Gas Pump Blues

By The Twits

Roy looked at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, then glanced up at the cars ahead of him in the line for gas. Six more to go. Damn, the way the line was moving, he was gonna be late for work.

He looked in his rearview mirror to see what his chances of backing out were. When he saw how long the line of cars behind him had grown, he knew that idea was out of the question.

He'd just have to hope Cap understood.

It had been a few months since the gas shortage hit the country. Although most people learned to plan for extra time at the gas station, many times it was completely unpredictable. And it was this unpredictability that was causing motorists’ tempers to run short.

Roy tried to be patient as he watched an elderly lady several cars ahead of him struggling to handle the nozzle to fill up her big car. He sighed, resting his head against the window.

Why me?

Johnny jumped as the door swung open and his panicked partner rushed in. “Running a bit late, aren’t ya?”

Roy pulled off his shirt and tossed it in the locker. “Yeah, I had to stop and get gas. Remind me never to try it before work again. No matter how early I

get started.”

“I went yesterday on the way to a date. Remind me never to do that again. I was forty-five minutes late and Victoria wasn't happy.”

The two paramedics traded stories about their bad experiences at the pumps while Roy changed into his uniform, and then headed into the apparatus bay for roll call.

“Well, at least with two of us late now, Cap won’t know who to be the most mad at,” Johnny grinned.

Roy rolled his eyes and glanced at his partner. “Only you could see a bright side to this.”

"Nice of you gentlemen to join us," said Hank Stanley with mock irritation.

"Sorry, Cap," Roy said sheepishly. "But Johnny wasn't late, I was. I had to get gas. I left really early, but it still took forever to get through the line."

"I understand. Just don't let it happen again."

"Yes, sir."

"That's all??" asked a bewildered Chet, who'd been sure the paramedics' tardiness meant he'd be escaping latrine duty for a change.

"You have a problem with that?" Cap replied testily and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Kelly.

"Well, Roy's got an excuse but what about Gage? He was late to roll call too."

"I know when he got here and he was here early today. He expressed his concern to me when it appeared Roy would be late," the captain replied.

"But..."

"No buts. He was only making sure his partner was okay. Right John?"

"Yes, sir," Johnny said smugly.

"Good. Now if there aren't any more objections let's proceed with the morning's notes." Hank finished reading headquarters' perspective on the 'energy crisis' and assigned the day's duties.

Chet was a bit miffed to learn that he still had latrine duty. Hank assigned his paramedics to wash and hang hose after they inventoried the squad and

changed linens in the dorm.

"What are you complaining for Chet? You only have to clean the latrine. We have to clean the dorm and then wash and hang a ton of hose," asked Roy.

Johnny snorted, "Yeah. What's your problem?"

"I'd like to hear the answer to that one too," said Cap who had just walked into the locker room.

"Ahhh... nothing. No problem, Cap."

"Then I suggest you get to work."

The first call of the day came in when they were halfway done washing the dirty hose.

"Squad 51. Unknown injury at Bill's Arco. 2737 Myers Avenue. 2-7-3-7 Myers Avenue. Cross street Johnson. Time out 1021."

"Squad 51. KMG365."

Arriving on the scene, they found an older gentleman sitting on the ground near the gas pumps clutching his chest. The next driver in line was yelling at him to hurry up and move on. A crowd was gathering and they were already irritated by the long lines. The situation could easily turn ugly so Johnny called dispatch and requested police assistance as well as an ambulance. Grabbing their equipment from the squad the paramedics began to make their way through the crowd to the patient. By the time they reached the man, the manager of the station had come out of his office.

"Boy, am I glad to see you guys. Think you can get him out of here?"

The paramedics exchanged glances before Roy answered. "We need to find out what's wrong before we can move him."

"Well, could you do it fast? That line ain't getting any shorter."

"We'll do our best, sir. Now could you step back so we can find out what's going on?" Johnny was trying to be as diplomatic as possible, but it wasn't easy. The man moved aside but continued to hover nervously.

Roy and Johnny finally reached their victim. The man was pale and sweating and appeared to have trouble breathing. Johnny introduced himself and his partner while DeSoto prepared to get a blood pressure. He then asked the man his name, age, and symptoms.

"George Mar...Mar...Marshall," he gasped. "Sixty-five and God it hurts. I'm so glad you're here."

After assessing the patient, they contacted Rampart; the information was relayed, and orders were given for an IV, oxygen and an EKG.

Vince arrived while Johnny was attaching the leads to the patient and Gage was relieved to see him. The crowd was growing restless and the nervous manager asked them again and again to hurry.

After interpreting the strip and giving further orders, Rampart told them to transport the patient ASAP. Roy looked up and didn't see the ambulance. Neither did Johnny. "The ambulance hasn't arrived yet. Will transport as soon as it gets here, Rampart."

"10-4, 51. Keep us advised and send another set of vitals in five minutes."

"10-4 Rampart. 51 out." Johnny hung up the biophone and motioned for Vince to come over. "Any idea what's keeping the ambulance?"

"No. I'll call in and check on it."

"Thanks Vince."

A minute later he returned saying that it had been held up in traffic but should be there soon. The ambulance arrived when they were relaying the requested vitals update.

"Rampart, be advised the ambulance has arrived and we are preparing to transport."

"We'll be waiting for you 51. 10-4."

Vince Howard had a hard time getting the crowd to back up enough to let the stretcher through. They grumbled on the way back to their cars about how much longer they had to wait because of this. Johnny and Roy were really glad to be getting out of there.

Before they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance the elderly gentleman reached his hand out to Johnny. "Son, could you please get my car moved for me? I hate to leave her here. These people are so angry." He paused to catch his breath before continuing, "She's all I have and I'd really appreciate it."

Johnny looked back at the car, a 1957 Chevy, and then at the menacing crowd. He swallowed hard before turning back to the distraught man. "Sure, no problem Mr. Marshall. I'll move it and have the police make sure it gets brought to Rampart for you."

"Thank you so much, young man."

Once the patient was loaded and on his way to the hospital Gage stowed the equipment back on the squad and walked over to the busy police officer. "Hey Vince, I'm gonna move his car. He asked me to. Keys are still in it."

Vince smiled. "Be my guest. These people will be much happier." He indicated the still irritated crowd.

Johnny's face broke out in a huge grin and he waggled his eyebrows, "But first, I'm gonna fill it up for him."

Vince shook his head and started to laugh. "Just be quick. I don't know how much longer I can hold them."

"Okay. I'll hurry. Thanks!"

In no time Johnny had the tank filled and was moving the car. He really enjoyed driving it, even though he didn't go far. Some of the crowd cheered, others made nasty comments. One even threw a rock at the squad.

Johnny met up with Roy at the nurse's station.

"What's wrong, junior?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon Johnny. Spill it," Dixie ordered.

"Aw, once I moved Mr. Marshall's car some nut hit the squad with a rock."

"What?! Why??" stammered Roy.

"Who knows? It's a small dent on a driver's side compartment door. He just missed me by that much." He indicated a distance of about three inches with

his fingers.

"You're pretty lucky Johnny," said Dixie.

"Yeah. I know."

They shared a cup of coffee with Dixie and learned that George Marshall was admitted to the cardiac intensive care unit and the doctors seemed to think he'd be okay. As they returned to the station, both Johnny and Roy prayed they wouldn't get another call like that for a while.

The two paramedics no sooner sat down at the table in the dayroom to eat lunch, when the tones went off again.

"Squad 51, man down. 210 North Baker Street. 2-1-0 North Baker Street. Cross street Canton Avenue. Time out 1215."

“Ahh man,” Johnny groaned as he pushed back his chair.

Roy was already headed for the door. “C’mon…maybe it won’t be a long

one.”

Johnny stood up and took one more quick bite of his tuna sandwich before he followed behind Roy.

“We’ll put your food in the fridge for you!” Chet called out.

A mumbled reply sounding somewhat like a “thanks” was all that was heard.

Roy pulled the squad over to the curb when they arrived at the address. Two men could be seen under the carport of a yellow house. One man was sitting against a post, the other squatting beside him. Johnny got out of the squad and opened the compartment doors, getting out the drug box and biophone. Roy grabbed the oxygen and trauma box.

As the two paramedics approached, they could see that the man by the post was holding his stomach.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” Johnny asked as he set down the equipment and squatted down in front of the man.

“Oh, the idiot says he has a stomach ache,” the other man answered. “Serves him right.”

“Excuse me?” Roy inquired.

“Fred here,” the man gestured to the victim, “well, he got some wise idea to come over to my house to fill up his gas can. I come home from work and my

neighbor… my BEST FRIEND…is siphoning gas out of my wife’s car!”

Fred looked up and moaned. “I was gonna pay you back. If you hadn’t come home for lunch, we’d all be better off right now.”

“Well, what happened?” Johnny asked, looking from one man to the other.

“I came home and Fred didn’t expect me to. He says he was right in the middle of sucking out some gas when I pulled in the driveway. The surprise made him gasp and he took in some of the gas and swallowed it.”

Roy walked over and peered around the other side of the car. He noticed a red gas can with a small hose next to it. Coming back around he nodded to his partner.

“The stuff is there all right.”

“How much did you swallow? Do you know?” Johnny was examining the interior of the man’s mouth.

“Ot oo uch,” was all Fred could say.

“Oh, sorry,” Johnny let the man close his mouth.

“Not too much…but my stomach is starting to burn. I feel like I’m gonna be sick, too.”

“I’ll get Rampart on the line.” Roy opened the biophone.

Johnny began to take Fred’s vitals.

A police car pulled up to the curb behind the squad. As the officer approached, the man who'd phoned in the rescue walked out to meet him.

“Officer, I want to report a theft.”

Fred shoved Johnny onto his backside and was up on his feet in no time. “You creep!” Fred yelled as he ran towards his friend, ignoring the ill feeling in his stomach. He swayed slightly as a dizzy feeling came over him from getting up so fast. “Some neighbor you turned out to be!”

“Me? I’m not the one stealing from your wife’s car!”

Roy and Johnny were up and over to Fred, holding him back as he tried to take a swing at his friend. The officer restrained the other man, as he too tried to go after his neighbor. Fred finally lost his battle with his stomach and vomited in the driveway.

“Oh, now that’s just great!” the homeowner said, with a look of disgust.

The paramedics exchanged glances. “I can’t wait to get out of here,” Johnny mumbled to Roy.

The three men finally got the two neighbors settled down. Roy and Johnny tended to Fred while the officer took a statement from the other man.

The paramedics got Fred ready to transport and loaded him in the ambulance that had just arrived at the scene. As he was climbing in behind the stretcher, Roy noticed Johnny looking at his own right elbow.

