Identity Crisis

By Peggy

October 2001

____________________________

Disclaimer: The characters of Emergency! belong to Mark VII Productions and Universal Studios.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Notes:  Although this story is rated PG-13, it deals with mature issues and contains some controversial subject matter.  Proceed at your own risk.

Thanks to Susan G, Icecat, Audrey, Kenda, Dawn, Ziggy and everyone else who's had to listen to me fuss and whine about this story for a very, very long time.  It's FINALLY done, guys! :-)

And an extra-special thanks to my buddies and partners-in-crime Donna and Susan for the midnight beta-reading session, for telling me what worked and what sucked and for nagging ... I mean ... encouraging me to stick with it and just finish the damn story.  You've got hearts as big as Texas, m'dears.

_______________________

There is probably no sensitive heterosexual alive who is not preoccupied with his latent homosexuality.

-- Norman Mailer

______________________

"He's going to kiss me."  

The words barely had time to form in John Gage's mind before Frank McMullen's mouth touched his.  It felt strange, but not entirely unpleasant and for a few seconds he found himself leaning into it.  Then Frank shifted, his hands closed over Johnny's biceps and pulled him closer, his head tipped to the side changing the angle of the kiss.  Gage felt the rasp of the other man's five o'clock shadow against his lower lip ... and panicked.

His arms, which had been hanging loosely at his sides, snapped up breaking McMullen's grip.  He lunged to his feet and staggered backward, away from the sofa, on unsteady legs.  "What the..." he scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth unconsciously.  "Jesus, Frank! What the hell was that?"

"S-Sorry," McMullen stammered, "I'm sorry.  I thought... "

"You thought what? That I wanted you to... to... why the hell would you think that?!"

Frank leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and hanging his head.  He was the picture of misery.  "We've been spending so much time together, getting along so well. When I asked to take you out for your birthday I just thought you knew. And when we were walking home from Dempsey's and you put your arm around me..."

"I put my arm around you because you almost fell!"   Johnny protested. "You had too much to drink. We both did.  I was trying to keep you on your feet long enough to get you home.  I wasn't trying to...  Jesus Christ, Frank! I can't believe you thought I was a fa..."  

He didn't actually say the ugly word, but the damage was done.  Frank's head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with hurt.  Suddenly, Johnny felt like the walls were closing in on him.  "I have to get out of here."

"John..." Frank pushed himself up off the sofa and took a tentative step forward.  

"I have to go," Johnny repeated, back-pedaling frantically and scanning the room for his jacket.  He heaved a sigh of relief when he spotted it, snatched it up and dug in the pocket for his keys.

"You can't drive. You said yourself that you had too much to drink."

"So I'll take a cab. Or I'll walk."  Gage struggled clumsily into his jacket and bolted for the door.  He was reaching for the doorknob when McMullen's hand fell on his shoulder.

"John, please..."

"Don't TOUCH me!"  Johnny twisted away, planting a hand in the middle of the other man's chest and shoving... hard.  McMullen staggered backward, arms pin-wheeling.  His feet tangled in a brightly colored throw rug and he crashed to the floor, landing on his back with a muffled curse.

Horrified, Gage took a step forward.  "Frank..."

"Don't."  McMullen held up a warning hand.  "Just don't."  Crawling to his feet, he stalked to the door and yanked it open.  "I think you were right.  I think you should go."

The two men stood staring miserably at each other.  They were separated by a few feet of space, but they were suddenly worlds apart.  John finally turned away and slipped out the door taking great care to avoid brushing up against the other man.

He stood on the curb, staring up a Frank's second story window for a long time, though he couldn't have said why.  Finally, he turned away, stuck his hands in his pockets and began the long walk home.

+++++

Seven Weeks Earlier:

"Damn you, Roy DeSoto."  It wasn't really Roy's fault, and Johnny knew it. But he had to curse someone and Roy seemed the best choice, probably because he wasn't there to curse back.

Two days before, while doing some household repairs, Roy had fallen off a ladder and broken his arm.  And Johnny was stuck breaking in a new partner... new in every sense of the word.  Twenty-three years old, a fireman for barely a year, a paramedic for all of two months.   He was John's responsibility for the next eight weeks.  And he was also half-an-hour late for work.  Which was why, at 8:30 AM on a soggy Thursday morning, Gage stood at the door of Station 51 cursing his old partner as he watched his new one splash through the puddles in the back parking lot.

"Captain Stanley?"  The kid didn't even wait for a response, just started breathlessly babbling excuses and apologies. "Oh God, I am SO sorry. I looked everywhere this morning and I couldn't find the note I wrote myself when you called me last week and I'd have sworn you said it was Station 15 not Station 51 and so I drove clear over to 15's and they didn't know who I was or why I was there and then I called HQ and they said I was supposed to be here not there and well, here I am."

Gage shook his head, and bit back a smile.  As much as he wanted to stay annoyed he found himself amused.    

"Cap?"  The kid was still looking at him, a worried frown creasing his handsome face.  "I'm uh, I'm really sorry."  

Johnny couldn't help himself.  He had to smile.  The kid was just... well... cute.  "John Gage," he said, sticking out his hand.  "Looks like we're gonna be partners for a while."

+++++

"Hey," Johnny said quietly.

"Hey."  Frank's reply was wooden and he didn't so much as glance in the other man's direction.

John peered warily around the row of lockers, assuring himself that they were the only ones in the room.  "What the hell were you thinking last night?" he hissed.

"Don't."

"Whaddaya mean 'don't'?"

"I mean just... don't.  Okay?" McMullen crouched down to put on his boots. "I had too much to drink and I thought I saw..." his voice faltered for a moment. "I thought I saw something that wasn't there.  And I made a mistake.  I'm sorry, okay?  It won't happen again.  We've only got three shifts to work together before DeSoto comes back.  Let's not make it any more difficult that it has to be.  You do your job and I'll do mine and we'll just pretend last night never happened, all right?  Now can we please just drop it?"

Johnny ran a shaky hand through his hair.  He couldn't just let it go at that.  Could he?  "But, Frank," he stage-whispered, glancing nervously around the room,  "you kissed me for Christ's sake!  And now I'm just supposed to pretend it didn't happen?   I mean, we were friends and you... you ... aw, shit."  Gage sagged back against his locker in frustration.  He hated this.  Absolutely hated it, and hated Frank for putting him in this intolerable position. "Damn it, Frank," he sighed.  "Why'd you have to go and kiss me?"

McMullen stood up and slammed his locker door shut forcefully before wheeling around to face Johnny for the first time.  His eyes were blazing as he hissed, "I said I was sorry!  I said it wouldn't happen again! What more do you want?  You want me to transfer out?  Because I will, if you can't handle working three more shifts with a... what did you call me?   A fag?"  

"Now just a minute!  I never called you..."

"Yeah, right," Frank's voice dripped scorn.  "You might've stopped yourself from saying it out loud. But actions speak louder than words, man.  And when I was on my ass on the floor with you standing over me, I heard the word fag loud and clear."  

McMullen spun on his heel and slammed out the door before Johnny could say another word.

"Damn," Gage muttered to himself.  "Damn it all to hell."  

And fifteen feet behind him, standing silent and white-faced in a shadowy corner of the locker room, Mike Stoker buttoned his shirt with shaking hands and silently echoed the words.  "Damn it all to hell."

+++++

Five Weeks Earlier:

Johnny turned off the lawn mower with a sigh of relief, pushed his hair off his forehead and mopped his dripping face on the hem of his tee shirt.  It was just his luck that LA would get hit with the worst heat wave it had seen in years the moment he volunteered to mow the DeSoto's lawn.   He put the mower in the storage shed and trudged tiredly toward the house.

Roy was waiting on the porch with a bottle of Budweiser in his hand. "You look like you could use this."

"Oh man, could I ever!"  Gage accepted the drink gratefully, dropped onto the porch swing with a groan and guzzled down half the bottle.  "How can you stand to do this all summer long?" he asked, pressing the icy bottle to his forehead.

"That's life in the suburbs," DeSoto grinned, plopping down next to him and stealing a swallow of his partner's beer. "Comes with the territory."

"Remind me never to give up my apartment."

They sat in companionable silence for a while.  Johnny nursed his beer and lazily pushed the swing with one foot.  Roy pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and used it to scratch under the edge of his cast. They cast furtive grins at each other when shapely young Mrs. Mackey from across the street came outside to weed her flowerbeds dressed in a tiny blue bikini.  And they hastily averted their eyes when Joanne cleared her throat noisily from the nearby kitchen window.

Roy finally broke the silence. "So, how's the new guy working out?"

"Frank?"  Johnny shoved a hand through his hair and rolled his eyes theatrically.  "God, Roy, he's driving me crazy.  He's not a bad kid, mind you. But he's just so hyper!  I mean this kid never shuts up!  He can talk for hours about absolutely nothing!  I don't think he could sit still if you stapled his butt to the seat. And he's got this, I dunno... tic."

"Tic?"

"Yeah, you know what I mean.  Like people who crack their knuckles all the time. Or the way Chet plays with his mustache. Well Frank drums his fingers on things. The table, the dashboard of the squad, anything. He was drumming them on the biophone in the middle of a rescue the other day for Pete's sake. Roy, you just can't imagine what it's like working with a person like that day after day!"

Roy watched as Gage pushed his hair off his forehead for the tenth time in half-an-hour. He glanced down at his partner's left knee, which hadn't stopped bouncing since he'd sat down.  "No, Johnny," he said with an enigmatic smile, "I can't imagine what that would be like at all."

+++++

The basketball hit the rim with so much force that Johnny feared the rusting metal hoop would be ripped from the wall.  Frank either didn't notice or didn't care because he snapped up the ball and charged in for another brutal slam-dunk. Gage could practically see the anger pouring off the younger man.  And he couldn't help but notice the great pains his partner took to ignore him though he had to know Johnny was there.

