L.A. County firefighter Chet Kelly gasped, as a small—but exceedingly cold—metal disc came into contact with his bare back.

"No!" Doctor Mike Morton chastised his gasping patient. "I sai-aid, take a deep breath!" The physician repositioned his stethoscope.

Kelly, who was lying on his left side on a table in Rampart General’s Emergency Receiving’s Exam One, stripped from the waist up, gasped again. "Sheesh!" he exclaimed, when he finally got his breath back. "Where do you keep that thing? In the freezer?"

"It hangs over his heart," firefighter paramedic John Gage piped up, suppressing a grin all the while. "And—as every one of his ex-patients knows—the Doc’, here, can be really cold-hearted." He and his paramedic partner exchanged glances.

Roy DeSoto couldn’t help but smile.

Gage waggled his eyebrows a few times, before allowing his own grin to escape.

Morton gave the grinning paramedic an icy glare, but had to purse his lips to keep himself from smiling. "Take a deep breath!" he ordered down to his patient, for the third time in as many minutes.

Kelly complied—with a groan. Drawing deep breaths was downright painful!

"Again!" The doctor directed his gaze toward the still-amused-looking paramedic team. "You two…make yourselves useful...and tell me what happened to him."

Kelly’s comrades exchanged glances again.

Gage nodded for DeSoto to go first.

Roy’s crossed arms dropped to his sides. "Well…Let’s see…We were ‘first in’ at a two-story structure fire. The first floor was fully engulfed when we got there. A female victim was visible, hanging out of a second-floor window. Chet was supposed to keep her company, while the two of us got a ladder into posi—"

"—But the woman panicked and jumped," the impatient ER doc’ interrupted. "And he hurt his ribs while attempting to break her fa—"

"—No-o," John calmly cut in. "She threw this big bird cage out the window."

Morton’s eyebrows arched. "A bird cage?"

"I caught that cage, Gage!" Chet proudly pointed out. "The bird’s feathers weren’t even ruffled."

"Yeah," Gage conceded. "But, you dropped the dog."

Morton's eyebrows arched even higher.  "The dog?"

"Unfortunately," John’s partner joined in, "the dog also dropped him."

"Hey, it was a big dog," Chet reminded them. "A German Shepherd!"

"It probably only weighed around 75 pounds," Gage teased.

"It felt more like 150—when it landed on me!" Kelly countered.

His physician’s face took on a rather pained expression. Mike’s neck and head were getting sore, trying to keep up with the rapid exchange. The doctor took a deep breath himself, before daring to address his patient. "You were hurt when the dog landed on your chest?"

"No," Chet said, with a quick shake of his head. "The dog just knocked me down."

"For the record…" Roy calmly stated, "it was albums that did the real damage."

Kelly groaned in mental anguish.

Gage snickered and then aimed an appreciative grin in his witty partner’s direction.

"Albums?" Kelly's doctor numbly inquired.

"I’m lyin’ there—flat on my back on the lawn—with this big dog sittin’ on me," Chet annoyedly—and rather animatedly—explained to his now totally flustered-looking physician, "and this wild woman starts whipping records out the window!"

"Ahhh, c’mon, Chet," John chided. "You heard her. She couldn’t let ‘The Bee Gees’ melt."

The paramedic pair exchanged grins again.

Their buddy, with the bruised ribcage—and ego—remained most un-amused.

Morton remained somewhat confused. "Why didn’t you just shove the dog off your chest and roll out of the way?"

"I didn’t know they were records—until they landed on me," Kelly explained. "For all I knew, there could have been a baby in that box!"

Roy looked thoughtful. "Come ta think of it, a baby is about the only thing she didn’t toss out that window."

"Yeah. We got dumped on, too, yah know," John reminded their pouting patient. "Nearly knocked us both off the ladder," he added, and gave his still-sore right shoulder a rub.

Morton gave his head a quick shake and re-repositioned his stethoscope. "Take a deep breath."

"What? Agai-ain?" Kelly complained.

"Sheesh, Doc’," Gage griped, right along with him. "You’re startin’ ta sound like a...broken record."

Their patient emitted another groan of mental anguish.

His physician’s frown deepened. "Don’t you two have some work to do?"

"We’re s’posed to wait right here…until he’s either cleared for duty…or admitted," Gage informed the scowling ER doc’.

"Captain’s orders," DeSoto tacked on, for good measure.

"This hospital has a designated waiting area," Morton reminded the duo and began ushering them toward the exit.

"Ah, c’mon, Doc’…" Gage grumbled. "Why can’t we stay in here? We’ll be quiet—promise!"

"Yeah. We’re just tryin’ ta help," Roy added, trying his level best to at least sound sincere.

"For the record…You haven’t been all that helpful," Morton admonished. The now gloating doctor pressed the paramedics’ backs up against the door. "Besides, I have my reputation to…uphold."

The pair squirmed under the young doctor’s unbelievably icy glare for a few moments, and then wisely took their leave.

Morton stepped up to his patient and pressed his stethoscope into his bare back. "Take a deep breath!"

Chet’s smirk vanished as the cold took his breath away. ‘Take a flyin’ leap!’ he silently suggested. At the moment, drawing deep breaths was just too dang painful!

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