“You okay?”

“Hmm?” Johnny glanced up at Roy. “Oh, yeah. I’m okay, I just scraped my elbow is all. When he pushed me.”

Roy nodded. “Okay. But put something on it when we get to Rampart.”

“See you there,” Johnny grinned, as he closed the doors to the ambulance. He walked back to the squad as the ambulance pulled away. Johnny took one more look at the house and shook his head. This gas shortage was making people crazy.

"Hey, Johnny, what's the problem?"

The paramedic looked up from his close inspection of his bruised elbow. "Nuthin, really, Dix. But I think I'm gonna start demanding hazard pay."

The nurse smiled kindly, but said nothing. She knew she wouldn't have to; it would only be a matter of seconds before John expanded on his statement.

"I mean, really," he started, not disappointing her. "People out there are gettin' crazy about this gas thing! First we had that near riot this morning when that guy had a heart attack at the gas station … did I tell you someone threw a rock at me? Well they did. And then this guy was trying to steal gas from his neighbor. From his NEIGHBOR!"

The nurse waited a second to be sure Gage was finished. Once she was satisfied that he was she dared to speak. "I know, it's practically all I see on the news. People are really concerned."

"Concerned? It's more than concerned, Dix! They're totally freaking out!"

"Well, it can't last forever. That's what I keep telling myself." She lifted Johnny's arm to look at his elbow herself. "That doesn't look bad." She opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of spray antiseptic. "But how'd you get it?" As she asked, she took aim and sprayed the scrape.

"That guy in there … OWWW!" The sting of the spray had set in, and the paramedic started waving his arm to try and dispel it. Once the pain died down, he continued, "That guy," he gestured toward the treatment room that held their victim and his partner, "shoved me. If the cops hadn't gotten there when they did, I think Roy and I woulda ended up refereeing a brawl." At that moment Roy left the treatment room and joined the two at the desk. "Right, Roy?" John asked.

"Right what? Did you put something on your elbow?"

John rolled his eyes and held his arm up for inspection. "I was telling Dix that we almost ended up in the middle of a full-fledged fist fight over some gas."

"Yeah, you're right about that," DeSoto agreed. "You ready to go?"

"I dunno," Johnny said thoughtfully. "I don't want any more calls to gas stations, involving gas, nothing."

"Well, unfortunately we don't get to pick 'em. Let's get going. See ya later, Dix." Roy turned and headed toward the squad.

"Catch ya later," Johnny added as he rushed after his partner.

"Squad 51, child trapped. 592 Willow Street. 5-9-2 Willow. Cross street Birch. Time out 1458."

"Thank God," Johnny sighed as the two pulled out of the station.

"For what?" Roy was thoroughly confused.

"It's a kid, Roy. Kids can't drive. This can't possibly be a gas shortage call! It can't!"

"Yeah, but it's still a kid," the older man pointed out, annoyed at his partner's apparent callousness.

"Oh, right," the chastised man agreed. But he quickly brightened. "Can't be too bad, if they only called us out and not the engine too."

By then they were on Willow, and they soon came upon a woman waving frantically from the end of a driveway. They pulled over and hopped out.

"I'm so sorry, to bother you," the woman said. "It's my son. We were late for his college interview at UCLA, and my car was out of gas." She gestured toward her Volvo in the driveway. Roy immediately stifled a grin, and looked at his partner, who was looking up at the sky in an effort to hide his dismay. "My husband's classic T-Bird is locked in the garage, and I know it's gassed up. But he loves that car. He's the only one with the key to the garage. God, he'd kill me if he knew I was gonna drive it, but it's Randy's college interview, right? We couldn't be late!"

"Ma'am?" Roy interjected. "Your son?"

"Right, sorry." The woman was clearly rattled by the situation. "You can trip the lock and open the garage from inside. So Randy tried to open the window, and got it up about six inches. He said he could get through and get inside. He really didn't want to be late for the interview. He wants to go to film school, you know. Wants to be a director, just like Martin Scorcese."

Roy couldn't take it any more. "Ma'am, is your son stuck in the window?"

"Oh," the woman said, flustered at being cut off. "Yes, he is."

"Can you show us where?" John asked, trying not to smile.

She led them around the side of the garage where they found the bottom half of a young man sticking out of the window. It didn't take them long to force the window up more, and get him out. John was about to pull the window shut after freeing the kid, when the boy grabbed his arm.

"NO! Don't!" he shouted. "I need to get in there. We need to get the car out!"

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Roy asked. "What time is your interview?"

"3:30."

Johnny showed Randy his watch. "It's 3:28," he pointed out. "I think you're already too late."

"Oh, man," the dejected kid exclaimed. "Now what am I gonna do? I'm gonna be a director," he told the paramedics.

"Just like Martin Scorcese," Gage finished for him as the two firemen picked up their gear and started walking back to the squad. They both waved behind them as the woman shouted her thanks.

"That's three," Johnny mumbled as he put away the pry bar.

"What's that?"

"Three," Gage repeated as he climbed in next to his partner, sure he didn't have to explain that he meant three gasoline-related calls today. "That'd better be the end of it."

The following shift, the guys sat in the dayroom drinking coffee and looking at the newspaper after they had finished the morning chores.

“You see this?” Chet shoved the front section of the paper across the table in front of Johnny and Roy.

The two paramedics put down the sections of newspaper they were reading and looked at what Chet was pointing to.

Johnny cocked an eyebrow. “A riot? At the gas station at North Hill Street and Market?” He looked over at his partner. “I knew it! I just knew this was gonna happen soon! Didn’t I tell ya? Didn’t I?”

Roy nodded. “Things are crazy all right.”

“Yeah. I mean we were lucky to just get two more gas related calls last shift after that one where that kid got stuck in the window …and at least they weren’t that bad.”

Roy and Chet looked incredulously at Johnny.

“Not that bad?!” Chet shot out. “Gage, you were complaining non-stop all day!"

“Oh I was not,” Johnny defended. “I may have mentioned I was tired of ‘em…but I didn’t complain non-stop.” He picked up his section of the paper and began reading again.

Chet glanced over at Roy, who was staring at his partner in disbelief.

“Yeah, like you weren’t worried about being audited that time either,” Kelly mumbled, leaning back in his chair.

Marco grinned and shook his head at the exchange. “So, Johnny, how did your date with Victoria go yesterday?”

Chet sat forward with renewed interest. “Yeah, John, you haven’t been whistling a happy tune all morning.”

Johnny set down his section of the paper on the table. “Oh, don’t ask.”

“She canceled, didn’t she?” Chet baited.

“No, she didn’t cancel. Things just didn’t go as planned,” Johnny shrugged, trying his best to appear nonchalant. He debated whether or not he should divulge his bad luck and decided he might as well tell them the truth or they'd only imagine the worst.

“You all would not believe what happened,” Johnny began. “I went out to my car to go pick up Victoria for our date last night and what did I find? Someone had siphoned the gas out of my Rover!”

“You’re kidding,” Roy commented, surprised.

“Nope…there was just enough to get me to a filling station. A station where I had to sit in line for over an hour! Which means, I was late again for our date. And Victoria was NOT PLEASED…again.”

“Didn’t you call her?” Marco asked.

“I figured it was easier just to go get gas on the way than to run back up to the apartment to use the phone first. I didn’t think there would be that many people getting gas at six o’clock in the evening.” Johnny shook his head, a pained look on his face. “One more strike and I think Victoria’ll be through with me.”

The tones sounded, bringing the conversation to an end.

“Station 51, man trapped. 811 Old Mill Road. 8-1-1 Old Mill Road. Time out 0952.”

The call was in a rural area and as the squad and engine pulled up, they could see a man standing by an old white pick up truck, an open field behind him.

Captain Stanley approached the man. “Sir, we got a call about a man trapped?”

“Yeah, it's my friend Harry. He’s lying out in that field. We were just out looking at land…he’s thinking of building out in the country away from the

city.”

The captain nodded, waiting for the man to continue.

“Well, we stumbled on a beehive in an old log. Got the bees really mad and when we ran, Harry broke his ankle or somethin'. He fell down, starting yelling that it hurts like hell. I couldn’t get back out there ‘cause of them bees.”

The men had assembled around their captain and were listening to the story.

“Bees?” Johnny had a sick expression on his face.

“Yep. Hundreds of ‘em. Maybe thousands.”

Captain Stanley shook his head. “Roy, John, put on your turnouts and grab a stokes. Mike, pull the engine in closer to the hive. We'll spray the bees with water, then Roy and John can do a grab and run.”

The men acted as directed and after only minimal complications, the paramedics had Harry carried out to safety and loaded in an ambulance.

The captain walked over to Johnny and Roy as they were ready to leave. “Did either of you get stung?”

“A few times," Roy answered. "But we’re all right.”

“Just the same, have them check you out at Rampart.”

Chet sauntered. “Hey, Gage, at least it wasn’t anything to do with the gas shortage.”

“Shut up, Chet.”

Johnny glanced over at his partner as Roy backed the squad into the station.

“You know, Roy, there’s one thing I’ve learned so far today.”

“What’s that?”

“There are worse things than a gas shortage and crazy people…like angry bees.”

Roy turned off the ignition and grinned. “Just remember that next time you find yourself at a gas station.”

"Oh, very funny. You wouldn't be smiling if you'd gotten stung as many times as I did."

"They must have really liked you Johnny. They hardly touched me at all."

"Yeah, they like him a lot better than Victoria does," Chet piped up, smirking. He was eavesdropping on their conversation and found the perfect means to torture his pigeon some more.

"Chet, shut up, will ya?!" The exasperated paramedic stormed off towards the locker room.

Roy's grin faded when he realized that Chet's comment had struck a raw nerve. "Yeah Chet, leave him alone."

"Roy, I..."

"You get him all riled up and then I have to listen to him until he calms down. Do me a favor and leave him alone, all right?"

"Geez! A guy can't have any fun around here anymore," Chet mumbled as he made his way to the kitchen.

Roy sighed and went in search of his grouchy partner. He found Johnny putting calamine lotion on his stings and muttering to himself.

"You okay, Johnny? "

"I'm fine. I'll live," Gage replied testily.

"You feeling short of breath or anything? Any signs of anaphylaxis?"

"Roy, Brackett checked us both out at Rampart and said we were fine. If I was gonna have an allergic reaction, I woulda had it by now. I'm fine. I just wish they'd stop itching and Chet would shut up."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

Johnny put the calamine lotion away and Roy suggested they grab some coffee.

"Sounds great, Roy."

The two friends entered the kitchen and each poured a cup of coffee. Johnny glanced up, saw Chet staring at him and said, "Think I'm gonna go outside for a little while."

"Mind if I join you?" Roy asked.