Gage sighed, tossed the bag of garbage in the dumpster and headed back into the stationhouse. It was only 6:00 PM. The shift wasn't even half over and it was already turning into the longest of his life. Frank's mood was growing progressively darker, the rift between them widening with each passing hour. They'd managed to work together efficiently whenever they had a run; both of them were too professional to allow their personal issues to affect their patients. But it had been an abnormally quiet day; there had been only a handful of minor runs early in the shift and the long hours of free time were wearing on Gage's nerves. The tension between he and McMullen was almost unbearable and it had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the crew.

Mike and Marco had wisely kept their distance, lingering over hanging the hose left over from C-shift's early morning house fire and then finding chores to do in other parts of the station. Of course Chet had gleefully tried to ferret out the reason behind the paramedics' discord then retreated to the couch to hide behind the newspaper when both of them snarled at him to mind his own business.

Cap had been giving the paramedics long speculative looks all day and John feared it was just a matter of time before he pulled them aside and demanded to know what was going on. For the life of him, he didn't know what he was going to say.  God knows he couldn't tell Stanley the truth.

"Well, Cap, Frank stuck his tongue down my throat and I knocked him on his ass and now we're not speaking."  Yeah, that would go over real well.

His after-dinner clean up chores done, Johnny retreated to his bunk.  Maybe he'd take advantage of the unusual quiet and catch a nap.  He was exhausted, having barely slept the night before.  Instead, he'd tossed and turned in his bed, reliving the terrible chain of events in Frank's living room over and over again. But half-an-hour after he'd thrown himself down on his bunk, he was still wide-awake.  His brain simply refused to shut down.

Johnny curled onto his side and punched his pillow, trying in vain to get comfortable.  How could he do that?  How could he think I was gay?  Did I do something? Say something? Give him some kind of signal?

The tones sounded, blasting him out of his reverie.  Gage surged to his feet and headed for the engine bay.  Frank, sweaty and disheveled, burst in the back door, hastily tucking in his shirttails.  Their eyes met just for a second and then both averted them as they headed for the squad. Just as Johnny's fingers closed around the door handle the dispatcher's voice reached his ears.

"Engine 51, dumpster fire behind the Stop and Shop. 1154 Wilson. Cross street Exeter.  One-one-five-four Wilson.  Cross street Exeter.  Time out 1845."

The call wasn't for them; only the engine crew was needed.  Again the two paramedics glanced briefly at each other and then away.  They watched silently as the big Ward LaFrance lumbered out onto the street.  Frank closed the bay door and disappeared into the day room without a word.  Johnny heard the squeak of the refrigerator door and then the muted sound of the television.   He headed off in the opposite direction, back to his bunk and his troubled thoughts.

+++++

Four Weeks Earlier:

The fire had been massive.  By the time Station 51 arrived on the scene the city block sized building was fully involved and the flames, whipped by a hot summer wind, were threatening to spread to nearby structures. It had taken nearly eleven hours of backbreaking work by three battalions to conquer the inferno but they'd done it.  The factory had been destroyed but the residential neighborhood across the street had been spared.

Thankfully there had been no loss of life and no serious injuries; but there'd been plenty of work for the paramedics on the scene.  They treated everything from minor burns to smoke inhalation to dehydration, all the usual ailments that befell fireman battling a blaze in ninety-degree weather.

It was nearly dawn by the time the A-shift paramedics made their way back to the station house.  Johnny backed the squad into the apparatus bay, turned off the engine and laid his head on the steering wheel with a groan. He was hot, tired and ached in places he hadn't even known existed.  "I don't think I can move. Maybe I'll just sleep here."

"Not me, man! I'm WAY too wired to sleep!"  Frank grinned at him, his teeth blindingly white in his soot-blackened face.  "That was my first really big fire, ya know."

Johnny knew.  Frank had told him at least a dozen times.

"It was amazing," the younger man continued.  "Didja see it when that smoke stack fell and..."  

Gage closed his eyes and drifted, just letting his partner ramble for a few minutes while he found the energy to move. After almost a month of working together he was used to the constant chatter.  Finally, he climbed out of the truck and dragged himself toward the locker room.  "I'm gonna go take a shower," he called over his shoulder.  "Since you're so 'wired' you can restock the trauma box."

"Sure, man, no problem!" Frank practically bounced out of the squad.

As he pushed through the locker room door and began pulling off his filthy clothes, Gage muttered, "I don't care what Roy says, I was never that young."

By the time he'd showered John felt almost human again but he was totally exhausted.   He slipped on a clean pair of boxers and tee shirt and padded toward his bunk.  Just as he reached out to pull back the top sheet, the lights flashed on and the wake-up tones sounded.  

"Oh, man, so much for sleep!"  Johnny sighed and stumbled over to the radio to acknowledge the wake-up call then began stripping the bunks.  "Might as well make myself useful," he muttered.  When he was finished in the dorm, he pulled on some clothes and headed for the kitchen to start breakfast.  The engine crew, which had stayed at the scene to help with the mop up, would be rolling in soon and they'd be starved.

Frank wandered in a few minutes later and cheerfully announced, "Squad's all cleaned up and ready to go in case we get a run."

"Don't even think about getting a run," Johnny said with a shudder.

"Sorry.  What can I do to help?"

"Wanna set the table?"

"Sure."

They worked together quietly. The kid wasn't bad when he wasn't yakking non-stop Johnny reflected as he scrambled eggs and toasted bread.

The engine backed into the apparatus bay just as the last piece of bread popped out of the toaster.   The exhausted crew stumbled into the room one by one. Their faces were lined with fatigue and they were absolutely filthy: their clothes and their skin coated with a sticky mixture of soot and sweat.  To a man they needed a hot shower and a long nap, but they were drawn inexorably toward the scent of food and freshly brewed coffee.   

"Thanks, pal," Cap smiled wearily as Johnny set a plate and a cup of coffee in front of him.  "Thanks, all of you guys.  You did good work tonight."

No one acknowledged the captain's words of praise.  They were too busy shoveling eggs and toast into their mouths.  The hush wasn't even broken ten minutes into the meal when Mike rose from the table, empty coffee cup in hand.  Chet simply extended his own cup and Stoker took it with a silent nod, returning a moment later with two brimming cups.

It was Frank who finally broke the silence.  "Where's Marco?"

The men looked around the room, noticing for the first time that Lopez wasn't there.  "I don't know," Hank said with a shrug.  "Mike?"

"Think he said something about a shower," Stoker mumbled around a mouthful of toast.

Frank cocked his head, listening.  "I don't hear water running."

"Then he's probably done," Hank reasoned.  "And I'm pulling rank and going next."  He pushed himself away from the table as if it were an enormous effort and trudged wearily from the room.  A moment later, he poked his head back through the doorway, a grin on his soot-smeared face.  "Found our missing firemen," he reported.  "Sound asleep on his bunk.  Never made it to the shower.  Never even got his turnouts off."

"Want me to go roust him out, Cap?" Chet offered.

"Nah. Let him sleep for a while. He was right on the front line all night.  He earned a nap. Just make sure you save him something to eat."

Cap went off to take his shower and the others returned to their breakfast, pouring more coffee and helping themselves to seconds.  All except Frank, who sat frowning at his empty plate.

Johnny noticed and nudged him.  "What?"

"Huh?"

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothin'.  Just wondering if someone should go check on Marco."

"You heard Cap. Let him alone."

"I wasn't gonna go bug him," Frank protested.  "I just wanted to make sure he's okay.  Like Cap said, he was on the front lines all night and, well, you guys know him better than I do but I've never seen Marco too tired to eat."  The others chuckled a bit at that.  Marco's appetite was legendary, second only to Johnny's.  "Maybe I'll just poke my head in and..."

"Leave him alone," Johnny said firmly.

"But..."

"I said leave him alone!" Gage snapped.

Hurt flared briefly in Frank's eyes, and then the young man nodded a bit sullenly, put his empty plate in the sink and went over to flop down on the couch next to Henry.  He scratched the hound's ears absentmindedly, a frown still creasing his forehead.  

Johnny watched him guiltily.  He hadn't meant to snarl at the kid.  It was just that McMullen was still in the honeymoon phase of being a paramedic:  totally enraptured with the job and so eager to provide assistance that he sometimes over-reacted and made too much out of minor injuries or saw problems where none existed.   Gage remembered his own enthusiasm when he'd been fresh out of paramedic training so he understood where the kid was coming from.  But sometimes, like this morning, all that eagerness just plain got on his nerves.  Just as he opened his mouth to apologize, he was distracted by the clatter of metal on metal behind him.  He wheeled around to find Chet scraping the last of the eggs onto his plate.  

"Kelly! What the hell are ya doing? Didn't you hear Cap say save a plate for Marco?"

"But I'm hungry," Chet whined.  "Can't you make more?"

"You want more, you can make more!  It was your turn to cook breakfast anyway..."

By the time the dispute was settled and Johnny turned back to his partner, McMullen had disappeared.  Gage rolled his eyes skyward in annoyance. He knew exactly where the younger man had gone and there was going to be hell to pay.  

He found his partner bent over Marco's bunk desperately trying to keep the fireman from crashing to the floor. Lopez was in the midst of a full-blown seizure.

"What the hell?!"  Johnny was across the room in a heartbeat.  The moment he touched the unconscious fireman he knew what was wrong.  Lopez's skin was slick with sweat and so hot it almost burned John's fingers.  Gage estimated his temperature to be at least 105.  "Heat stroke."

Frank nodded grimly.  "We gotta cool him down fast.  The shower?"

