at least once a week and flatly refused to take no for an answer.

 

Gage appreciated what Roy and his family were trying to do but the conversation inevitably drifted to work and then things got uncomfortable. The first time Roy casually referred to his new partner by name, both men froze up and spent the remainder of the meal picking at their food and conducting a stilted conversation about sports. Johnny knew, of course, that Roy had a new partner; even knew the man by reputation. But knowing it and hearing that 'Tim' was really slick at starting an IV on a dehydrated patient were two entirely different things.

 

After that, he tried to decline but found himself on the receiving end of a plaintive phone call from nine-year-old Jennifer. "I helped Mom make the dessert, Uncle Johnny. Puleeeeeeze won't you come?" And, of course, he couldn't say no to her.

 

But most nights, Johnny did what he was doing now. Worked until he was exhausted, went home to a solitary dinner and fell into bed. He kept telling himself that what he was doing was honest work, that there was no shame in pumping gas and fixing cars but he was ashamed nonetheless.

 

He'd just hoisted the new battery into place when he heard the telltale ding-ding of a car pulling up to the gas pumps. Nick must have forgotten to turn off the lights when he left. They'd technically been closed for nearly an hour but Johnny was in no hurry to get home. "What the hell," he muttered. Wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag, he flipped the switch that started the pumps and walked outside.

 

"Can I help …" the words died on his lips. It was Chief McConnike and his family. The two men exchanged a long, discomfited look and then Johnny lowered his eyes to the pavement, his face aflame. "Fill it up?" he mumbled.

 

"Yes please." The chief seemed to have developed an all-consuming fascination with his dashboard.

 

The only thing that kept Johnny from bolting was the fact that the older man seemed even more uncomfortable than he was. The remainder of the transaction was tense, the two men exchanged as few words as possible and McConnike drove off without his change, effectively leaving Gage with a five-dollar tip. Johnny didn't know whether to be amused or insulted. But he was making less than half the salary he had as a paramedic so he tucked the money in his pocket and went back to work.

 

~**~

 

"Hey, watch it, buddy!" The young man who'd nearly knocked Johnny over just kept on running. Gage shook his head in disgust and pushed his way through the service station door. "Lunch is here," he called, dumping the takeout bags on Nick's desk.

 

"Johnny, get in here!" It was Brian and he sounded scared to death.

 

Gage raced into the bay and nearly fell over the young mechanic.

 

"He stabbed him," Brian's face was white, his hands stained red with blood. "Nick gave him the money but he stabbed him anyway! I don't know what to do!" Nick lay on the floor, blood bubbling from his mouth, his breath coming in short, wet gasps, and a rapidly spreading pool of blood beneath him.

 

Johnny pulled Brian away and shoved him toward the office. "Call for help," he commanded. "And find me a piece of plastic."

 

"A what?"

 

"A piece of plastic, like Saran Wrap or a garbage bag. Anything, just hurry!"  "

 

What are you gonna do with it?"

 

"He's got a sucking chest wound. I need it plug the hole. Now go!" Brian stared at him with wide, frightened eyes and then bolted for the office.

 

Johnny rummaged through the drawers of the toolbox and grinned in triumph when he found a roll of duct tape. Dropping to his knees beside the injured man, he pulled out his pocketknife and began cutting away Nick's shirt to expose the wound. There was a small puncture wound in the man's upper-right chest, blood spilling from it at an alarming rate. Johnny covered the wound with one hand and leaned on it hard, applying pressure to slow the bleeding. It helped some, but not enough. If help didn't arrive soon, Nick was going to die right in front of him. "Hurry up Brian!" he shouted. "I gotta do this now!"

 

"The ambulance is coming," the boy was breathless. "I couldn't find a garbage bag. Will this work?" He held a plastic sandwich bag in his hands.

 

"It'll have to." Johnny grabbed it, dumping the contents out onto the floor. Half a moldy peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he noted absently as he slapped the plastic over the wound and pressed down hard. "Tear off a piece of that duct tape," he instructed. "About a foot long."

 

Brian's hands were shaking so hard he could barely manage it. "Like this?"

 

"Yeah, that's good. Now, I'm gonna move my hand and you put the tape over the plastic, okay? "

 

Brian nodded, his eyes wide with terror, and obeyed. " That okay?"