"No. Not at all."

Marco looked up and watched the two men leave. He glanced at Chet who was snickering while he rubbed Henry's ears. "What did you do now?"

"Who me?" he asked feigning innocence.

"C'mon Chet. Johnny's agitated. What did you do to him?"

"Aw, I was just messin' with the pigeon. That's all."

A short time later the tones sounded.

"Station 51, woman down. 2114 Dahlia Drive. 2-1-1-4 Dahlia Drive. Cross street Wilson. Time out 1345."

Gage and DeSoto ran into the bay heading for the squad. Johnny paused long enough to hit the garage door button, closing the back door behind him. Cap handed Roy the call slip and both vehicles raced to the scene.

Upon arrival they found a small crowd gathered around a woman in her late forties who was lying on the ground at the end of her driveway. A delivery truck was stopped next to her.

Officer Pete Larson was taking a statement from the driver. Cap cleared a path for his medics to get to the injured woman.

"Ma'am? Can you tell me what happened?" Johnny asked while Roy took her vitals.

"I...uh...I was visiting my neighbor across the street. I came home when I saw the delivery truck in my driveway. I guess he didn't see me. Ohhhh...my hip hurts."

"Okay. We're gonna take good care of you. My name is Johnny and that's my partner Roy. Can you tell me your name?"

"Millie Smith. My leg hurts too."

"Does anything else hurt?"

"My back hurts a little and I think I might've bumped my head."

Once the assessment was complete, Roy called in to Rampart. Soon Mrs. Smith was on her way to the hospital.

Back at the station Chet couldn't resist ribbing Gage some more about his girl troubles.

"Maybe you should find a nice OLDER woman to go out with. They're usually more understanding than the young ones. That lady who got hit by the truck seemed nice. What about her?"

"Chet, don't start," said Johnny.

"What's the matter? She turn you down?"

"Chet! That is just plain stupid! She was a married woman and a patient. What do you think I am?"

"You don't really want me to answer that do you?"

"Ahhh...go play in traffic."

"Nice come back Gage. I'm real scared."

"What's going on out here?" asked Hank Stanley stepping out of his office.

"Nothing, Cap," replied Chet, beating a hasty retreat from the bay.

"John?"

Gage looked like he wanted to say something but remained silent so Roy spoke up instead. "Chet's just harassing Johnny about his problems with Victoria again."

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that true?"

"Yeah."

"Need me to put a stop to it?"

"Nah, don't bother. He'll stop on his own sooner or later."

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Cap."

Hank disappeared back into his office.

Roy looked at his partner. "You mad at me?"

"What for?"

"Telling Cap about Chet."

"No, but you shouldn't have said anything."

"Why? You weren't going to."

"That was my decision, Roy. Let's just forget it. How about I buy you a cup of coffee before dinner?"

"Good deal, partner."

The guys actually had a chance to eat dinner uninterrupted for once. Johnny and Roy gathered up the dishes. Johnny washed and Roy dried. Cap went back into his office to finish up a report that he was working on. Mike sat on the couch to read the paper. Henry looked up at him with soulful eyes to see who sat down and promptly closed them again.

"Hey, Henry, you lazy old dog," Mike teased as the hound moved closer to him and Mike patted his back. Marco and Chet settled at the table for a game of checkers.

The TV was on and every once in a while one of the guys would glance at it. Johnny started to pay particular attention when the local news began running a story about the gas shortage.

"Man, Roy, I can't wait for this shortage to be over. What's going to happen if we, as public servants, run out gas because we can't afford to wait on those lines and be late for work? Are we gonna have to spend our days off on line at a gas pump? And then have someone siphon it out of the squad the way they did my car? We're going to have to find something to keep the gas in our tanks."

"And to keep your dates on time," Chet piped in.

"Shut up Chet", Johnny continued on with his tirade without the slightest inhalation of breath. "I'll tell ya, people are downright mean when it comes to things like gas shortages, or hogging food. You see it on the TV all the time. Whenever the weatherman predicts some kind of horrendous weather, people are out there in line at the supermarket buyin' gallons of milk, loaves of bread, canned goods, flashlights, you name it, they're buyin' it," Johnny ranted on.

"I heard you can buy a gas cap that has a lock on it," Roy stole a look at Johnny still not believing how much his partner could get out in one breath. ‘I hope he doesn't stay on this kick all night,’ DeSoto thought to himself. ‘I really don't feel like listening to this.’

"Hey Gage, give it a rest already," Chet sighed from the table as Marco beat him in another game. "Why don't you talk about your lucky streak with Victoria instead?" He chuckled as he saw Johnny give him a murderous glare.

"Chet, why don't you..." The rest was drowned out as the klaxons went off.

"Station 51, Engine 110, explosion at Max's Self-Serve gas station. 1157 Pine Street. Cross street Winthrop. 1-1-5-7 Pine Street. Cross street Winthrop. Time out 1825."

"Station 51, 10-4, KMG365", Captain Stanley acknowledged as the doors went up. He handed Roy his call slip as he made his way to the engine.

"See! See what I mean Roy! This is not gonna end anytime soon," Johnny ranted on as Roy pulled out of the station.

Roy rolled his eyes and said nothing. It was going to be a long night.

As the crew of Station 51 turned onto Pine Street, flames could be seen shooting up from the gas station. The crew from 110 was already on the scene trying to douse the fire.

The squad and engine pulled over to the curb and Captain Stanley began barking orders as his men climbed out of the trucks.

“Chet, Marco, grab a 3-inch line and help get those flames under control. John and Roy, help Marco and Chet. I’ll see if anyone may have been inside.”

The captain knew if there were anyone in the building he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. No way was he sending his men into a building that was already engulfed in flames. The odds of them surviving were too low to risk it.

The owner of the station was talking to the captain from Station 110. Stanley approached, calling out as he did.

“Anyone inside there when it went up?”

The owner shook his head. “Just me, but I got right out.”

“Are you hurt, sir?”

“No. The back end of the building went first. I left as soon as it happened.”

“He said he’s had some problems since the shortage,” Captain Stone explained. “Some people threatening to burn his place down if he didn’t lower his prices.”

“But all the gas stations have higher prices,” Stanley commented.

“Apparently, they find it easier to intimidate the independent owners of smaller stations. In this case, he didn’t do what someone wanted and that may have been who did this.”

Hank shook his head. “Crazy. This world is getting crazier by the day.”

The police officers on the scene watched as the fire fighters fought to keep the blaze contained to the building and away from the pumps. Another truck was called in before they were able to get the fire extinguished.

When the fire was finally out, Engine 51 stayed to keep a watch on hot spots while the other companies left. Roy and Johnny climbed in the squad ready to head back to the station.

As Roy turned on the ignition he frowned. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Johnny was puzzled, not sure what his partner was talking about.

“Look at the gas gauge.”

Johnny leaned over and looked. “It’s on 'E'!”

Roy nodded. “Someone must've siphoned the gas out of the squad while we were fighting that fire!”

“Oh, now I’ve heard everything!” Johnny exclaimed. “I don’t believe this! Well, what now?”

“We’re at a gas station, but it just burned down. I guess we tell Cap.”

They got out of the squad and waved Captain Stanley over.

“What’s up guys?”

“You won’t believe this,” Roy began, “but while we were fighting that fire, someone siphoned the gas out of the squad.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Hank exclaimed in amazement. “I said it earlier and I’ll say it again: people are getting crazier by the day. Do you have enough gas to get to any stations nearby?”

“I don’t think so, Cap. Not sure,” Roy answered.

“Well, radio and see if Charlie or someone else in maintenance can bring you a can of gas.”

Roy did so and then called them in as unavailable while they waited for the gas to arrive.

“You know, it’s pretty bad when someone steals from the fire department…during a fire yet,” Johnny grumbled.

“Yeah, makes you wish someone like that would need us all of a sudden and have to wait.”

“It’d never happen. The innocent ones will be the ones waiting.”

Both paramedics looked up as their help arrived.

“You two ran the squad out of gas?” Charlie asked as he opened the gas tank.

“No,” Johnny said defensively. “Someone STOLE it while we were fighting the fire.”

“How does someone steal gas with everyone here?”

“We were kind of busy,” Roy pointed out. “And we’ve never had to keep an eye on the squad before.”

“All right, all right, well, there’s your gas, gentlemen,” Charlie pulled the can away from the gas spout. He screwed the cap back on the tank and closed the hatch. “Try to hang on to it this time.” He shook his head in amusement and headed back to his own truck. As he drove away he honked and waved to the paramedics.

“Think word of this will get around?” Johnny asked as he and Roy climbed back in the squad.

“I have no doubt.” Roy pulled the squad away from the curb and headed for the nearest municipal filling station.

"Man, I cannot believe those guys," Johnny complained, as they left the municipal garage with a full tank of gas. "Charlie needs to learn to keep his mouth shut."

Roy shook his head in disgust. "I bet he laughed all the way back to the garage and couldn't wait to tell the rest of the crew. It's not funny, not funny at all."

"No it isn't. Like we talked about earlier, what if we had gotten a call? What if some innocent victim died because we couldn't get there? I don't think Charlie and the boys would be so quick to laugh. Man, Roy! He's never gonna let us forget this. Never." Johnny turned to stare out the window.

Roy prepared himself for another rant session by his partner. He was surprised when Johnny added nothing more to the conversation. He knew by the silence that his partner was really upset.

"At least he was too busy laughing to notice the dent on the squad," Roy pointed out, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Johnny threw him a sideways glance and resumed looking out the window. "Yeah. We're safe...for now," he mumbled.

The paramedics were toned out on another call before they reached the station. "Squad 51, domestic disturbance with injuries. 1521 Maryland Avenue. 1-5-2-1 Maryland Avenue. Cross street Zenith. Be advised police are responding. Time out 2115."

Johnny picked up the mic and replied, "10-4 County. Squad 51 responding."

Roy glanced at his partner, "I'm really glad the police are responding. I hate domestic calls."

"Me too. I'd almost rather wait in line for gas."

Both men shared a laugh, then the gravity of the situation settled upon them.

Unfortunately the squad arrived at the house before the police did. It was a well-maintained cottage-style house in a nice suburban neighborhood. They could hear the shouting from the street. Gage and DeSoto gathered their equipment and headed for the house.

Johnny knocked on the door and announced their arrival. "Fire Department. Did somebody inside call for medical assistance?"

The door swung open to reveal a man about 6'3" in height, weighing around 250 pounds. He had several bruises on his face and was bleeding from a head wound. "Yeah, c'mon in."

"My name is John Gage and this is my partner Roy DeSoto. We're paramedics. You look like you could use a little medical attention."