"Not enough room. And I don't want to move him.  We're gonna have to do it here."  As he began wrestling with the clasps of Marco's coat, Johnny raised his voice and shouted for help.  "We need help in here! Marco's down!"

Kelly and Stoker were barely in the room before Johnny sent them out again barking,  "Chet, Mike, I need bottles of saline off the squad.  Bring as much of it as you can carry.  Then get everything else... the biophone, the trauma box, all of it."

Wide-eyed with shock, both men rushed to comply just as Cap burst into the room, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel.  He took one look at the situation and lunged for the radio to call in a Code I and demand an ambulance on the double.

Johnny and Frank worked feverishly, knowing that Marco's life depended on what they did in the next few minutes.  They struggled to get the heavy turnouts off the convulsing man, stripped him to the skin and covered him with a thin sheet.  Kelly and Stoker returned from the apparatus bay panting and laden with supplies.  As soon as they'd laid down their burdens, Johnny sent them off again.  "I need ice packs. At least four... more if you can find 'em. If you can't find any, make some out of ice cubes and plastic bags. And somebody get a fan in here!"

"Ambulance is on the way," Cap returned, barely dressed and pale with anxiety. "What can I do to help?"

"Get oxygen on him," Johnny commanded as he tossed a bottle of saline to Frank and grabbed another for himself.   "Then get on the biophone and tell Rampart we've got a heat stroke victim and we're starting cool down measures. Estimated temp 105 degrees, seizing for..." he glanced at Frank.  "How long?"

"Two minutes," came the tight reply.  "Maybe three."

"You got that, Cap?"

"Yeah, I got it."  

As Hank struggled to get the oxygen mask on the thrashing firemen, Frank and Johnny began dousing Marco with saline.  When he was thoroughly soaked, Johnny grabbed two more bottles of saline, tossed one to his partner and commanded, "Keep pouring."   

"I can't get the oxygen mask to stay in place," Hank said in frustration.

"Then leave it for now.  Get on the horn to Rampart.  Seizures lasted almost four minutes now and I need to get some Valium in him ASAP. Frank, go ahead and draw up five milligrams."  As the two men rushed to obey Johnny called out "Chet!  Mike!  I need those ice packs and that fan and I need 'em now!"

The next twenty minutes were a blur as all five men struggled to save Marco's life.  Hank manned the biophone, relaying information to and from the hospital.  Chet took over the task of pouring saline over the fallen man's body.  Mike followed Frank's directions to place ice packs under Lopez's arms, on the back of his neck and around his groin and set up the fans they used to clear smoke from house fires so that the stream of cool air blew directly across the fallen man's body.   A dose of Valium mercifully stopped the seizures, allowing the paramedics to administer much need oxygen and start an IV in each arm.  

The ambulance arrived at the same time members of B-shift began to trickle in.  Suddenly they had more help than they needed and firemen were tripping over each other to offer assistance.   There were more than enough hands to help load Marco into the ambulance and Bellingham, unshaven and still in his street clothes, offered to ride in with him.

"I got him," Johnny's reply was brusque, his expression grim as he climbed into the patient compartment and took his place at Marco's side.

"We'll meet you at Rampart," Hank said, as he reached out to close the ambulance door.

But the paramedic's attention was focused solely on his patient and he didn't acknowledge his captain as the doors closed and the ambulance sped away.

+++++

Two hours later, Gage stumbled wearily into the staff lounge of Rampart's emergency room.  Four pairs of eyes instantly swung in his direction.   "He's okay," the paramedic said quietly. "His temp is down to just under 100 degrees and he's awake."

Hank dropped his head into his hands and breathed a sigh of relief.  "Thank God."

"You can go see him if you want. One at a time, Brackett said.  And don't stay long.  They're gonna be admitting him and he needs to rest."  Johnny spun on his heel and fled the room before anyone could reply and he didn't stop running until he reached the parking lot.  

Seeking refuge behind one of the massive pillars that supported the portico outside the emergency room, he slid down to sit on the rough pavement, dropped his head onto his knees and gave in to the shakes he'd been fighting for the last two hours.

He was still sitting there half-an-hour later when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  He knew without looking up that it was Frank who'd found him.

"Hey."  McMullen's voice was soft and full of concern.

John said nothing.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Face still pressed against his knees, Gage shook his head.  He felt the other man settle in beside him, so close their shoulders brushed.

"You okay?"

He shook his head again.

"Sorry," Frank chuckled humorlessly.  "That was a dumb question."  

"What do you want, Frank?" Johnny muttered, finally raising his eyes to look at the younger man.

"Marco's been asking for you.  He wanted to say thanks."

"Thank me for what?" Johnny asked bitterly.  "You saved him, not me."

"John, it wasn't..."

"No!" Gage pushed himself away from the wall and surged to his feet looking down on Frank with blazing eyes. "Don't you even try to make me feel better about this! He was laying in there dying and I was..." Johnny spun away with a choked sound of despair and pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes.  

"You'd been up all night," Frank said reasonably.  "You were exhausted. Just like we all were. And no one else noticed either. Hell, Cap even saw him laying there and didn't realize anything was wrong!"

"But I'm a paramedic!  It's my responsibility to..."

"To what?  See through walls?  Read minds?  You can't take all this on your shoulders.  What happened this morning wasn't anyone's fault.  But if you're gonna insist on laying blame then we all have to take our fair share.  Even Marco for not telling anyone he didn't feel well."

"But if you hadn't gone in there, he'd be dead now.  While I was sitting in the next room having breakfast."

"But he's not dead.  He's fine.  And you're a big part of the reason why."

Johnny made a derisive sound.

"Look at me!" Frank clambered to his feet, grabbed Johnny's shoulders and turned him forcibly, giving him a little shake for good measure.  "I've never seen a case of heat stroke before.  I know what to do here," he tapped his forehead with two fingers,  "but knowing it and actually doing it are two different things. And when it's someone you know, someone you care about, that makes it all the worse.  Yeah, I could've done what you did, but I couldn't have done it that fast, that efficiently.  You were amazing, John.  You saved his life. "

"We saved his life," Johnny said fiercely.  "Not just me.  We did it.  And I couldn't have done it without you."

Frank blushed.  Actually blushed.  And it brought a ghost of a smile to Johnny's face.  "So, uh, I guess we're not such a bad team after all, huh?"  McMullen asked.

"No. No, I guess we aren't."

"So, what do you say we go say hello to Marco and then I'll buy you some breakfast?"

"I already had breakfast, remember?"

Frank glanced at his watch.  "It's 10:30. By the time we get to the coffee shop we'll be able to call it lunch. We can talk.  Or not talk.  It's up to you.  But I'm starving and I hate to eat alone.  So how about it?"

"I could eat," Johnny allowed.  "And, um, I guess we could talk if ... if you'd like to."

 "I would like that."  Frank's smile lit his face.  "I'd like that a lot."

+++++

John lay on his bunk pretending to sleep and listening to the sounds that accompanied the engine crew's return from their dumpster fire call.  Frank called out a greeting, Chet declared that people who threw lit cigarettes in dumpsters ought to be locked up and Cap and Marco argued good-naturedly about whose turn it was to make coffee. And then it grew quiet as they all drifted towards the day room and the only sounds were those of Mike Stoker wordlessly puttering around in the engine bay.  It was a familiar sound, almost soothing; Johnny drifted into an uneasy sleep and dreamed...

Frank leaned toward him, lips parted, eyes half closed.

"He's going to kiss me."  

The words barely had time to form in Johnny's mind before the younger man's mouth touched his.  It felt strange, but not entirely unpleasant and for a second he found himself leaning into it.  Then Frank shifted, his hands closed over Johnny's biceps and pulled him closer, his head tipped to the side changing the angle of the kiss.  Gage felt the rasp of the other man's five o'clock shadow against his lower lip ... and panicked.

Breathing hard, he pulled away, started to get up.  But a gentle hand on his wrist and a pleading, "Please don't go," stopped him cold.  He sat back down with a thump and ran a shaky hand through his hair.  

"Frank, I've never..."

"I know." The younger man's fingers slid up Johnny's forearm, slipping under the rolled shirtsleeve to caress the soft skin at the crook of his elbow.  "But you want to, don't you?"

Johnny shook his head in denial even as his body was surging under the gentle touch.

"Yes, you do," Frank said softly, knowingly, his warm, beer-scented breath washing over Johnny's face as he leaned in again.

"No," his voice was rough with a thrilling combination of terror and desire.  "No, I..."  

But when Frank's lips pressed against his again, Gage didn't push him away.  A wave of heat swept over him and pooled in his groin.

"I'll make it good for you," the younger man whispered against Johnny's mouth.  "I promise, I'll make it so good for you..."

Johnny groaned and opened his mouth, threading his fingers through Frank's hair and pulling him closer.  He was confused and scared and more than a little drunk but he'd never wanted anything ... anyone ... the way he wanted this man. When Frank pushed him back on the sofa, he went willingly, twining his arms and legs around the other man, frantically pulling him closer.  "Yes," he panted, between kisses.  "Yes, please. I want..."

"I know what you want," McMullen murmured putting just enough distance between them to get his hands on Johnny's belt buckle.  "I know exactly what you want."

Johnny groaned again as practiced hands unfastened his belt, slid down his zipper and tugged his boxer shorts aside.  He was achingly hard, his body actually shaking with desire.  He couldn't remember ever being more aroused in his life.   "Oh God, Frank, please...."

He sat up with a gasp, his mouth dry, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.  It took him a few seconds to orient himself, to realize he wasn't in Frank's apartment... in Frank's arms... but in the dark quiet of Station 51's dorm.  

He must've been asleep for hours because a quick glance around the shadowed room revealed his

shift-mates asleep in their bunks.  He held his breath and listened for any indication that he'd woken them but the room was peaceful except for the muffled buzz of Marco's snoring.  