 

"Perfect," Johnny flashed the young man a reassuring smile. "You're doing great. Tear off another piece for me. I want to make sure this is good and tight." When the plastic bag was secured to Johnny's satisfaction, he sat back on his heels and glanced around the bay. "I need something to prop his feet up with and I need a blanket or a jacket or something to cover him with."

 

Brian scurried to obey while Johnny checked the injured man's vitals as best he could. Nick's breathing was less labored but his pulse was weak and thready. "I would kill for a BP cuff," Gage muttered to himself.

 

"This is all I could find." Brian dumped a filthy set of overalls at Johnny's feet.

 

"I woulda liked something a little cleaner, but this'll do in a pinch." Johnny tucked the overalls around Nick's torso then hoisted the man's feet up onto a nearby toolbox.

 

"Why you doing that?"

 

"He's in shock. We need to keep him warm. Keep the blood near his heart."

 

"Oh." Brian fidgeted nervously from foot to foot. "Johnny, if you know how to do all this, why are you working as a grease monkey?"

 

The arrival of both the police and Squad 18, lights flashing and sirens blaring, saved him from having to come up with an answer.

 

The paramedics rushed in, loaded down with equipment, and the sight was so painful that Johnny had

to turn his head away for a second. When he turned back, he met the startled gaze of paramedic Carlos Sifuentes. "Gage?"

 

"Yeah." Johnny felt his face flushing and shook the embarrassment off angrily. There wasn't time for this. Nick needed his help. "Fifty year old male stabbed in the right upper quadrant of the chest, between the third and fourth ribs, I'd guess. I sealed off the sucking chest wound as well as I could and his breathing is a little better but he's still critical. You better wrap and run."

 

Carlos nodded and reached for the drug box. "Get his vitals, will you?"

 

Johnny nodded and accepted the stethoscope and BP cuff the other man thrust into his hands. As he wrapped the cuff around Nick's arm, he noticed Sifuentes' partner, a young man he'd never seen before, attempting to remove the dressing from the patient's chest. "Don't touch that!"

 

The young paramedic looked up sharply. "I have to check the wound, Sir. Maybe you better step back." He reached for the dressing again.

 

"Leave it, Tedesco," Carlos said sharply.

 

"But …"

 

"I said leave it."

 

Tedesco was clearly confused as to why his partner trusted the word of a gas station attendant but he backed off in surrender.

 

Sifuentes, busy setting up the IV they all knew would be ordered, inclined his head toward the biophone. "Get in touch with Rampart. Let them know we're going to be coming in fast with this one."

 

~**~

 

Johnny nodded in response to Carlos Sifuentes' thanks and pushed the ambulance door closed. He gave the door a couple of hard thumps and stepped back as the vehicle raced away.

 

Returning to the garage, he found himself the object of two very curious sets of eyes. Tedesco, busy gathering up the Squad's supplies, had the grace to look embarrassed and turn away. Brian wasn't so easily put off. "How the hell did you know how to do that?" The young man was fairly quivering with excitement.

 

"It's a long story," Johnny ran a weary hand through his hair, and headed for the office. "I'm gonna call Nick's wife and let her know what happened. Why don't you start closing up? I don't think either one of us feels much like working today, do you?"

 

"But Johnny …"

 

"Drop it, Brian." The words came out sharper than he'd intended. "I just don't want to talk about it, okay?" he added softly.

 

Brian nodded solemnly. "Okay. I didn't mean to …"

 

"I know. Don't worry about it." Johnny closed the office door and sank into the chair behind Nick's desk. Finding the number in the Rolodex, he made the call and then sat there staring blankly at the cluttered desktop, caught up in an almost suffocating web of despair. Nick was a good man and Johnny hated what had happened to him. But for those few frantic minutes, he'd been a paramedic again and it had felt so damn good. He'd always known he loved his job, he'd just never known how much of his identity revolved around it. He didn't know who he was anymore, didn't know what to do with his life. He only knew that he was utterly miserable.

 

That night, John Gage did something he hadn't done since his older brothers took him out on the night of his twenty-first birthday. He went out and got falling down drunk.