The man led them into the house. The living room was a shambles, full of overturned furniture and broken bric-a-brac. "Sorry about the mess fellas," he said with a laugh and a touch of sarcasm. "Name's Rick Johnson. Me and the missus weren't exactly expecting company tonight." He took a step towards the up-ended sofa and stumbled.

"Easy there," said Roy, grabbing the man's arm. "Why don't you have a seat and let us look you over."

"Sure, fine. Uh...watch out for Helen. She's a bit miffed at me." He sat heavily on the floor and Roy started taking his vitals.

"Oh? What'd you do?" asked Johnny as he started to clean the cut on the back of the man's head.

At that moment Helen Johnson, all 5'1" and 115 pounds of her, stormed into the room. There was an empty beer mug in her hand and a strong odor of alcohol on her breath. "I'll tell ya what that moron husband of mine did. He ran the car to near empty and didn't bother to stop and fill it up on the way home! I have a job interview on the other side of town tomorrow and now I have to fill up first. I'll most likely be late or miss my interview and the job of a lifetime will go to someone else!"

She advanced and took a swing at her husband who ducked. She caught Johnny on the left temple with the heavy mug, knocking him backwards. Roy dropped what he was doing and attempted to stop her. For his trouble he got hit in the upper arm.

Rick hollered, "Knock it off Helen! I said I was sorry! These guys are here to help, not end up a casualty of you bein' mad at me."

Roy kneeled beside his partner who was dazed and bleeding. "Johnny, you okay?"

"Roy, I…what just happened?"

DeSoto gave his friend a quick once-over and handed him some 4x4's to stop the bleeding. He turned abruptly to the original victim. "Let me finish taking care of you so I can help my partner. Okay?"

The police arrived and were stunned by the carnage before them. Broken and up-ended furniture was strewn around the living room. The couple was still arguing and one of the firemen was wounded. "What the hell happened here?" asked Officer Jeff Winslow as he and his partner entered the house.

Roy angrily jerked his thumb towards Rick. "He forgot to put gas in the car and she's..." he paused, "let's just say, less than thrilled about it. We were trying to help him when she went after him again. He ducked and she got my partner instead. Then I tried to stop her and she hit me too. I'm really glad you guys are here. Please do something with her so we can get out of here alive."

"Sure thing, Roy. Johnny, you okay?"

Johnny was still a little dazed. "Ummm...can I get back to you on that Jeff?" He tried to get up.

"Johnny, sit down. I need you to just sit, okay? I'll be done with this in a minute." Roy finished dressing Mr. Johnson's head wound. Johnson then politely declined transport. The sandy-haired paramedic was finding it harder and harder to maintain his calm. He advised the man to see his family physician and handed him the release form to sign.

Roy was tired. It had been a long day and these idiots were fighting over who was going to put gas in the car. His partner was an innocent victim in their little domestic war. He was grateful the police were there to deal with the Johnsons. They continued to bicker, but most of the steam left the fighting when the police arrived. "Why couldn't they act more civilized when we were here by ourselves?" he wondered as he started cleaning his partner's wound.

"Roy, what happened? When are people gonna start acting normal again? I can't believe this." It was a rhetorical question, but he still felt the need to ask it.

"You mean besides the nice gash on your head here?"

He was interrupted when Officer Jim Turner approached and asked, "You want to press charges?"

Roy held up a hand and said, "Not now, Jim. Give him some time and ask again later. He got hit pretty hard and he's still a bit dazed."

"Sure thing, Roy. You might want to have your arm looked at. You've got quite a bruise going there. How 'bout I catch up with you at Rampart? I still need to get your statements."

"Okay, Jim. Sounds good."

Jim shook his head and glanced from the Johnson's back to the paramedics. "He gonna be all right?"

"Who?" asked Roy.

"Both of them," replied the officer.

"Oh, Mr. Johnson just has some cuts and bruises. He'll be all right. Johnny might have a mild concussion. The sooner I get him to Rampart, the happier I'll be."

"I'll bring in the squad for you."

"Thanks."

As the stretcher was brought in, Johnny started to protest. Roy's tone of voice left no room for argument and he quietly did as he was told. He hadn't seen his partner this angry or upset in a long time.

Forty minutes later, Johnny had a headache and a large bruise and half a dozen butterfly bandages adorned his forehead. Because he'd never lost consciousness and his x-rays and neuro checks were all normal, he was spared an overnight stay and allowed to go back to work. Roy was holding an icepack to the large bruise that had formed on his upper arm. They had just given their statements to the police and were relaxing for a few minutes over cups of coffee in the hospital cafeteria.

"About ready to roll, Junior?"

"More than ready, Pally. I just wanna get back to the station and crawl into bed. I'd like to forget this day ever happened," he sighed as he finished his coffee. "I don't even want to think about what Chet's gonna have to say about all this."

"Let's worry about that tomorrow. Let's get out of here."

Once back safely at 'home' the weary paramedics of 51's A-shift dropped into their bunks and fell asleep like the rest of the crew had already done.

It was a blissfully quiet night and the men got some much-needed sleep. Roy was the first one up the following morning so he got to make the coffee. One by one the others filed in, until finally, Johnny made an appearance.

"Damn, Gage, you look like something the cat dragged in," commented Chet in his usual tactless manner.

"Yeah, well I feel like something the cat dragged in," Johnny mumbled in response. He grabbed a coffee cup and held it out toward his partner. "Coffee. Now."

"Say the magic word, Gage," razzed Chet.

"Oh, Chet, for crying out loud, I'm just not in the mood for you this morning."

Roy, smiling with some sympathy for his partner, reached for Johnny's mug. As he poured him a cup, he asked lightly, "What's the matter, Junior, having some trouble waking up?"

"I guess. I dunno; I woke up with a really wicked headache, that's all."

"Yeah, well looking at the bandages you're sporting, I'd say you have a pretty good reason for a headache, pal," observed Cap. "Roy, what the hell happened to him?"

DeSoto unconsciously began rubbing his bruised arm but before he could begin to explain, Johnny jumped right in.

"It was unbelievable, Cap! This woman went off the deep end! All because her husband forgot to fill up the gas tank! Can you imagine? I'm telling ya, Cap, no good is gonna come of this stupid energy crisis!"

"Aw," Chet snorted, "that's a brilliant deduction, Sherlock! For crying out loud, Gage, it's an energy crisis! There's already not much good coming from it! But ya gotta just go with the flow, man. Ya can't let this thing rule your life!"

Johnny absentmindedly touched his forehead. "It's hard to imagine how much more with the flow I could have gone last night, Chet."

"Yeah, well, I know Victoria certainly had nothing to do with last night, but then again she hasn't been having much to do with you at all lately, has she?" Chet tormented. It never ceased to amaze any of them of how easily Chet found it to needle Gage.

"Aw, give it a rest, would ya? With all the times you talk about Victoria, you'd think you had the hots for her, Kelly," Johnny retorted.

"Me? No, Gage, Victoria is definitely not my type."

"You've never even met her!"

"Yeah, well she's willing to go out with you, isn't she?" Chet charged. "I rest my case."

"Oh, for crying out loud! This has nothing to do with Victoria. It has to do with why seemingly normal people suddenly become lunatics and whack people in the head with beer mugs!" Johnny winced a bit and made his way to a chair.

"He's right, you know."

Five pairs of eyes turned in unison toward the sixth member of the crew.

"Well," continued Mike in his own inimitable soft voice, "Johnny's right. Gas has become a real necessity for people. Those folks who are really wealthy or have power probably don't have to worry about standing in gas lines; working class people don't have that luxury. It's those people who aren't going to be able to take this in stride."

"Right," the others murmured. It was hard to tell if their muted reaction was due to their being impressed with Mike's well-thought-out views or the mere fact that he'd chosen to verbalize them.

"Aw, c'mon," Chet interjected, "ya can't let some stupid people's overreaction color your view of the situation. I mean, from what I've seen, a lot of people have actually become friendlier! I mean, when I've been stuck in line for a long time, more often than not I've been able to start strike up conversations with other folks. Hey, I've actually considered asking the number of this really cute girl that gets gas at the same station I get mine."

"Wonderful. Only Chester B. could think of the gas station as a great substitute for the Lonely Hearts Club," proclaimed Johnny.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing, Chet. Absolutely nothing. I gotta go get some aspirin."

When Johnny left in a huff, Roy made a move to follow him.

"Roy?" Chet called out, "his head's okay, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well it's as good as it can be with a two-inch gash in it, Chet."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Ouch. Look, this whole thing's got him a little spooked; actually, it's got me a little spooked, too. So how about letting up on him a little bit?"

"Yeah, yeah...but he's really okay, right?"

"Yes, he's really okay. He's gonna have a helluva headache for a day or two, though."

And it was only going to get worse.

The klaxons sounded. "Station 51, automobile accident. 3110 North Hill Street. 3-1-1-0 North Hill Street. Cross street Benton. Time out 0654."

Johnny groaned as he came out of the locker room. "Why couldn’t we just get through one more hour with no calls?" he wondered to himself. "Then C-Shift could be going out on this one."

Roy was already in the squad when Johnny climbed in. He handed Gage the slip of paper with the address on it, taking in the pained look on his partner’s face.

“Your head feel any better?”

“Not yet…maybe by the time we get there.” Johnny said wryly.

The engine followed the squad out as they headed for the scene of the accident.

As the paramedics came to the accident site, Johnny shook his head. A Cadillac had t-boned a Mazda on the driver’s side, and in turn another car had rear-ended the Cadillac and been rear-ended in turn.

“Four cars?! Oh man…I hope no one got hurt bad or we’ll be here forever.”

Roy looked at his partner in surprise. “You must be feeling lousy. Usually you’re more concerned for the victims than us.”

“Roy, with the way it’s been and after last night…I’m not so sure I want to go NEAR any victims.”

Johnny sighed as the squad came to a stop. He and Roy got out and gathered up their equipment while Captain Stanley and the others trotted over to see what the situation was.

As luck would have it, the accident had only two minor injuries and the paramedics were back at the station by nine o’clock.

Dwyer from C-Shift stepped out to greet the duo. “Wow, Gage, what happened to you?”

“Don’t ask,” Johnny mumbled as he waved the other paramedic off and headed for the locker room.

“We had a run-in with a small but very angry housewife who had one heck of a good swing,” Roy explained, as he watched his partner walk away. “Don’t worry, he’ll be good as new next shift.”

“Still a lot of crazy things going on?”

“Let me put it this way…you better have eyes in the back of your head.”

“Oh,” Dwyer snickered. “I heard about the squad. Someone stole your gas, huh?”

Roy’s eyes widened in surprise. “How'd you know?"