"Oh God," Johnny whispered, dropping his head into his trembling hands.  "Oh God," he said again when he realized that he'd fallen asleep in his clothes and the front of the pants was wet and sticky.  His face flamed and he was grateful for the darkness of the room.  He hadn't had a wet dream since he was a teenager and to have one here because he'd been dreaming about ... "Oh God," he whispered a third time.  

He wasn't queer, damn it!  He wasn't!  He couldn't be.  

Could he?

Rising on shaking legs, he crept toward the locker room and the relative safety of the shower.  He scrubbed himself raw and stood under the spray until the water ran cold but he still didn't feel entirely clean when he slipped back into his bunk.  He was confused, scared and bone tired. All he wanted to do was sleep.  But as he lay there in the dark his eyes were drawn again and again to Frank McMullen, sleeping peacefully in the next bunk, a mere arm's length away. He was still awake when the sun rose.

+++++

One Week Earlier:

"You ready?"

"Almost."  Johnny tugged on his boots and bent to tie them.

"Well, hurry up, would ya?" Frank called from the locker room doorway.

Boots tied, Gage stood and squinted at himself in the tiny mirror affixed to his locker door.  His hair was getting really shaggy, he thought as he ran a hand through it, trying to tame the disheveled locks. Maybe he should break down and get that haircut Cap was always bugging him about.  He fussed with it a bit, finally getting that one lock to fall over his forehead 'just so'.  He grinned when he remembered how the girl he'd gone out with Saturday night hadn't been able to keep her hands off it, frequently reaching out to smooth his hair off his forehead.  Then again, maybe it wasn't time to get that haircut.  

Suddenly, his mirror image disappeared as Frank reached past him and slammed the locker shut. "Oh, for crying out loud, you're gorgeous, okay?  Quit primping and come on! I'm starved!"  

"You're always starved," Gage replied with an affectionate smile.

They said their good-byes to their shift-mates and headed for a small diner two blocks down the street. Having breakfast together when they got off shift had rapidly become a tradition with the partners, so much so that the waitress plunked two cups of coffee in front of them as soon as they were seated and said "The usual?" without bothering to hand them menus.    

Frank had been talking a mile a minute ever since they'd left the station, chattering on and on about a Florida wildfire they'd seen on the news the night before.  He paused long enough to smile at the young woman and say, "Yeah, thanks," before launching right back into his narrative.

Johnny propped his elbows on the table, sipped his coffee and just let the other man talk.  The incessant chatter had annoyed him no end in the beginning but now not only was he used to it, he actually found himself enjoying it. And with a start he realized that, as much as he was looking forward to Roy's return to work, he was going to miss the kid.

Not that he'd ever admit that, of course.

+++++

Johnny had been lying in the dark watching his partner sleep for so long that he'd become almost hypnotized by the rise and fall of the younger man's chest.  He didn't realize that the object of his scrutiny was awake and staring back at him until Frank spoke.

"You don't have to stay up all night guarding your virtue, you know." There was a hard edge to the young man's tired voice.  "I'm not gonna try and ravage you in the night."

"I didn't think..."

"I'll sleep on the couch in the day room next shift, if that'll make you feel safe."

Gage pushed himself up on one elbow and regarded his partner, "Frank, you don't have to do that."

"But you can't sleep with my laying here either, can you?  Now that you know, I mean."

"No, that's not why ... it wasn't because..." he trailed off helplessly.  God knows he couldn't tell Frank the real reason he'd awakened in the night and been unable to get back to sleep. And the truth was, he probably would sleep better without Frank lying three feet away.

As the lights flashed on and the wake-up tones sounded, the other members of the crew roused and began crawling out of bed. The two paramedics just lay there looking at each other.  Neither of them seemed to know quite what to say next.

"Up and at 'em, guys," Hank leaned around the dividing wall and prodded Frank's foot, startling both men.  "Marco is making huevos rancheros.  Better get a move on if you want any."

"Sounds good," Frank's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.  "Tell him to make a lot 'cause I could eat a horse."

Johnny felt relief at the realization that Frank wasn't expecting them to go out for breakfast as usual. He dragged himself out of bed and began to dress wearily.

+++++

Three Days Earlier:

"Whatcha doin'?"

The question, asked about two inches from his left ear, startled Johnny badly and he smacked his head on the raised hood of the squad.  "Ow!"

"Sorry."  Frank smiled and hooked an elbow over the side mirror, not looking the least bit sorry.  "So, whatcha doin'?"

Johnny readjusted his work light and leaned back over the engine.  "Trying to find out what's making that rattling noise."

"You mean that click-click-click-click-CLACK sound?"

Gage emerged from under the hood again, his eyes wide in amazement.  "You heard it too?!"

"Yeah, it's been driving me crazy all week."

"Charlie says it's a figment of my imagination but I know there's something wrong."

"Oh, absolutely."

Johnny grabbed a wrench and slapped it in his partner's hand.  "Well, what are you waiting for?  Get under here and help me."

McMullen grinned and wedged himself in beside Johnny.  "I'm thinking maybe it's the fan belt."

"Nah, I already checked that."

They worked together in comfortable silence for a while and then Frank cleared his throat and asked hesitantly,  "So, um, is it true that Thursday's your birthday?"

"Yeah, the big 3-O."

"You probably have plans, huh?"

"Nah, not really.  I had a date but it fell through so I'm on my own."

"You are?  That's great!"

Johnny raised an eyebrow at him.  "It is?"

"Well," Frank flushed.  "Not great but... well, see I was thinking that since it was your birthday and since I'm gonna be getting reassigned soon that if you didn't have plans maybe I could take you out. Buy you dinner; maybe go to a club or something. You know, to say happy birthday and thanks and all. So, um, would you want to do that, maybe?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"You would?"  Frank's smile of stunned pleasure made Johnny laugh.

"Yeah, Frank, I would.  Sounds like fun.  Thanks."

"Oh, okay.  Good.  That's great. So, um, around 7:00 maybe?  I know a great Indian place not far from my apartment."

"It's a date," John said, clapping Frank on the shoulder.

+++++

Johnny and Frank worked their last two shifts together in strained silence, interacting only when the job required it of them.  And true to his word, Frank slept on the sofa in the day room both nights, citing insomnia one night and the desire to watch a late movie the other.  

When the final shift was over, the wall that had grown between the two men seemed insurmountable. Frank said his good-byes to the other members of the station, thanking them for making him feel so welcome and expressing the hope that they'd keep in touch.  But he pointedly ignored John and it didn't go unnoticed.  Unable to stand the curious glances of his shift-mates, Johnny mumbled a quick good-bye and fled for the parking lot.  But once he was in his car, he just couldn't seem to leave.

The back door opened and Frank emerged, head down, eyes fixed firmly on the pavement.  He climbed in his truck, which just happened to be parked right next to Johnny's, slammed the door and started the engine.  Only then did he glance up and the two men's eyes met for a long, uncomfortable moment.

Then McMullen turned his gaze resolutely forward and put his battered pick-up into gear.  

As he watched Frank drive away without a backward glance, Johnny remembered the afternoon just days ago when Frank had invited him out for a night on the town; a night that had ultimately lead to the destruction of their friendship.  He remembered how nervous and tentative the younger man had been.   Remembered how blinding his smile had been when Johnny had agreed to go. Had said the words,

"It's a date."

Oh God.  Gage dropped his forehead onto the steering wheel with a thump. Frank had asked him out on a date.  A date.  And he'd said yes.

+++++

Johnny told himself that with Frank's departure and Roy's return to work his life would get back to normal. But the truth was he still felt unsettled weeks later. The harder he tried not to think about McMullen, the more his thoughts strayed to the other man.  And he'd been plagued by disturbing dreams like the one that had awakened him in the bunk room that awful night. Each dream was more intense and more upsetting than the one before.  Was his subconscious mind trying to tell him something?  Was he gay and just too dense to know it?  After all, he'd responded to Frank's kiss at first and he sure as hell enjoyed having sex with the man in his dreams.  Waking up tangled in wet sheets was certainly testament to that.

No, he told himself firmly each time it happened.  You're not like that.  You're not. But the fear that he was 'like that' niggled at the back of his brain and the dreams continued.

He tried sleeping pills but they didn't help and fear of addiction made him stop in less than a week. He went on a dating binge, meeting and bedding as many women as he could in the hopes that burying himself in all that soft female flesh would banish the dreams of burying himself in the hard body of another man.  He tried going for long runs after supper, stumbling back home on shaking legs and falling into bed exhausted. And although he'd sink into sleep almost instantly, the dreams still came with alarming frequency. Johnny felt like he was living a nightmare. And he lived in constant fear of someone finding out. Finding out what Frank was.  What Johnny feared he might be.  

______________________

Coming out, all the way out, is offered more and more as the political solution to our oppression. The argument goes that, if people could see just how many of us there are, some in very important places, the negative stereotype would vanish overnight. It is far more realistic to suppose that, if the tenth of the population that is gay became visible tomorrow, the panic of the majority of people would inspire repressive legislation of a sort that would shock even the pessimists among us.

                             -- Jane Rule

______________________

His worst nightmare came true on a very ordinary afternoon in early October.  The paramedics had just returned from a run and headed for the day room to grab a cup of coffee. They'd barely set foot across the threshold when Chet Kelly was in their faces. "Didja hear about McMullen?"  

"Hear what?" Gage said crossly as he brushed past Kelly and headed for the coffee pot. "I haven't seen him or talked to him since he left here."

"Well, brace yourself 'cause I got big news for you."

"I'm not interested," Johnny handed Roy a cup of coffee and carried his own mug over to the table. He plopped down next to Marco, grabbed the sports page and studiously ignored Chet. But the Irishmen refused to go unheard.