 

~**~

 

Nick recovered and came back to work and Johnny's life, such as it was, settled into a routine. He worked, he watched TV, he slept, he had his obligatory weekly dinner with the DeSoto's and every few weeks he spent Saturday evening propped on a bar stool peering through a forest of empty beer bottles. After the first time, he'd vowed he would never do it again. But every so often, he'd look around at the shell that was his life and remember how much he'd lost. Then he'd remember how nice it had been to forget, even for a few hours. He found a little bar within walking distance of his apartment; a hole in the wall that no one he knew frequented and he drank himself into a stupor.

 

One rainy night, some five months after Johnny failed his first drug test, he was sitting on his usual stool staring into his sixth bottle of Budweiser when he heard a familiar voice. He spun around so quickly he tipped the half-full bottle over, soaking his jeans. He barely even noticed.

 

Sonya was standing in the doorway, shaking the rain off her hair and laughing up at her companion. Johnny hadn't seen her since that awful Saturday morning in his apartment. He hadn't called her, hadn't returned her calls, had even started driving two miles out of his way for groceries so he wouldn't accidentally run into her. He had almost managed to forget her. But suddenly, there she was, hanging on the arm of another man.

 

“Sonya.” He blurted it out before he could stop himself. He knew the minute she saw him. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in disgust. She stared at him for an endless moment then turned back to her date without a word.

 

Humiliated, Gage turned back to the bar, grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and scrubbed ineffectually at his wet jeans. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sonya and her date find a table on the far side of the room and settle in. He couldn't help but notice that she was careful to sit with her back to him. He knew he should just get up and go home, just get the hell out of there before he did something stupid. But knowing it and doing it were two entirely different things. He ordered another beer and sat back to watch the couple across the room.

 

"What the hell is she doing with him?" Johnny asked himself as he sipped his ninth beer and stared at Sonya's companion. He was nothing special. Nothing much to look at, dressed like a workingman, obviously didn't have much in the way of money or he wouldn't have brought a date to a dive like Humphrey's. He was just an ordinary guy; the sort of guy Johnny would have passed on the street and not given a second glance. But he was sitting at a corner table holding hands with Sonya and Johnny was sitting alone at the bar.

 

"That could've been you, you idiot," he muttered, drawing a sharp look from the bartender. "Could've been you if you hadn't treated her the way you did." He knew she had to think he didn't care, that she was just another notch on the bedpost.

 

She wasn't, of course, because Johnny didn't treat woman that way. He wasn't a monk, but he didn't hop indiscriminately from bed to bed either. He'd severed the relationship with Sonya because it had seemed like the right thing to do, because he didn't want to burden her with his problems. But he saw now that he'd handled it badly. Maybe if he'd told her the truth she'd have understood. It was too late for that, he supposed, but at least he owed her an apology.

 

As he heaved himself up off the bar stool and crossed the room on unsteady legs, it never occurred to Johnny that it might have been a good idea to wait until he was sober.

 

~**~

 

"Johnny?"

 

"Johnny?"

 

JOHNNY!"

 

"Huh? Wha … ?" Gage pried his eyes open with a groan. Roy was peering at him through a wall of iron bars and he didn't look happy. "Hey, Roy. Why are you in jail?"

 

"I'm not in jail," DeSoto snapped. "You are."

 

"I am?" Johnny pushed himself up on one elbow and peered around the tiny room he presently occupied. Iron bars, cinderblock walls, a rusty toilet with no seat, the lumpy cot upon which he lay. Roy was right. He was in jail. "Oh, man!" How the hell had he wound up here? He'd been at work, he'd gone home and changed clothes, gone to Humphrey's -- "Oh, man!" he exclaimed again sinking back onto the cot and cradling his aching head in his hands. "So, how'd you find out I was here?" he muttered without uncovering his face.

 

"One of the guys who brought you in recognized your name and knew you were a friend of Vince's. He called Vince, Vince called me and here I am."

 

"I'm in a lot of trouble, huh?"

 

"With the cops? Maybe not. Vince is out front trying to talk the other guy out of pressing charges. With me? Oh, yeah, Junior, you are in serious trouble."

 

"I just wanted to apologize to her," Johnny said plaintively. "I didn't mean to make her cry. And then he got in my face and well …" He shrugged helplessly and dared to glance at Roy. Oh yeah, he was definitely unhappy. Johnny couldn't recall ever seeing the other man's face quite that shade of red. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly.