“Bob from 36’s called me yesterday. I think just about everyone in the district knows.”

Roy shook his head. “I knew it. I just knew it! Well, have fun…and remember, you could be next.”

Dwyer laughed as he headed back into the dayroom.

Johnny and Roy walked out into the parking lot and found a very dejected Chet Kelly sitting in his station wagon, the driver’s side door hanging open.

“What are you still doing here?” Johnny asked. The expression on Chet's face as he looked up at them was all it took for an answer. “Wait…don’t tell me…someone stole your gas!”

Kelly nodded, wishing he could slink away and hide. But he needed a lift to a gas station to get some for his car. “Could one of you give me a ride to the nearest gas station?”

“I can’t. Joanne needs the car to get to an appointment," Roy said apologetically.

Johnny sighed. “I guess I can…but we have to make it quick. I’ve got a brunch date with Victoria at eleven o’clock.”

Johnny and Chet climbed into the Land Rover and they headed down the street. Kelly was so upset at being the victim of a thief that he couldn’t help but vent. “You know, this gas shortage is getting ridiculous. It’s pretty bad when you can’t even leave work because someone has siphoned your tank.”

Johnny glanced over and grinned. “You gotta take it all in stride Chet…you know, go with the flow.”

Chet glared at Johnny. “Very funny, Gage. This is different.”

“How so?” John stared at Chet in amazement.

“Johnny!” Chet pointed towards the windshield.

John turned his head forward just in time to avoid hitting a pick up truck.

“See? Nothing good comes of it…I have my gas stolen, you nearly hit a truck…it’s getting bad, I tell you…bad!”

“Chet, just tell me one thing…do I sound this annoying when I rant?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder Roy blocks out half of what I say.”

It was 11:30 when the two firemen finally got back to Chet’s car at the station.

“Sorry about you missing your date again, Gage.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault your gas was stolen…or that there was a long line at the gas station. Nope, I’ll tell you what, Chet…I’m gonna give up dating till this gas shortage is over.”

“What if it just gets worse?”

Johnny just shook his head and wondered if it could get any worse.

The following shift found the crew relaxed and on time for work. Captain Stanley was all smiles at roll call.

"Good to see everyone here on time. I trust no one had any gasoline related problems over the break?" A chorus of groans and frowns all around met his query.

"Okay, sorry I asked," he said clapping his hands together. "First off I'd like to tell you all that because of the situation with the squad the other day and the recent 'civil unrest', headquarters has ordered that we all keep an eye on our gas gauges. Anytime we are on-scene, personnel not directly involved in the situation are to keep an eye on the vehicles until needed. We can't have a police officer baby-sit every time we get a call. They have their hands full as it is," he paused and cast a glance at his paramedics. Johnny stared at the floor and Roy looked over at the squad. "Oh, and no unnecessary trips anywhere...per the Chief. Any questions?"

Hank's crew all responded in the negative. "Great. Now, let's get down to the day's business..."

After roll call, they all headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee before starting the day's chores. Hank walked up to Johnny and asked, "Hey pal, feeling any better today?"

"Yeah. I'm okay. Thanks. I sure hope today is a better day than the last shift," he replied filling his coffee cup and turning to sit down.

"Me too." Cap took his coffee to his office and shut the door.

Chet sat down at the table next to Gage. "Uh, Johnny...I just wanted to say thanks again. I really appreciate you helping me out the other day."

"No problem Chet. You'd have done the same for me," he replied quietly.

"By the way, did you ever make your date with Victoria?"

"I called her when I got home and she gave me an earful. It's over. She wants nothing to do with me."

"Man, I'm really sorry. If it hadn't been for..."

"Save it Chet. It's okay. I guess it just wasn't meant to be. She had no problem giving me the boot, so to speak. Maybe I'm better off. It may have been a blessing in disguise."

"I know, but..."

"Chet! It's okay, really. It gave me time to think about our relationship and it was pretty one-sided. If she couldn't find it in her heart to understand that I was helping a friend.... well, who needs her?"

"Well, I'm still sorry, man. I shouldn't have razzed you about it last shift. You'll find the right girl someday."

"Thanks Chet."

Their conversation was ending just as Mike, Marco, and Roy joined them at the table. "What's going on?" asked Roy.

"Nothing. Just small talk," Johnny mumbled.

"You two?" asked a surprised Marco.

"Yeah. What's wrong with that?" asked Johnny.

"They must not be feeling well," replied the usually quiet Mike.

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny guys," said Chet as he got up to start cleaning the latrine. He paused by Gage on his way out.

"What?" Johnny asked, not knowing what to expect.

"Uh..." he hesitated when he saw the others staring at him. "Nothin', nothin' at all." He smiled as he left the room.

"You sure you're okay? I mean, that knock in the head didn't do any 'damage' did it?" asked his curious partner.

"Very funny, Roy. Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"So, how were your days off?"

"Fine. Quiet, but fine. And yours?"

"Joanne had a ton of things for me to do. You don't know how glad I am to be back at work!"

All the men laughed as they got up to start their work. Hank poked his head in the doorway. "Oh, by the way, the log for the squad needs updated. Think you can take care of it today?"

Roy glanced at Johnny, who shrugged and nodded. "Sure Cap. We'll get to it as soon as we can."

"Okay, but it really needs to be done today."

A quick check of the supplies showed no need for a trip to Rampart to restock. "Great! If we can keep up with the supplies after each run, we can avoid those unnecessary trips that waste gas," remarked Johnny as he returned the biophone to its proper place.

Roy headed to the dorm to start changing the linens. Mike pulled the engine out into the driveway so he could wash and wax it. Johnny pulled the squad out beside it, then gathered the mop and bucket from the supply closet and set to work cleaning the apparatus bay floor.

An hour later, the tones sounded.

"Squad 51, woman in labor. 5317 Juniper Court. 5-3-1-7 Juniper Court. Cross street Linton. Time out 1005."

"Squad 51. KMG365," replied Johnny as he and Roy headed outside for the squad.

The paramedics eased out into the morning traffic. "Finally, a call that has nothing to do with gas! I hope we're back in time for lunch. Marco's making enchiladas."

Roy laughed. Maybe today would be a good day.

They arrived to find a young woman more than ready to give birth and her frantic husband at her side. He had been detained in a traffic jam and had arrived just moments before the paramedics. They were both very grateful that the men of 51 were there.

Johnny delivered a baby girl without complications and accompanied the young mother to Rampart in the ambulance. Roy arrived to find his partner grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Man, Roy. Sometimes I really love this job!" Roy was glad to see his partner so happy after everything that happened the last shift.

Dr. Joe Early exited the treatment room. "Great job, fellas. She weighed in at a healthy 7 pounds, 8 ounces. Mother and daughter are doing just fine." He picked up another chart and headed into treatment room two calling, "See you later," over his shoulder.

"You about ready to head back to the station? Remember, Marco's cooking and we have a date with the logbook," Roy reminded.

"Yeah, okay. Let's go!"

Roy had a hard time keeping up with his partner. He laughed as he got into the squad. Johnny's face was still an ear-to-ear grin. Maybe today really was gonna be better after all.

There wasn't a man who hadn't found his appetite that afternoon. No one made better enchiladas than Marco. After they'd had their fill, and then some, the two paramedics went to tackle the much-maligned logbook. Even that task, however, couldn't wipe the smiles off of their faces.

"Feels good, ya know?"

"Yeah, Junior, I know."

Snippets of thoughts and conversation permeated the afternoon as the hated task was completed and Johnny and Roy went back into the kitchen to refresh their drinks and check in with the others. Roy grabbed the coffeepot, while Johnny reached in the fridge for the carton of milk.

"Shoot." John held the carton with a scowl.

"What's wrong?" Marco looked up from the newspaper's food.

"Someone put the carton of milk back into the fridge with nothing more than a drop inside of it. Now why would someone go and do that?"

Chet peeked up from the sports section and then quickly looked down again, but not before Johnny spotted the guilty look written all over his face.

"Oh, Chet, it had to be you! You're the only one besides me that uses milk in their coffee, and I know it wasn't me," Johnny ranted on, earnestly shaking his head while simultaneously pointing to himself as if to better prove his case. Then, he turned to his shift-mates and asked dramatically, "How can he be so inconsiderate?"

"I'm sorry, Gage. I put it back in like that because I figured someone, like you for instance, might want that last drop for a cup of coffee. Sue me for trying to be thoughtful!"

"Thoughtful? You call that being thoughtful? No, thoughtful would have been to go and get some fresh milk!" Johnny retorted.

"I agree with ya, Gage, but we've been kind of restricted in our use of vehicles for nonessential travel, remember? Somehow I don't think the chief would consider keeping poor Johnny Gage filled with his quota of Vitamin D as essential!" Kelly shot back.

"Okay, you two, enough! We don't need you two carrying on! It's been a nice, quiet shift so far, and…."

"CAP!" cried Johnny. "Shhh, ya wanna jinx us?"

"What?" asked Hank, "Jinx what?"

"Us, Cap. Us. You don't go and say it's been, well, you know..." When all he saw was confusion on his captain's face, Johnny whispered, "quiet. That's a sure fire way of making the tones go off."

Hank couldn't help but smile, but he also knew no amount of rational discussion would convince Johnny otherwise. The captain looked to his men and by their slightly upturned mouths he saw they understood the situation as well as he did.

Roy finally spoke up and tried his best to reassure his partner, "Listen, Johnny, you know that if we're gonna have a call, we're gonna have a call. And it doesn't matter who says what at any time. Listen. See? The tones haven't gone off yet, now have they?"

Everyone remained silent for a few moments, so Johnny finally had to admit the truth in that statement, albeit grudgingly. "Well, humor me at least, and let's just not discuss it, okay?"

"Sure, pal, that's a deal," replied Cap; he was glad Roy had been able to quell Johnny's uneasiness.

Chet, on the other hand, couldn't see allowing his favorite pigeon to get off quite that easily. "Aw, c'mon, Gage, you know that's just an old wives tale! What the hell is the big deal in saying we've had a nice, quiet shift this afternoon? Hell, we got through our jobs this morning, and…." Chet paused for a moment just to give himself the chance to observe Johnny's expression more thoroughly. The poor guy looked like he was going to start hyperventilating any second.

"And we even got through an entire meal without being toned out," he continued aloud. "In fact, I'll bet you that we're going to be able to even get through...."

"Don't say it!" interrupted John. "Please, don't say it!"

But Chet couldn't let it go; no, that would have been an impossible task given that Johnny was just ripe for the kill. "Dinner, Gage. We'll even get through dinner."

And of course it was at that very moment the klaxons sounded. If looks could have killed, Chet would have been the victim of five pairs of very lethal weapons.