"We did that fire safety program over at Prescott Elementary this morning," Kelly said conversationally.

"Yeah, Chet, I know.  I was at roll call when Cap announced it," Johnny hid behind his paper, blocking out the smirk on Chet's face.

"You know Dave McIntyre over at 35's? Well, his kid goes there and Dave came over on his day off to help with the program. And you will not believe what he told us about McMullen."

"Chet, I told you I wasn't interested."  Johnny turned a page and snapped the paper back up in front of his face.

"Oh, believe me, Gage, you'll be interested in this."

"Chet, knock it off, will ya?  I'm trying to read the paper."

"Dave said..."

Mike, who was quietly cooking dinner, spoke up from his position at the stove. "Leave it alone, Chet."

Kelly ignored the engineer and leaned over the table, getting back in Johnny's face.  "I'm telling ya, Gage..."

"And I'm telling YOU," Johnny slapped the paper down in frustration.  "I. Don't. Care." He snarled the words, enunciating each one with excruciating care.  "Now leave me alone, will ya?" He shoved his chair back from the table with so much force it nearly toppled over.  "I've got work to do."  

"McMullen's a queer."

Johnny froze in his tracks, turning to stare at Chet in slack-jawed horror. "W-what did you say?"

"Dave said 36's had a run over on Devlin last night and he saw Frank coming out of Sensations," Chet pronounced the name of a notorious gay bar in North Hollywood with unabashed glee.

"Chet," Stoker spoke again, his voice tight. "If Cap hears you..."

But Kelly plunged on relentlessly. "He was with some guy and they were being real... you know," Chet made quotation marks in the air with his fingers, "friendly.  According to Dave, they had their hands all over each other and McMullen had his tongue halfway down this guys throat and..."

"KELLY!" Cap stood in the doorway, face red with rage.  "I told you I didn't want to hear anymore of that talk in this station! I won't stand for my men spreading malicious gossip.  Especially about another firefighter."

"But, Cap..."

"No buts, Kelly.  I mean it."  

"Aw, come on, Cap, you can't blame us for being curious!  I mean the guy slept in the same room with us for months!  He showered with us, changed clothes with us. Doesn't that bother you?  Knowing that a queer saw you..."

"ENOUGH!" Hank roared, practically shaking with fury. "Frank McMullen is an asset to this department. He has a promising career ahead of him and I won't have anyone smearing his name like this.  I don't want to hear another word! Not one! And if I do, there's gonna be hell to pay.  Is that understood?"

An uncomfortable silence greeted his outburst as the five members of his crew exchanged troubled glances.  

"Is that understood?" Hank repeated loudly.

A subdued chorus of "Yes, Cap," came in reply.

"Good.  Now get back to work." Stanley spun on his heel and slammed through the door, heading back toward his office.

Another long moment of embarrassed silence followed the captain's departure. Then Mike cleared his throat and announced in a shaky voice that dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes and someone had best set the table.  Marco and Chet both jumped to comply, bumping into each other and getting in each other's way in their eagerness to do something.

Johnny, unable to bear even looking at his shift-mates, fled to the bathroom.  He dropped the lid of the toilet and sat on it, wrapping his arms around his chest to try and stop the shaking that threatened to blossom into a full-fledged panic attack. Now that the truth about Frank was out, it was only a matter of time before someone put two and two together and figured out what had caused the rift between the two paramedics. And what the hell was he supposed to do then?  Admit it?  Admit that the other man had kissed him and that he'd apparently liked it well enough that he couldn't stop thinking about it?  Admit that in his dreams he was rolling onto his belly and offering himself to another man on an almost nightly basis?

Gage swallowed back a sudden urge to vomit.  He couldn't do it.  He couldn't admit this to anyone. But how the hell was he supposed to deny it?  His friends weren't stupid. They'd seen the tension between he and Frank first hand. They'd know. They'd all know.  And none of them would believe him for a second if he tried to deny it.

Damn you, Frank McMullen. Damn you for screwin' up my life like this.

++++

"Hey, Johnny, can I ask you a question?"

For a split second, Gage froze in his tracks like a deer caught in headlights. He'd known it was only a matter of time before one of his coworkers made the connection. Quite frankly it surprised him that it had taken this long... just over two hours according to his watch.

"What's on your mind, Roy?" he asked as he resumed swiping the mop back and forth across the squad bay floor as nonchalantly as possible.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Like what?"  His heart was pounding like a trip hammer but his voice was carefully neutral.

"Like this thing with Frank McMullen.  You and he were pretty good friends."

"Yeah," Johnny allowed cautiously. "So?"

"So," Roy crossed the room and leaned against the back corner of the squad, ducked his head and peered into his partner's downcast eyes, "I just thought that all these rumors flying around about him might be kind of hard for you to hear."

Johnny met Roy's gaze for a split second and then turned back to his mopping. "Ah, Roy, you know me.  I don't pay any attention to rumors."

Under less stressful circumstances, he'd have been insulted by Roy's snort of disbelief.

"So, you don't think it's true then?  You don't think Frank could be a homosexual?"

"How the hell would I know?" John flinched at the defensive tone of his own voice.

"From what the guys tell me you knew him better than anyone," DeSoto replied reasonably.  "I know you were spending time with him off duty. And," he hesitated, his face pensive, as if he were deciding how to proceed.  

Johnny waited, trembling hands clutching the mop handle in a white-knuckled grip.

"And from what I hear," Roy finally continued, "the two of you had a major falling out the last week he was here.  Not talking, avoiding each other.  Chet says it got so bad that McMullen slept on the couch in the day room. With all these rumors flying around, I can't help but wonder what happened. Did he do something, Johnny? Something he shouldn't have?  Is that what went wrong between you?"

Oh shit, Johnny thought to himself.  Now what? He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. He knew exactly what would happen if the truth came out, knew exactly what people would think.  Oh, no one would come right out and accuse him to his face.  Cap would make sure of that. But they'd look at him and they'd wonder. They'd wonder if Johnny had somehow encouraged Frank, if McMullen had seen something that made him think his advances would be welcome. And then, inevitably, they'd wonder if his advances had been welcome.  

John Gage had never been dishonest with one of his shift-mates.  Not about anything important, anyway. They were more than just coworkers, after all. They were his friends, his brothers, the people he entrusted with his life every time he put on a turnout coat and headed out to the scene of a rescue.  How the hell could he lie to any of them?  And to Roy, of all people?  Just considering it made him sick to his stomach.

"No," he said quietly, looking his best friend straight in the eyes and lying to him.  "Nothing happened.  He never laid a hand on me."

+++++

In the days and weeks that followed, Johnny did his best to distance himself from Frank McMullen in every way possible.  He never joined in the gossip, which ran rampant through the department despite attempts by the brass to keep the brewing scandal under wraps.  In fact, he tried to avoid the rumors, always finding a reason to leave the room whenever Frank's name was mentioned. But it was almost impossible to ignore the whispered conversations that seemed to be taking place in quiet corners whenever groups of firefighters were together.

The stories were ludicrous and yet people seemed willing, eager even, to accept them as truth. Supposedly Frank had been forced to leave the fire department in his hometown of Bakersfield because of improper sexual conduct on the job. He was seen in the locker room wearing women's panties under his uniform.   He was dating a drag queen. He was a drag queen. He'd been banned from the locker room because he was always 'looking at the guys that way'. He made a pass at Station 42's engineer.  He touched a male patient in an inappropriate fashion and got punched in the face.  The list went on and on.

And then there were the other rumors; the ones Johnny suspected probably were true. Frank's twelve-week assignment at Station 42 had been cut short and he'd been shipped off to Station 76 because all of 42's paramedics threatened to transfer out rather than work with him. He was sleeping on a cot in the corner of 76's squad bay because nobody felt comfortable with him in the dorm. He wasn't allowed in the locker room when the other guys are changing clothes; instead he had to wait until they were done and get dressed alone. His paycheck had 'gotten lost' two weeks in a row. Somebody broke into his locker and replaced all his uniforms with dresses. He was getting hate mail.  Someone threw a brick through his window. He left work one morning and found all four of his tired flattened. Someone put sugar in his gas tank. Somebody spray painted 'faggot' on the hood of his car.

Johnny didn't know quite how to feel.  Once or twice he caught himself taking a nasty sort of satisfaction in the fallout. He couldn't really blame the guys at 76's for not wanting a gay man in the dorm; he'd certainly slept better when Frank was out of the room.  And really, what the hell did he expect, living that kind of lifestyle?  He'd asked for it.  

Hadn't he?  

But then John would feel ashamed of his uncharitable thoughts because, deep down, he knew the stories about Frank's behavior couldn't possibly be true. Whatever else the young man might be, he'd never been anything except kind, competent and professional on the job and it bothered Johnny that

so many people were so keen to believe the hearsay.

Nevertheless he couldn't bring himself to speak up on the other man's behalf.  He couldn't risk it.  All it would take was one person asking, 'Why do you suppose Gage is so quick to come to McMullen's defense?' and the rumor mill would start churning again.  Only this time, Johnny would be the hot topic of conversation.

'I heard McMullen and Gage were awful chummy...'

'So and so saw them out together one night.'

'Do you suppose Gage could be...'

No, he simply couldn't risk it.  And so he kept silent while his former friend's reputation was ripped to shreds.

And when the word came down in mid-November, that Frank had resigned and was leaving the city, Johnny knew he should probably feel guilty or sad or morally outraged on the young man's behalf.

But all he felt was relief.