 

"You damn well oughta be. A bar fight, Johnny? What the hell were you thinking?"

 

"I told you, I just wanted to tell her I was sorry."

 

"I'm not talking about the girl," Roy waved his hand dismissively. "I don't care about the girl. I want to

know why were you in that bar three sheets to the wind in the first place. And from what the bartender told the cops, it's not the first time. He says he's had to cut you off and send you home three or four times. Jeez, Johnny, you're smarter than this! At least I thought you were."

 

"Look, Roy, you don't understand" Johnny surged angrily up off the cot and swayed dangerously. He had to stop and brace one hand against the wall to keep from tipping over. When he'd regained his equilibrium, he approached the bars, clinging to them with both hands for support. "You don't know what it's been like for me."

 

"So explain it to me."

 

"Being a paramedic wasn't just a job. It was who I was. And now I'm -- I'm --" he struggled to find the right words, "lost. I feel lost. I don't know who I am; don't know what to do with myself. When they took my job away, they took everything."

 

"So you decided to just give up? Decided to push away all the people who care about you and spend the rest of your life feeling sorry for yourself? I expected more from you."

 

"That's not fair!"

 

"Isn't it?"

 

"No! No, I told you! I wasn't trying to make trouble. I just wanted to talk to Sonya. He threw the first punch. I was just defending myself."

 

"You just don't get it do you?" Roy shook his head wearily. "You know what you're doing? You're turning into exactly what the fire department accused you of being."

 

Gage opened his mouth to protest and froze as his stomach rolled over and he felt the burn of acid in the back of his throat. "Roy, I think I'm gonna …" He spun around and lunged for the toilet but only made it halfway. He ended up on his hands and knees in the middle of the room, vomiting on the cold cement floor. Distantly he heard Roy calling his name, calling for help, heard the sound of running footsteps, the squeal of the cell door; but he was too busy struggling to draw in a breath between bouts of retching to concentrate on what all the noise meant.

 

Next thing he knew, there were strong hands on his shoulders, bracing him as the terrible heaving subsided, keeping him from pitching face first into the mess he'd made.

 

"Roy," he moaned, too sick to care that he sounded utterly pitiful.

 

"Come on, let's get you up." Roy hoisted him to his feet and half carried him to the cot. "No, don't lie down. Let me get you cleaned up and check you out."

 

Johnny nodded, too wrung out to even try speaking. He sat passively, shivering so hard his teeth chattered, as Roy eased off his soiled shirt, wrapped him in a blanket and began to examine him. "He really worked you over, didn't he? Can you see out of that left eye at all?"

 

Gage shook his head.

 

"Were you knocked out or did you pass out?

 

Johnny shrugged. He honestly didn't know.

 

"Well, you've got a pretty good sized bump on the back of your head and that cut above your eye needs stitched. We need to get you to the hospital."

 

"No. I'm okay."

 

"Right."

 

"No, really. I'm fine."

 

"You were unconscious and now you're dizzy and vomiting. Come on, Johnny. You know the signs of a concussion as well as I do."

 

"No," he insisted. "I'm okay. I just had a little too much to drink."

 

"You had a lot too much to drink. But you're still going to the hospital."

 

The last thing Johnny wanted to do was set foot in Rampart in the condition he was in. With his luck, Mike Morton would be there with a smug "I knew it" expression on his face. But Roy had that determined look Johnny knew so well and he was feeling weaker and more nauseated by the minute.

He just didn't have the energy to argue anymore so he simply nodded and tugged the blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

 

"I'll go talk to Vince and see if he's got this worked out. You stay put."

 

Gage glanced from the barred door to the armed guard hovering just beyond it and back again. "Don't think I'd get very far, do you?"

 

"No, I guess not." The corners of Roy's mouth lifted in the barest of smiles and Johnny suspected he was on his way to being forgiven.

 

Either Vince had amazing powers of persuasion or Sonya's new boyfriend wasn't the sort to hold a grudge, because the next thing Johnny knew he was in Roy's car on his way to Rampart. His head ached fiercely and the rush of oncoming headlights didn't help. "I feel like hell."

 

"Hang on, we'll be there in a few minutes."

 

Gage closed his eyes, slumped against the passenger door and pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

 

~**~

 

 

Part 2