The squad pulled in front of a large, but somewhat rundown home, while the engine pulled up close behind. An elderly man was standing in the overgrown front lawn, clasping and unclasping his hands nervously. Cap jumped off the engine first and went to speak with the man who, based on his agitation, seemed to be the homeowner.

"Sir, did you call in an alarm for a fire?" asked Hank as he walked toward the elderly gentlemen. When he received no answer, Captain Stanley touched the man on the shoulder to gain his attention and repeated his question a little louder.

Responding only with a nod, the aged man continued to wring his hands in anxiety.

"Is there anyone inside?" The response was a shake of the head. Hank felt some relief to hear that news.

"Sir, where is the fire?"

"In there. The kitchen," the old man answered in a raspy, tremulous whisper.

"What happened?" Again there was no response, and Cap was getting frustrated. He needed all the information he could get regarding how the fire started and what type of fire it was so he could direct his crew on the safest way to proceed. Again, he repeated his question. "SIR? What happened? What started the fire?"

"Home fries. I was frying up some leftover potatoes and I must've used a little too much oil. The whole stove caught on fire," the man explained with great unease.

"Okay, thank you, sir. Knowing it's a grease fire will help us put it out more quickly." Finally able to turn to his men with some direction, he called out and instructed them what needed to be done. "Marco, Chet, you two go in there with an inch and a half, but check to see if it can be controlled without water before you go at the stove full force. We sure as hell don't want to spread this thing."

As Marco and Chet carefully pulled the required equipment off of the truck, Cap called over to his paramedic team and instructed, "Gentlemen, I think our friend here looks a little queasy. Perhaps you should give him a quick check-up."

"Sure, Cap," replied Roy.

DeSoto eased the victim down onto the grass, while Gage returned to the squad to pick up the equipment. Roy made eye contact with the man and asked him his name.

"Halpert. Jerrod James Halpert."

"Okay, Mr. Halpert, my partner and I are going to just give you a quick checkup to make sure you're okay." Johnny returned with the equipment and knelt down next to his partner. "Sir, I'm going to take some vitals so we can be sure you're doing okay." The old man seemed oblivious to Roy's words and so Roy repeated himself, as he didn't want to start examining the victim without permission. "Sir, do you understand me?"

"Yes, yes, just hurry."

Johnny caught Roy's eye and looked at him questioningly; he couldn't understand why the old man would want Roy to hurry. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere. Something about the whole scenario was not sitting right with the junior partner and he was about to tell Roy that when the old man started exhibiting difficulty breathing.

"C'mon, Mr. Halpert, just slow your breathing down. You're just hyperventilating. You'll be fine if you'll just slow down your breathing." Turning to Johnny, Roy said, "Give me a paper bag."

Johnny rummaged through the drug box and found an ordinary brown lunch bag and handed it to his partner. He watched as Roy placed the opened bag over the mouth and nose of the victim, and encouraged him to take slow deep breaths.

Only moments passed when Marcos' voice came over the handy talkie. "Cap, this thing is starting to get away from us a little bit. This may take a little longer than we first thought."

"Ohmigod," the old man rasped out as he pushed the bag away from his mouth.

Roy attempted to comfort their patient, but there was something about the whole situation that was still bothering Johnny. Something wasn't ringing true and it was causing his gut to knot up. Finally, it dawned on him.

"Sir, what's going on?" he asked tersely.

"Johnny?" Roy didn't understand why it would surprise his partner that an elderly man would be upset over his house being on fire. "What's wrong with you? He's the victim here, remember?"

"I know, I know," Gage muttered, but this was his gut screaming to him that there was something wrong and he had to find out what. Even if it meant being a little short with the only person who seemed to know exactly what the problem was. "Mr. Halpert, is there something you're not telling us? Please, it's important we know everything so we don't put those firefighters in any more danger than they're already in."

Johnny's eyes were pleading with the old man to give up the withheld information. Mr. Halpert, meanwhile shot looks back and forth between the two paramedics and his now, very smoky house. "The porch off of the kitchen. They gotta be careful to keep the fire off of the back porch."

"Why, sir? What's on the back porch?" asked Johnny in a tone that both demanded and pleaded at the same time.

"They're covered up, but it's just an old tablecloth, ya know? J.J. Junior said that it would be a good way for him to make some extra money. To fix up the old place. It needs a new roof something fierce," he rambled.

"Sir, what is under the tablecloth?" Johnny was growing impatient, but more importantly his intuition was giving him reason to be fearful of what the old man was going to say. In fact, he realized before the words came out of his mouth what was hidden on the back porch.

"The cans," muttered Halpert hesitantly. "The gas cans. J.J. Junior said he could make money by hoarding some extra gas and charging double for it when people couldn't get any from the station. Damn fool idea, I guess..."

"How many?" asked Johnny angrily. "How many are there?"

"Don't know exactly. A lot, though, I think. Maybe 'bout twenty cans?"

Johnny's eyes met Roy's the moment Halpert uttered the word 'twenty.' While Roy remained with the patient; Johnny jumped up and ran to Captain Stanley to inform him of the latest developments.

"Damn it!" Cap quickly got on the HT and informed his crew of the new dangers that lay in wait. Next he turned to Gage and directed him to bring a hose round to the back porch and start hosing it down. "Mike," he called out, "Go round back with Johnny and help him out."

"But, Cap, shouldn't I stay with the engine?" Mike asked, ever protective of his machine.

"I used to be an engineer, Mike," Hank reminded him. "I can watch the gauges. The fool's got about twenty full gas cans in the back. They need to be hosed down, ASAP!"

"Yes, Cap." Mike quickly followed Gage as each man returned to their respective vehicles to get their SCBA gear and turnout coats. Mike immediately started pulling the hose to the rear of the house where the kitchen and porch were located.

Johnny had raced ahead and observed the flames tickling the window frames, which made his gut knot up all the more. It was getting close... too close, and Johnny wasn't sure if they would be able to keep the flames from swallowing up those gas cans.

The cans! There were too many damned cans, too close to the heat. "Mike, start washing down the porch! I'm gonna start moving the cans away!"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Mike said, but Johnny paid him no heed. Even though Mike thought John was being a little reckless, he understood why he was doing it. If those cans got too hot, the explosion could be devastating to the neighborhood. Stoker held his hose steady, first on the old, dirty tablecloth that hid the cause of their concern and then on the porch itself as Johnny began removing the cans as quickly as he could carry them off.

Suddenly, as John reached down to pick up another set of cans, there was a crackling on the HT. The paramedic could just barely make out Chet's words.

"Can't hold ... line. Too hot. Too hot." And it was at that very moment that the flames danced out to meet the old, worn cloth.

Johnny knew what was going to happen and wanted to warn Mike of the danger. He tried to shout to him to get out of the way, but his eyes were drawn back to watch the scene play out before him as if it were in slow motion. The blaze shot up to the roof of the house, while the dusty old tablecloth erupted into a conflagration of its own. Gas cans began rupturing, flying around like errant ping-pong balls. Gage was knocked back from the force of the explosions, and stood slightly dazed as a result. Then suddenly, one of the last of the twenty cans became every bit as accurate as a government secret missile, and shot directly towards the paramedic, striking him in the chest.

Johnny was no longer dazed; he was out cold.

Mike was lying on his back looking up at the sky, his air tank pushing rudely and painfully into his back. It was raining, he thought, but then it wasn’t. Then it was.

It only took a moment for his addled mind to put the pieces together. “The line,” he mumbled aloud. “Somebody cut the line.”

The water suddenly stopped. Had someone heard him? Didn’t matter, he didn’t think, as long as the water was off. An unmanned live hose was very dangerous.

How come no one was manning the line?

Didn’t matter, he didn’t think.

Mike closed his eyes.

The sound of the explosion catapulted Roy to his feet. He made fleeting eye contact with his captain before heading to the back of the house, both frantic and afraid to see what he’d find. He let out a relieved breath when his peripheral vision caught Chet and Marco high-tailing it out the front door. They were okay, at least.

He got to the corner, and saw what he was afraid he’d see. Both Johnny and Mike were down, and the hose was flailing wildly on the ground.

“CUT THE LINE!” he screamed as he charged forward, confident that Cap would do it immediately. He wasn’t disappointed, and the water had died to a slow trickle by the time he reached the first man, Mike.

“Mike?” he called out as he checked the man’s pulse, finding a good strong one. The paramedic could see blood on the side of Mike’s face, on the small portion that was covered by neither helmet nor oxygen mask. “Mike?” Roy was greeted with a groan from Stoker, and sighed with relief when the injured man shifted slightly onto his side, off his air tank. “Hang in there, Mike, I’ll be right back.” He patted his friend on the arm, eliciting a yelp of pain. Roy stopped for a second, but decided it best to check on Johnny.

DeSoto jumped over the engineer and headed to his partner. The heat from the now fully involved house was unbelievable, and Roy didn’t even have his turnout coat on; but he didn’t care.

John was lying on his side, his arms clutching his chest. He was unconscious, and appeared to be having difficulty breathing, despite the SCBA, which remained in place. His breaths were rapid and shallow.

“Johnny?” Roy asked, silently imploring his friend to open his eyes and answer. But he got nothing.

He looked up to find Chet and Marco had arrived. Mike was sitting up now, thank goodness, and Marco was helping him to stand. Chet was heading his way.

“Chet,” the paramedic ordered. “We’ve got to get him out of here. He musta been moving the gas cans--see them over there by the tree?” He motioned toward about eight cans lying haphazardly on the ground about 30 feet away. “If they go, we go.”

Chet nodded, and they picked the unconscious man up and carried him to the front of the house, where they placed him down beside the squad. Mike was sitting on the ground, leaning against the squad’s wheel, gingerly cradling his left arm against his body. There was blood on the right side of his face, but it didn’t look too bad.

“You okay, Mike?” DeSoto asked as he set to removing his partner’s air tank and coat.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Stoker answered, a little more quietly than usual. “Jus’ a little banged up.” Roy studied the man for no more than a second, but noted that Mike’s eyes were a little glassy, and he seemed a bit dazed. His inspection was halted when the engineer spoke again. “Take care of Johnny,” he said. “One of those cans hit him square in the chest.”

Roy sighed with relief at the knowledge that Stoker remembered the accident. It was a minor concussion at worst, he figured. But he needed to get a look at that arm.

“Do you need another squad?” he heard Cap ask from his place standing above them.

Roy looked at Stoker again. “You sure you’re okay, Mike?”

The engineer nodded emphatically. “I’m fine. Mighta busted my arm, but I’m fine.”

“Want me to put a splint on it?” Cap asked.

“Would you? Yeah, that’d be great. And wrap that head wound. I don’t think we’ll need another squad, then.”