+++++

There were a wooden picnic table and a couple of lawn chairs in the back parking lot.  The furniture had seen better days, and was probably against some department regulation or another, but the men of Station 51 guarded it jealously.  It was the perfect place to sneak a cigarette or just sit and enjoy the cool twilight hours.  As soon as he'd finished his evening chores, Johnny slipped on his jacket and sought refuge there, perching cross-legged on the table with the latest Steven King novel.  He propped the book on his knees and bent over it, reading the same few paragraphs over and over again without really absorbing anything, and did his best to not think about Frank McMullen.

Just as the light was fading to the point that it was difficult to make out the words on the page, Johnny glanced up to find Mike Stoker standing in the doorway studying him, a bemused expression on his face.

"Hey, Mike."

"Hey.  Mind if I join you?"

Gage patted the rough wooden surface beside him.  "Pull up a seat."

"Thanks."  Stoker settled next to Johnny, his feet propped on one of the sagging benches that had come with the battered table.  "Nice night," he commented, studying the rapidly darkening sky.

"Yeah, I guess."  

"Full moon tonight, isn't it?"

"No, I think that's tomorrow."

"Hmm." Stoker fell silent and Johnny turned another page.

"That any good?"  Mike nodded toward the book in Johnny's hands.

"Yeah, it's not bad. It's about this plague that wipes out 99% of the world's population and the survivors are having this big struggle between good and evil."

"Maybe I'll borrow it when you're done."

"Sure, if you want.  Gonna be a while though.  It's a pretty big book." Gage hefted the five-inch thick tome to show Stoker that he was less than halfway through the volume.

"No rush. Whenever you're done."

Johnny surreptitiously studied the engineer.  What the heck was up with Stoker tonight?  He was downright chatty... for Mike anyway. This was probably the longest conversation they'd had in a year. He had a feeling there was something more to this than Mike's desire to get some fresh air.

"You okay, Mike?"

"Yeah, I'm fine.  You?"

"Couldn't be better."  Johnny turned anther page, despite the fact that he hadn't read a word since Stoker's appearance.

"So, what do you think about McMullen leaving town."

Johnny closed his eyes with a weary sigh.  He'd known it was just a matter of time before someone cornered him to talk about Frank's imminent departure.  He just hadn't expected it to be Stoker. "I don't think anything about it.  It's not my business."

"You're gonna just let him go without talking to him?"  The disappointment in Mike's voice brought Johnny's head up.

Why would Stoker say a thing like that? Was it possible he knew what had happened?  "I haven't talked to Frank since he left here," Gage said guardedly.  "I'm sorry about what's been happening to him but I don't see why I'd go talk to him now."

Stoker gave him a long, assessing look and much to his dismay, Johnny found himself squirming under the other man's scrutiny. He doesn't know, he doesn't know, Gage chanted to himself.  There's no way he can know.

"I know what happened between the two of you."

Ah, hell.  Gage dropped his book and buried his face in his hands. "I can't believe he told you."

"He didn't."

Johnny raised his head.  "Then how?"

"I overheard you in the locker room the morning after he kissed you."

"I thought we were alone."

"Yeah," Mike chuckled humorlessly.  "I sorta figured that.  I didn't mean to eavesdrop. And I would've left as soon as I realized what you guys were talking about but there was no way for me to get out of the room without you knowing I'd been there in the first place. But I didn't say anything, John.  I didn't tell a soul."

Of course he hadn't. Johnny would never have thought otherwise.  "I know," he acknowledged. "Does Frank know that you know?"

Stoker nodded.  "We've kept in touch.  I went to see him after all this shit started happening and I told him then."

"So, um, why are you telling me after all this time?"

"Because Frank's taking all this pretty hard. He could really use a friend right now."

"I'm probably the last person he'd want to see."

"I wouldn't be so sure. He liked you a lot, John.  As a friend, I mean, not just as... you know," Mike waved his hand vaguely and the paramedic nodded in understanding. "He told me he regrets what happened. Not because you rejected him as a lover." Johnny couldn't help himself; he cringed at the word. But Mike continued on placidly.  "But because you rejected him as a friend.  He really looked up to you, you know. And you liked him. More than you're willing to admit, I think."

"I'm NOT gay," Gage protested hotly.

Mike held up a hand.  "That's not what I meant. I meant that you liked Frank. Really liked him. As a friend," the engineer stressed the word. "I think that maybe you regret what happened and that it would be a shame if you let him leave town without clearing the air."

"Damn it, Mike," Johnny scrubbed his face with his hands. "Don't do this to me!  Sure, I liked the kid. Sure I wish things had turned out differently. But they didn't. What happened happened. And there's nothing I can do to change that. And who knows, maybe a fresh start is just what he needs.  I hear they're a lot more open-minded about these things in San Francisco. He'll probably be happier there.  Besides, why the hell should I be the one to make the first move?  He's the one who started it!  He's the one who kissed me!"

"And you're the one who knocked him ass over tea cup for no good reason," Stoker pointed out quietly.

"No good reason?! Mike, did you hear what I just said? He KISSED me!"

"And you could've just said no."

"Well, I wouldn't have had to say no if he'd kept his damn hands to himself," Johnny replied fiercely. "Shit, Mike, you act like this is my fault!"

Stoker opened his mouth to speak but Gage was on a roll and cut him off before he could say a word.

"I mean, what right did he have to do that to me? I never did a damn thing to encourage him!  Where does he get off making assumptions about me? Asking me out on a fucking date without making sure I knew that's what it was?! Putting his hands on me like I'm some sort of... of..."

"Fag?" There was a thread of steel in Mike's soft voice.

"Did he tell you I called him that?" Johnny hissed furiously. "Because it's a damn lie!  I never called him that or anything else."

"Maybe not but I have a feeling your reaction made your feelings pretty clear."

"Jesus Christ!"  Johnny raked an angry hand through his hair.  "Now you sound just like him!"

"That's because I am like him." Their eyes locked and the air around them fairly sizzled with tension.  Gage was shaking his head in denial even as Mike was saying the words. "I'm gay, John."

And, of course, at just that moment the klaxons sounded.

+++++

The rest of the shift was a madhouse; one call coming hot on the heels of another and there was no time for Johnny and Mike to continue their conversation. When the weary men made their way out of the station house the next morning, Stoker paused in the parking lot and quietly invited Johnny to join him for coffee at the diner down the street.  "I think we have a lot to talk about, don't you, John?"  

But the diner down the street was Lindy's, the place where Johnny and Frank had breakfasted after they got off duty. The place where they'd talked and laughed and become friends.  The place where, with crystal clear 20/20 hindsight, Johnny could see that Frank had slowly but surely fallen in love with him.

And now another gay man was inviting him to the same place? The parallel was just too strange and made him too uncomfortable. Gage pleaded fatigue from the long, busy night and fled.  

Later, he decided, as he climbed into his truck and drove away. He'd call Mike. They'd meet someplace ... NOT Lindy's ... and they'd talk. Later.

But after a short nap, he found a million and one chores that kept him busy and out of the house most of the day.  When he fell into bed, exhausted, just after midnight, he vowed, "Tomorrow.  I'll call him tomorrow."

Tomorrow came and went.  A sometimes girlfriend called and invited Johnny to go sailing and he leaped at the chance.  Sailing led to dinner, which led to a nightcap ... which led to breakfast.  He rushed into the station house five minutes late the following morning, his shoes untied and a smear of lipstick by the side of his mouth.

And he went out of his way to avoid Mike Stoker all day. Mike let him get away with it until shift's end.  

Johnny lingered in the day room, chatting with B-Shift for nearly fifteen minutes. When he was sure the members of his own crew were long gone, he headed for the parking lot. And found Stoker leaning against the driver's side door of his Rover.

"He leaves today," the engineer said without preamble.

"Mike, just let it go, okay?" Gage begged.  

"All I'm asking you to do is talk to the man. Don't let him leave town thinking you hate him."

"I don't hate him," Johnny replied wearily.

"I'm not the one who needs to hear that. Come on, John," Mike pleaded.  "I'm seeing him off at the airport at 4:00. You can ride along with me if you want."

"Damn it, Mike!  I can't, okay?"  Johnny slapped an open palm against the side of the Rover in frustration.  "I can't. If I go over there and anyone sees me..."

"And God forbid you be seen in public with a queer, huh?"  Stoker's eyes blazed with sudden anger.  "It doesn't rub off, you know, Gage. Being a fag, I mean.  Just because you hang out with one, doesn't mean you're going to become one.  But someone who's not smart enough to know that might see you and get the wrong idea and you can't risk that, can you? God knows what people think about YOU is more important than Frank's feelings. Or mine."

Johnny stared at Mike, dumbstruck.  In all the years they'd worked together, he'd never once seen the easy-going engineer lose his temper.  It was shocking and a little intimidating. "I... I..." he struggled to speak but couldn't form a coherent sentence to save his life.

"Forget it," Mike said savagely, digging his keys out of his pocket and stalking toward his own truck, parked just a few feet away.  "Just forget it.  He climbed into the pick-up, slamming the door so hard the big vehicle rocked, and left without another word.

As Johnny watched the truck peel out of the parking lot, something Mike had said kept reverberating through his mind.  It doesn't rub off, you know, Gage. It doesn't rub off...

"But what if it does?" he whispered.

+++++

Keeping himself busy with imaginary chores wasn't working. Neither was watching TV or going for a run or any of the other dozen things he tried to quiet his turbulent thoughts.

At 2:45, Johnny reluctantly admitted to himself what he had to do.  Walking across the hall, he tapped on his neighbor's door. "Pam, are you still dating that pilot?  You think he could find out what flight someone was on?"

+++++

"Gate 33... gate 33..." Johnny squinted up at the overhead sign.  "Gates 21 through 41 to the left." He rounded the corner and hurried down the long hallway, glancing at his watch.  Traffic had been heavy and he had only a few minutes to spare.  30.... 31... there!  Gate 33.  And standing in the small, crowded waiting area were Frank McMullen and Mike Stoker. Frank appeared to have aged ten years.  He was too thin, his broad shoulders drooped, and there were lines around his eyes that hadn't been there only a few months before. He looked exhausted, beaten and unbearably sad.