When he inserted the needle for the IV, Roy swore he heard a groan come from his partner. “Johnny?” he asked again. “Come on, Johnny, can you

hear me?” His words were met with silence.

Roy pinched his friend’s earlobe, hard, and got another groan. Johnny was responding to pain, and he hadn’t been just five minutes ago. It was a good sign.

“He gonna be okay?” Cap asked.

Roy looked at his superior. “Yeah, I think so, Cap. He’s probably got some broken ribs and a concussion, but his vitals are good.”

“That’s a relief. You know, Roy, I really did think he was overreacting with all his gas shortage paranoia….” The captain let the thought go unfinished, but Roy knew the rest. Obviously, Johnny had been right to be so spooked.

“Yeah,” DeSoto agreed. “I know.”

Roy stuck John’s IV bag into his mouth in order to help put the gurney into the ambulance, and immediately recognized it as a Johnny move--he always did that. Not this time, though. He watched as Cap helped steady Mike as he climbed into the ambulance under his own power, despite a sizable bandage on his head, and his left arm in a splint and a sling.

“You guys okay?” Chet asked as he ran up to the ambulance before the doors could close.

“They’ll be fine,” Roy promised.

“I’m okay, Chet,” Mike added for good measure. “John took the worst of it.”

“Yeah, well Johnny’s got the hardest head. He can take it. You soft engineers, though….” the fireman never got to finish, as Cap slammed the doors to the truck and sent it on its way with a glare toward the Irishman.

“What?” Chet asked.

“Whuuuuhhh?”

“Johnny?”

Gage recognized that frantic tone. What had happened this time? He struggled to open his eyes, but with only limited success.

“Johnny, open your eyes for me. Come on.”

Damn, didn’t Roy know he was trying?

He tried harder, and slowly the fuzzy form of his partner swam before him. “Roy?” he managed to get out. “What happened?”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Roy promised.

Good to know, John supposed, but it wasn’t what he’d asked. Another figure came into semi-focus, and John turned his attention there. Was it….?

“Mike? That you?” The figure nodded. “What happened, Mike?” Maybe he’d answer the question.

"You got hit with a gas can," Mike explained.

"A gas ca.…" Johnny rolled his head in Roy's direction. "What does he mean?"

"Just what he said," Roy grabbed his penlight and checked Johnny's pupil reaction, causing the injured paramedic to screw up his face and try to bat the offending light away. "Hold still," DeSoto admonished.

"But, Roy, I don' remember any gas can? How did I …were we back at that stupid gas station on Myers Avenue again? Did someone throw it?" Roy opened his mouth to answer but was cut off as his partner launched into a tirade. "I remember someone throwin' a rock but not a gas can. It's that stupid gas shortage again, isn't it? People are crazy, I tell ya! Firs' it's rock and then it's gas cans … why before you know it they'll be …"

Roy glanced up a Mike and the two men exchanged a smile. It was normal for someone with a concussion to be a bit confused. But most people tended to be confused and lethargic. Leave it to Johnny to confused and hyper.

"He'll be okay," DeSoto whispered.

Mike nodded.

"How about you? How ya doing?"

Stoker grimaced and hugged his left arm to his chest as the ambulance took a corner a little too quickly. "Arm hurts," he admitted.

"Well, hang in there a couple more minutes. We're almost there."

Dixie and Dr. Brackett were waiting for them as the ambulance backed up to the entrance of Rampart's emergency room. "Take Gage into exam three," Kel ordered when Roy had given him a quick rundown of Johnny's condition. "Dix, can you take care of Mike? And see if you can find another doctor. We're getting really backed up."

"No problem." The head nurse helped Stoker out of the ambulance and directed him toward a wheelchair.

"I don't need that," he protested. "I can walk."

Dix rolled her eyes skyward. "What is it with you firemen? Each one thinks he's more macho than the next."

"But…"

"Get in the chair." Her tone was pleasant but brooked no argument. In fact, it reminded Mike a great deal of his days in the Army. It was exactly the tone his drill instructor had used when he was really mad.

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly as he eased himself gingerly into the chair.

Dixie favored him with a glowing smile of approval. "Good boy. Now, things are a little crowded around here." The busy hallways confirmed that, Mike noted. There were people everywhere. "So we're going to put you in the same exam room as Johnny. There's only one bed so you'll have to sit in the chair for a while until something else opens up. Think you'll be okay with that?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

Dix wheeled him into the room and maneuvered the chair into a corner away from the flurry of activity that surrounded Johnny's supine form. "I need to take care of a couple things," she told Stoker. "And then I'll be right back to get you squared away."

Mike nodded, his attention on his injured shift mate. Roy and a young nurse were busy cutting away Johnny's clothes while Dr. Brackett conducted his exam. Stoker winced as the shirt fell away revealing a bruise the size of a dinner plate in the center of Gage's chest. Ouch.

Brackett must've been thinking the same thing because he grimaced when he saw it, the corner of his mouth pulling up in disapproval. "When are you ever gonna learn to duck, Johnny?" he with gruff affection.

The doctor threaded a stethoscope into his ears and spent a long time listening to Gage's chest. "Good breath sounds," he announced. "No sign of a pneumothorax."

Mike didn't know exactly what a pneumothorax was but he could tell by Roy's relieved sigh that not having one was a good thing.

"Dix," Brackett called out, "we're gonna need x-rays. Skull series, c-spine, chest and bilateral ribs."

"Portable?" the nurse asked from her position by the wall phone.

"No, he's stable. He can go over to the x-ray department. And while he's gone maybe then we can take a look at our friend waiting quietly over there in the corner," Brackett smiled in Mike's direction as he spoke.

"Don't worry about me," Stoker protested. "I'm fi …."

But suddenly, in the span of a heartbeat, he wasn't fine. In fact, he'd never felt less fine in his life. The room grayed, and then narrowed to a pinpoint of light and then … nothing.

Mike Stoker slithered out of the wheelchair and hit the floor with a thump.

"What the hell?!" Brackett crossed the room in three quick strides, with Roy hot on his heels, and knelt by the fallen man. Stoker was unconscious. His face was as white as the bandage that decorated his forehead and his skin was cold and clammy. "Roy?"

"I dunno," DeSoto shrugged helplessly, his voice tight with concern. "He was fine. A little dazed and his arm but …"

"How were his vitals?" Kel was prying Mike's eyelids open and checking his pupils as he spoke. When no answer was forthcoming, he glanced over his shoulder at DeSoto. "Roy?"

The paramedic's face was almost as white as the patient's. "I-I didn't get any vitals. He said he was fine. He seemed fine. And … and Johnny was … "

"Well, let's not worry about that now," Brackett said briskly. "Let's concentrate on taking care of him, okay?"

Roy nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Dix, get Johnny over to x-ray ASAP. We need to get Mike off the floor and check him out."

"Orderlies are on their way."

Brackett checked Stoker's pulse and found it slow and a bit uneven. "His breathing's okay," he muttered to himself. "Pupils are equal and reactive. No sign of a head injury. What the heck is going on?" He ran his hands over the patient's torso, trying to feel any evidence of a chest injury but the bulky turnout jacket interfered with the exam. "Let's get this thing off him."

Roy unfastened the heavy metal clasps, pushed the coat open and gasped. The front of Stoker's blue shirt was dark with blood. "What …" He tore the shirt open and the T-shirt underneath was just as saturated.

Kel grabbed his stethoscope and placed the bell against the blood-soaked shirt. "Breathing is shallow but his lungs sound clear. Where is this blood coming from?"

Then he noticed that the front of Stoker's coat was peppered with scorch marks and dozens of tiny holes. A closer look at the blood soaked shirt revealed a matching set of tears. "Shrapnel," Brackett said grimly. "Dix, get a stretcher in here now! Call the OR and tell them we're on our way and have x-ray meet us up there. We're gonna need a stat portable chest."

"Doc," Roy's voice was tight, scared. "Is he gonna be all right?"

"If his chest wall's been penetrated …"Brackett shook his head. "I don't know, Roy. I won't know till we get him to the OR and get a closer look. But we'll do

our best."

"I know. I just … if I'd …"

Brackett squeezed DeSoto's shoulder. "I took him at his word too, Roy," he said gently. "We all did. There'll be plenty of blame to pass around later. But this isn't the time."

Before Roy could say a word, a pair of orderlies burst through the door pushing a stretcher. Mike was loaded onto it and whisked off to surgery in a matter of seconds.

DeSoto stood in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the still swinging door through which Stoker had departed. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Roy," Dixie's soft, cool hand closed over his wrist.

"Huh?"

"Roy, why don't you help me wheel Johnny over to x-ray and then we'll go get a cup of coffee?"

"Yeah, o-okay"

"I'm going to go round up another stretcher. You stay with him, okay?"

Roy nodded and moved to his partner's bedside like a sleepwalker. He knew what Dix was doing. She was trying to keep him busy, keep his mind of Mike. It wasn't going to work, but he appreciated the effort. He glanced down at Johnny and found a pair of slightly dazed brown eyes looking back at him. "Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey, yerself. Roy, what the heck's going on? What'm I doing here? I don't remember…."

"You got hit with a gas can, Johnny," DeSoto said patiently, patting the younger man on the shoulder.

"A gas can? How did I … was it that crazy woman with the beer mug? Where did she get a gas can?"

Johnny was off and running again but Roy didn't hear a word the injured man said. All his thoughts were focused on another injured man, a man who was laying on an operating table three floors above them.

Roy spent an anxious two hours pacing the halls of Rampart waiting for news about his friends. Ninety minutes into his vigil Hank Stanley joined him.

"Any news?" were the captain's first words.

"Johnny's okay. He's got a lot of minor cuts and bruises, a mild concussion and a broken sternum."

"Sternum? That's here, right?" Cap tapped the center of his chest. "The breastbone? Is that serious?"

"It can be," Roy acknowledged. "A shot to the chest hard enough to fracture the sternum can cause injury to the lungs or the heart. Johnny's not showing any signs of that but they're gonna keep him for a couple days as a precaution."

"But he'll recover? He'll be fine?"

"Yeah, the doc said he should be good as new and back to work in six weeks or so."

"Thank God," Hank sighed in relief. "Now what about Mike?" He glanced around the emergency room, looking for his engineer. "His arm in a cast yet?"

"He's ... um..." Roy stuffed his hands in his pockets and shifted nervously from foot to foot. "He's not ... there was a problem, Cap, and.…"

Hank's eyes widened and the blood drained out of his face. "What are you saying, Roy? Are you telling me he's....?"

"No! No, Cap," Roy grabbed Hank's arm, steered him to a nearby chair and forced him to sit down before he fell down. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean ... there was a problem," he repeated, "but Mike's not ... at least I don't think.…" Haltingly Roy told his captain what had happened, finishing with a miserable, "It's my fault."

"Now, Roy, you can't take all this on your shoulders.

"But if I'd examined him...."

"Then there might've been a complication with Johnny because you concentrated on Mike," Cap reasoned. "Look, pal, I may not be a paramedic but I've had first aid training and I've been a fireman for sixteen years and I've seen lots of injured people. Mike was conscious; he was talking and moving around without too much trouble. He had a broken arm but otherwise he seemed fine. I didn't think he was hurt bad. Hell, he kept insisting he was fine so unless he's some kinda martyr, he obviously didn't think he was hurt bad. And from what you're telling me even the doc here in the ER thought Johnny needed his attention first and Mike could wait.

Sounds like we're all a little bit to blame here."

"Gee, where have I heard that speech before," a familiar voice said wryly. Brackett was standing over them and he was smiling.

Smiling meant good news. Roy sagged against the wall in relief. "He's okay?"

"He's gonna be fine. We dug a whole bunch of glass and metal fragments out of him but not one of them penetrated the chest wall. There's absolutely no evidence of lung damage or internal bleeding, just a whole bunch of small wounds. There were only half a dozen large enough to need sutures. The rest will heal fine on their own."

"But all the blood? The loss of consciousness?"

"All those small wounds seeping at the same time eventually caused enough of a blood loss that his pressure dropped and he passed out. And who knows," Brackett shrugged, "maybe a couple of surface vessels were nicked and bled copiously for a while before clotting off. The point is, aside from a broken wrist and a chest that's going to look a little like Frankenstein's monster for a couple weeks, Mike is going to be just fine. We're going to keep him overnight to monitor his blood volume, make sure he doesn't take another swan dive on us. But he should be able to go home in the morning."

"Can we see him?" Hank asked.

"The orthopedist is casting his wrist right now and then they'll be moving him to his room. I arranged for him to be in 507 with Johnny. Figured we might as well confine the never ending flow of visiting firemen to one room," Brackett grinned. "So give us an hour to get him settled and then you can come up and see both of them, okay?"

"Yeah, okay, Doc. And thanks."

Brackett smiled warmly and shook the hand Hank offered. "And you," the doctor wheeled in Roy's direction, "listen to your captain. He's right, you know. You can't take this on your shoulders. We all share the blame. Every last one of us. Even Mike for being so damned stoic all the time that he has to keel over to get someone's attention. You were in a tough situation, Roy, and you did your best. That's all any of us can do. You got it?"

"Yeah," Roy didn't sound entirely convinced but he mustered a ghost of a smile. "Thanks, Dr. Brackett."

"You're welcome. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I've got patients lined up around the block waiting to be seen. I'll let you know when you can go up and see your guys." Brackett clapped Roy on the shoulder, admonished, "It's not your fault," one more time and disappeared down the hall.

Hank glanced over at Roy. The paramedic's hands were back in his pockets and he was staring at the floor. Stanley sighed. Roy loved to take the weight of the world on his shoulders every bit as much as his partner loved to rant and rave. He could see this was going to require a major pep talk.

"Come on, pal," he said, throwing an arm around Roy's shoulders and steering him toward the cafeteria. "Buy me a cup of coffee and I'll tell you about the time I knocked a three foot ventilation hole in the roof of the wrong house."

At the knock on the door, two voices called out in stereo, "Come in."

The door opened slightly, and a voice asked, "Are ya decent?"

"Yes, Chet," responded an exasperated Johnny, "we said c'mon in."

The door swung open at that point and in walked Chet, Marco, Roy, and Cap, each sporting broad smiles at the sight of their, if not cured, at least healthier, shift-mates. The four friends paused for a moment and took in the sight of both Mike and Johnny, which caused each of the quartet to breathe a little easier.

"Damn, you guys sure know how to make things interesting; you in particular, Mike," commented the captain. When Mike responded with nothing more than a 'Who me?' expression, Hank retorted, "Don't go playing innocent with me, Stoker. I leave you guys with the impression that all you have is a simple broken arm. I come back to find out you collapsed and were in surgery... How could you not tell anyone you were hurt? What were you thinking?" he asked with only a hint of the frustration that he really felt.

"Yeah, Mike, that kind of crap is usually Gage's department," teased Chet, all the while smirking at Johnny.

"You know, Chester B., somehow I knew you were going to manage to blame me for this," responded John in kind.

"Well, ya know," began Roy, a little hesitantly, but he felt he had to ask, "I would like to know what was going on in your head when you decided to start moving those cans around."

"Cans? What cans?"

"The gas cans, on the back porch," reminded Roy.

"What gas cans? The last thing I remember was delivering a baby. Oh, and missing my date with Victoria because of a little favor that I did for a friend," Johnny answered as he glared slightly at Chet.

"Yeah, well, um," Chet stammered, "I did tell you I was really sorry about that."

"Yeah, yeah," mumbled Johnny, waving him off.

"So, Mike," Marco, ever the diplomat, made an effort to change the subject and the negative mood. "How are you feeling now?"

"I'm doing okay." Though at that very moment he attempted to shift positions and the grimace on his face belied his words.

"Right," commented Cap skeptically.

"No, really, I'm doing okay. I mean, a couple of the places where the glass cut me hurt if I lean on 'em too much, but now that the arm is in the cast, it doesn't hurt at all."

"That's good to hear," said Marco earnestly. Though it was never easy seeing a friend laid-up in a hospital bed, it was even more difficult seeing one that was rarely, if ever, there. Mike was someone who A-Shift counted on in more ways than one. He was the steady, levelheaded, dependable one. It was not only unusual to see him hurt; it was very difficult for the rest of the guys.

It almost felt to them that they'd let their silent leader down.

"Well, we're just glad you're doing better and not too uncomfortable," said Roy, who then turned to his partner lying in the other bed. "What about you, junior? How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, pally. I mean considering that according to Brackett I got torpedoed in the chest, I'm doing well. Brackett says he's gonna spring me in a day or so if I'm on my best behavior."

"That's really good news," replied Roy, and the others murmured their agreement.

At that moment the door opened and in walked a nurse, Carol, who greeted the group with her familiar, "Hi, guys!" Every eye was on her as she stepped into the room. Carol was, undoubtedly, one of the most beautiful nurses on staff at Rampart. Unfortunately for every man who laid eyes on her, she was also one of the most happily married women ever to walk the halls of the hospital. Carol was no stranger to the group; her husband worked the hoses on the B-Shift at the 110s, so there was a rather ambivalent feeling of wanting to lust after her while at the same time feeling totally fraternal toward someone who felt like a little sister.

It was not an easy balance for any of them, which is why the four visitors breathed a small sigh of relief when Carol announced, "I've gotta kick you boys out now. You see, some of us have a job to do," she added teasingly.

"Oh, well, okay, if you put it that way." Cap smiled widely. "C'mon you hose jockeys, let's give the crackerjack nursing staff a chance to show their stuff." He turned to the two patients and said, "Feel good, Mike, Johnny." The others stood up and imparted similar sentiments and left the room.

"Oh, darn, I thought the BP equipment was still in here," grumbled Carol. "I'm sorry, guys. If I'd known I was going to have to track it down, I wouldn't have kicked your buddies out."

"It's okay, Carol. I think we were both ready for a break anyway," reassured Johnny. With that, she smiled and told them she'd be back shortly. When the door closed, Johnny closed his eyes momentarily and then called out, softly, "Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, Mike, I just wanted to, um, well," Johnny tried to get the words out, but he was clearly having difficulty.

"What is it, Johnny?"

Gage took a deep breath and simply forged ahead. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for moving the gas cans and getting you hurt." There, he said it. Now he was waiting to feel better because of it. He hoped his apology would somehow assuage his feelings of guilt for his part in Mike's injuries.

"Johnny, not moving the cans probably wouldn't have lessened the chances of either of us being hurt. I mean they were too close to the fire. When they heated up they were going to explode whether you moved some or none."

"I know, but I could have been with you on hose instead_."

"Gage, don't. We all did what we thought was the best thing to do in the situation. You did your best, and I did mine. Can't expect anymore from any of us."

"Yeah, I guess."

A moment or two passed when suddenly Mike looked up at Gage and started laughing.

"What?" asked Johnny in confusion.

"You remember!"

"Oh," the younger man responded with a blush.

"Have you remembered all along?" asked Mike curiously.

"No, I really couldn't recall what had happened at first. But it started coming back a little while ago, and I would have 'fessed up, except he was here, and…."

"He? Who's he?"

"Chet," confessed Johnny. "I just couldn't handle the idea of him razzing me to death on this, especially since I'd already felt bad enough that I'd help put you in the hospital."

"I told you before, Gage, it's no one's fault I got hurt, so enough of that, okay?" After Johnny nodded, Mike started laughing again. "It's a damn shame, you know."

"What?"

"Damn shame you got the Phantom, but he doesn't even know about it. You really have to keep this one to yourself, unfortunately."

"Yeah, I know," Johnny replied a little dejectedly. "But hey!" he called out with more exuberance, "at least you know! I mean, you don't mind that I didn't tell the guys, do ya?"

"Johnny, anytime you can get the Phantom back and I can be a silent partner is fine by me!" Mike chuckled.

Johnny smiled at that; he wasn't sure if Mike intentionally used that phrase to describe himself or not, but it was certainly an apt one. "Thanks, 'Partner.' I appreciate the support."

There was a knock and the door swung open again with Carol breezing in with the needed equipment. "Okay, guys, it's time for me to get to work."

Six Months Later:

The men of Station 51's A-shift were lined up for roll call. All except John Gage. Just as Hank Stanley was about to give up and start without him, the back door flew open, bouncing off the wall with a bang and the sound of running footsteps echoed through the bay.

"Nice of you to join us, John."

"Sorry, Cap." Gage had the grace to look embarrassed. "I kinda overslept. And then when I got in the car I was running on empty. Had to stop and get gas. I'll be ready in five minutes, okay?" He backpedaled towards the locker room as he spoke.

"Go ahead," Hank waved him off. "And I guess we should be glad the energy crisis is over, so you're only five minutes late instead of five hours."

"And so we don't have to listen to him yap about it all the time," Chet stage-whispered to Marco.

Johnny paused with his hand on the locker room door. "Hey! I didn't complain any more than the next guy," he protested. "And besides, it wasn't all that bad."

A deafening silence descended on the room and five pairs of eyes widened and fixed on John Gage.

"What?!" he said defensively, squirming under the scrutiny. "What're you looking at me for? What'd I say? Now just a minute! If you're trying to say that I complained any more than the next guy …"

The End