Mike leaned in close and said something. Frank nodded and his lips curved in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

The intercom crackled to life and announced that boarding had begun for Frank's flight.  As the other passengers surged toward the harried looking gate attendant, McMullen picked up a small duffle bag and slipped the strap over his shoulder.  He offered Mike his hand, but Stoker ignored the gesture, instead pulling the younger man into his arms. They hugged fiercely, their bodies rocking slightly.

Johnny hung back, lurking in the alcove that fronted the restrooms, wanting to give them their privacy. When they'd finished their good-byes he'd make his presence known.  

Then Frank pulled back from the embrace, his blue eyes bright with unshed tears. He smiled, sincerely this time, murmured something that looked like a thank you and brushed a quick kiss across Mike's cheek.

"Disgusting."  

Johnny startled at the sound of a voice behind him. He turned and found himself face to face with a well-dressed attractive woman in her forties. "Huh?"

"Oh, not you," she smiled tightly.  "I was talking about those two." She gestured toward the gate where Frank and Mike still stood, arms looped loosely around each other.  "It makes you sick, doesn't it? The way those people," her cultured voice dripped disdain, "behave in public."

"Uh ... y-yeah," Johnny stammered, "yeah. It's ... excuse me." He brushed past her and hurried back the way he'd come.  The tinny sound of a bored female voice announcing final boarding of Flight 67 to San Francisco chased him down the hall.

______________________

Try to imagine the world the other way around. Imagine that every movie, book, magazine, T.V. show, newspaper, commercial, billboard told you that you should be homosexual. But you know you're not and you know that for you this is right...                              

       -- Harvey Fierstein: Torch Song Trilogy

______________________

"You were right," he said without preamble.

Stoker cocked an eyebrow at him and held his front door open a bit wider. "I have a feeling this is gonna take a while.  You better come in out of the rain."

Pushing his dripping hair off his forehead, Johnny entered the tidy little bungalow where Mike had lived for as long as John had known him.

As quietly efficient as ever, Mike managed to relieve him of his sodden jacket, settle him on the sofa with a towel, make coffee and unearth a plateful of only semi-stale chocolate chip cookies all in a matter of minutes.

"So," the engineer said patiently, settling into the overstuffed chair that sat across from the couch, "what's on your mind, John?"

"You were right," he repeated.

"About what?" Stoker prompted gently.

Gage stalled, stirring his coffee and watching intently as the cream swirled and blended in with the darker liquid. Finally, without raising his eyes, he quietly admitted,  "About me.  What you said about me yesterday.  I, uh, I went to the airport and I was waiting to say good-bye but then there was this woman. She saw you guys hugging and she said... Well, it doesn't really matter what she said..."

"It must've mattered to you, the way you took off out of there after she said it."

Johnny's head jerked up and he stared across the coffee table in surprise. "You saw me?"

Mike smiled. "You were kinda hard to miss, lurking in front of the ladies room like some sort of flasher."

"Did Frank..."

"No.  I kept him distracted, kept him looking the other way just in case..."

"In case I ran like a coward," Johnny finished bitterly. "You were absolutely right about me, Mike. I do care more about what people think than about how my friends feel.  I was all set to come over and talk to Frank and this woman, this total stranger, said... um..."

"You can say it, Johnny. It's probably nothing I haven't heard before."

"It wasn't so much what she said.  It was how she said it, you know? Like the two of you were trash or something. And that's why I ran.  And it's stupid," he said plaintively. "Because I didn't even know this woman but I couldn't let her see me with you because then she'd think..."

"That you were like us."

"Yeah. And the thing is," Johnny stopped and very carefully sat his untouched coffee down on the table because his hands were suddenly shaking too hard to hold the mug.  "The thing is, I think I might be."

There.  He'd said it. Sort of. Given voice to the fear that had plagued his dreams and made his life hell for months. He felt relieved and a little sick to his stomach.  But it would be better now because he'd told Mike and Mike would know what to do.  

And then a sound reached him. A muffled choking noise as if Stoker were ...

"You're laughing at me?" Johnny was outraged.

"No!" Mike protested in a strangled voice. "No, I'm not laughing at you."

But he was.  Howling in fact.  Slumped in his chair as if he hadn't the strength to sit upright, one hand clutching his ribs, the other pressed to his mouth trying to stifle the gales of laughter that filled the room.

Humiliated, Johnny leaped to his feet and bolted for the door. Mike caught him halfway there, wrapping a large hand around his upper arm and tugging him back into the living room.

"Sorry," he gasped, still struggling to contain his mirth. "I'm sorry. It's just that ... My God, John, you are the most NOT gay man I have ever known in my life."

"I'm ... but ... but I..." Johnny sputtered ineffectually as he allowed himself to be pushed back down on the sofa. "But what about the dreams?"

"The dreams?"

"I've been having these... you know..." he could feel the heat suffusing his face, "these dreams..."

Mike stared at him, perplexed.  Then it seemed to dawn on him.  "Oh, okay. When you say dreams you mean..."

"Yeah.  I mean ... dreams," Johnny said miserably.

Stoker sat down on the sofa and shoved the now tepid mug of coffee into Johnny's hands.  "Drink this," he commanded.  "And you and I need to have a long talk. Starting with you telling me your version of everything that happened."

And so, stammering and blushing furiously, Johnny told him. "And I'm still having these damn dreams," he sighed, setting aside his now empty mug. "I don't always wake up, um," he gestured vaguely towards his groin. "But I'm damn sure enjoying myself in my sleep."

"I think that's the key point here, don't you?" Mike questioned kindly. "That you're enjoying yourself in your sleep?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you ever fantasize about Frank, or any other man for that matter, when you're awake?"

"No!" he protested.

"Frank can't have been the first guy who's ever hit on you. You go out to dance clubs once in a while don't you?  Has a guy ever made a pass at you?"

"A few times," Johnny admitted reluctantly.

"And what'd you do?"

"What'd I do?  Well, I said no, of course!"

"You weren't tempted?  Not even for a minute?  Out of curiosity maybe?"

"No!"

"So you've never had a conscious sexual fantasy about a man.  You've never been attracted to a man.  You've never been remotely tempted to have sex with a man.  Johnny, what on earth would make you think you were gay?"

"I told you!" he exploded. "It's those damned dreams!"

"They're just dreams, John." Mike said with a shrug. "I think you're giving them way too much importance. Dreams can mean a lot of things. Or they can mean nothing at all.  You feel guilty about what happened, right?  Maybe the dreams are your way of punishing yourself. I don't really know.  But dreaming about having sex with someone doesn't have to mean you actually want to have sex with them, does it?"

"No, I guess not," Johnny admitted hesitantly.  "And maybe you're right about me subconsciously punishing myself. But what about that kiss, how do you explain that? I was wide-awake and I liked it!  At first anyway. What the hell else am I supposed to think about that?"

"That you like to be kissed?" Mike suggested. "Kissing is supposed to feel good and your body didn't know the difference between a male mouth and a female one. It just recognized something that felt good in the past and reacted accordingly. It doesn't mean you're gay," he added gently. "It just means you like to be kissed.  Who doesn't? You just ran into trouble once your brain got in on the act."

Johnny stared at Mike for several long minutes.  It made sense.  It honest to God made sense! And he felt utterly foolish for not having thought of it himself. "So I'm not gay?" he asked slowly.

"Nope."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh God!" Johnny wilted with relief, sinking back against the sofa cushions and scrubbing his face with his hands. "Thank God!" he said fervently.  "Oh, um, sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Yeah, you did," Stoker said easily.  "But it's okay.  This has really been bugging you, hasn't it?"

"You can't even begin to imagine," Johnny sighed.

"Actually, I think I can."

Gage gave him a startled look.  "What do you mean?"

"You think it was easy for me to admit I was gay?  You think it's easy for anyone? I struggled with the idea every bit as much as you did."

"Well, but you are gay," the paramedic's voice was puzzled.

"Yes, I am.  But that doesn't mean admitting it to myself was easy. I think I knew what I was here," he touched his chest, "when I was twelve or thirteen. But I didn't have the courage to admit to myself here," he touched his forehead, "until years later.  So I dated a whole lot of girls. Played a lot of football. Joined the army.  Became a fireman.  Bought a pick-up truck. Hell, I even almost got married once.  And never, ever admitted to myself who I really was. And I was happy, for a while anyway.  But then one day, I dunno, I just couldn't keep lying to myself anymore.

"Of course," Mike added with a grin, "falling in love kind of sped things along too. When I fell, I fell hard. And I woke up one morning and realized I wanted to be with him more than I wanted to be in denial."

"Do I know your... uh... do I know him? Is he with the fire department too?"  Gage asked tentatively.

"No, you don't know him. But I think you'd like him. And he's an architect, not a firefighter."  Mike tipped his head to the side and looked at John curiously.  "Why do you look so relieved?  Worried you were about to find out that yet another coworker was gay?"

"A little," he admitted sheepishly.  "I think I've had enough of that kind of surprise for a while.  And if you'd've told me you were in love with Craig Brice or something..."

"Brice?!"  Mike shuddered.  "Jeez, Johnny, give me a little credit, would ya? Even if Brice was gay, and I'm pretty sure he isn't, he wouldn't be my type.  I don't understand what anyone sees in that tight-assed little prig!"

"Okay, okay," Gage laughed.  "Sorry."

"You should be," the engineer mock-grumbled.

They grinned at each other and for the first time in a very long time, Johnny felt almost at peace.  He knew he still had a lot of issues to work through, but he'd finally made a start.  It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Are you hungry?"  Mike asked suddenly.

"Starved," he admitted, realizing he hadn't eaten anything all day.

"There's a little mom and pop Italian place around the corner that makes an incredible clam sauce. I'm supposed to meet Andy there in half an hour. You want to come along? Then we could come back here and talk some more if you wanted."

"Andy's your... architect?"

"Yeah," Mike laughed, clearly amused by Johnny's discomfort.

"Oh, well, then thanks for the invitation but I don't want to intrude.  I'll just go home and grab a sandwich."

"You won't be intruding."

"Yes I would. You don't want a third wheel hanging around while you're on a, uh, a date."

"John, Andy and I have been together for seven years. We don't officially live together because I'm not out of the closet but we're together most of the time. The only reason he's not here now is because he had a meeting. We're like an old married couple and this is just another night when neither of us felt like cooking.  It's not a big romantic evening; you honestly wouldn't be intruding. And like I said, I think you two would hit it off.  I'd love for you to meet him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's hard not being able to introduce him to the people I work with," Mike admitted somewhat reluctantly. "He hears me talk about you guys all the time and I know he'd love to finally put a face to one of the names. So please come and have dinner with us."

Gage acquiesced with a smile. "I'd like to meet him too." And to his surprise, he meant it.

"Great, let me grab my wallet and we'll head out."  Mike pushed himself off the sofa and headed for the bedroom. He paused in the doorway and glanced back over his shoulder. "And John, just so there's no confusion later..."

"Huh?"

"This is NOT a date. At least, not for you."

Johnny grinned.  He'd asked for that one.  "Bastard," he muttered as Stoker disappeared into the bedroom chuckling.

+++++

"And Chet, you've got..."

Kelly interrupted the captain's duty assignment with a weary "Yeah, I know:  latrine duty."

Hank raised an eyebrow.  "I was gonna say kitchen detail but if you'd rather..."

"No, no, kitchen detail is fine," Chet hastened to assure him.

"Okay then," Hank smirked and flipped to the next page of his notes. "One more thing before we get to work. There's going to be a gay rights rally at the courthouse this afternoon and the police are concerned that things could get out of hand. They're protesting the verdict in the Fisher case."

To a man, the crew winced.  It was no wonder the cops were worried.  Aaron Fisher was an openly gay teenager who'd been beaten nearly to death on the campus of his high school.  He'd spent months in the hospital and lost the vision in one eye as a result of the attack.  The trial had ended a few days before and the two attackers, fellow students and members of school's state champion basketball team, had gotten off with a veritable slap on the wrist... two years probation and community service.

The gay community had been very outspoken about its displeasure and there was a strong possibility that the rally would be explosive.

"Needless to say, we're hoping nothing happens and there's going to be a strong police presence there to discourage trouble," Cap told them.  "But if it does get out of hand, and if we get called down there, be careful and watch each other's backs, all right?"

+++++

"So much for a strong police presence discouraging trouble," Roy observed wryly as a bottle whizzed overhead and smashed on the pavement nearby.  The paramedics were hunkered down behind the shelter of the squad while the beginnings of a full-fledged riot swirled around them.

The rally had started peacefully enough.  Then a group of onlookers started heckling the demonstrators, shouting insults, throwing a few rocks and bottles.  A couple of paramedic units had been dispatched to treat the injuries and no sooner had they arrived than all hell broke loose and the police had ordered them to seek cover.

"This is crazy," Johnny exclaimed, peeking around the corner of the squad to watch the melee. "I mean there's no reason for this. It's not about anything. Those people didn't attack the demonstrators because they disagreed with them. I could sort of understand that. They attacked them just because they were gay.  What kind of sense does that make?"

Roy squinted at him quizzically, ducking his head as a particularly large rock bounced off the hood of the squad.  "Junior, you picked a hell of a time to get all philosophical on me. Can we just concentrate on staying in one piece right now and try and solve society's problems later?"

Johnny opened his mouth to reply, then flinched as a body slammed into the other side of the squad hard enough to rock the vehicle. One of the storage compartments popped open under the force of the blow and the drug box fell out, bursting open on the pavement and scattering supplies everywhere.  

"Great," Roy groaned, scrambling to save as much as he could. "They're getting too close, Johnny. We're gonna have to find another place to take cover."

"You'll get no argument from me."  Johnny edged towards the back of the truck, stretching an arm out to reach a vial of morphine.  An angry shout drew his attention. There was something vaguely familiar about the voice. He crept forward and peered cautiously around the back bumper.  What he saw made his blood run cold. Andy... Mike's Andy... was pinned up against the wall of a nearby building being beaten by two men. He was struggling ferociously but was clearly outmatched and in serious trouble.

Johnny dropped the morphine and lunged to his feet.

"Get down!" Roy hissed frantically. "Johnny, what the hell are you doing?"

Gage didn't answer his partner; he just plunged into the crowd shouting, "Get the fuck off him!"  

He caught the attackers unaware, barreling into them at full speed. "Andy, run!" he shouted as he and the men tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

Andy, dazed and bleeding, just stared at him.  "J-John?" he stammered.

"Run!" Johnny repeated, as he struggled with the two men.  He was every bit as outmatched as Andy had been and he knew it.  He just hoped he could keep the attackers busy long enough for the injured man to get away.

"John," Andy took a hesitant step forward, "I can't leave..."

"GO!"  Johnny roared and breathed a sigh of relief as Andy finally obeyed.

"You're gonna pay for that, you faggot-loving little prick!" an angry voice hissed as Johnny was grabbed by his shirtfront and hauled to his feet.

And Gage had no doubt he would have paid, and paid dearly, if Roy hadn't chosen that moment to descend on them brandishing an oxygen tank like a weapon.

A blow to the ribs from the heavy metal tank was all it took to convince one of the attackers to back off; his friend soon followed when he realized he was facing two very angry paramedics on his own.  

And then police officers in riot gear were wading into the crowd, wielding billy clubs and firing tear gas canisters.

Roy grabbed Johnny and hustled him into the squad.  "Hang on," he shouted, throwing the vehicle into gear and making a highly illegal U-turn in the middle of the sidewalk.  "We're getting the hell out of here."

"But there are injured people," Johnny protested, twisting around in his seat to try and see what was happening behind them.  "We can't just leave, Roy! We're on duty here."

"Not any more," DeSoto said tightly.  "Not since you decided to play vigilante and get yourself hurt."

"Hurt? I'm not hurt."

Roy pointed wordlessly to his partner's left forearm.

Gage glanced down and his eyes widened in surprise. There was a jagged gash just below his elbow. It was deep and bleeding profusely.  Caught up in the adrenaline rush, he hadn't even felt it.  "I don't even know how..."

"Broken bottle," Roy ground out.  He reached behind the seat, snagged the small medical kit they kept there and tossed it in Johnny's lap.  "Here, wrap that up till we get to Rampart.  And would you mind explaining to me just what the hell you were thinking when you pulled that stunt?"

And of course, Johnny couldn't tell Roy the truth without divulging Mike's secret. So he simply plastered on his best 'I'm as innocent as a little lamb' expression and shrugged, "Well, jeez, Roy, they were beating the crap out of that guy. It was two against one! You didn't expect me to just stand there and wait for the cops, did ya?"

The look Roy shot him made it very clear that, yes that's exactly what he'd expected.

Johnny sighed and set about applying a makeshift bandage to his now throbbing arm.  It was going to be a long day.

+++++

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up and out of these bloody clothes."

"Don't get that arm wet," Roy reminded.

Johnny brushed past his partner and headed wearily toward the locker room, pushing through the door with a groan.  What a day this was turning out to be.  And it had barely begun. His arm ached from the thorough scrubbing Mike Morton had given it prior to stitching the wound.  His backside hurt from the two injections Dixie had cheerfully administered. And his pride stung from the tongue lashing Hank Stanley had just given him for disobeying the LAPD's instructions and getting himself hurt.

Unbuttoning his uniform shirt with one hand, he shrugged out of it and then stood to slip off his boots and pants.

"John?" the hesitant voice came from the shadowy corner of the room where Mike Stoker's locker was located.

"Hey, Mike."

"Hey."  Stoker moved forward, stepping out of the shadows and Johnny saw that the engineer's face was chalky, his eyes unnaturally bright.

His heart skipped a beat. "Oh God, Mike, is it Andy?"

"He's okay," Stoker hastened to reassure him.  "I just got off the phone with him and he's gonna be okay.  Some cuts and scrapes and some bruised ribs but it..." Mike's voice faltered for a second.  "It could've been a lot worse."

"Thank goodness," John sighed in relief as he pulled a clean uniform from his locker and laid it on the bench. "I wish I coulda done more..."

"More?!  Jesus, Johnny, you risked your life to save him. I don't know how I'm ever gonna repay you."

"Repay me? For what?" He moved to the sink and began carefully washing the dried blood from his arm and hands as he spoke. "It was no big deal, Mike. You're my friend and he's your... boyfriend," he only stumbled over the word a tiny bit. "I mean, what else was I gonna do? Just stand there and let those guys beat the hell out of him? I woulda done the same thing if it had been Joanne or Cap's wife. Not that I think Andy's girly or anything," he hastened to add.

Mike still looked a little shaky but a hint of a smile curved the corners of his mouth at the paramedic's words.  "Thanks, Johnny. Not just for what you did but for saying that.  It means a lot, you accepting Andy and I that way."

"Well, you know I'm never going to understand the attraction," Johnny admitted with an answering smile. "But after seeing you guys together, it's pretty clear how you feel about each other. Love's love, I guess. And who am I to tell you you're wrong?"

And just like that, standing in the middle of the locker room in his underwear, Johnny finally understood.

What Mike felt for Andy really was no different than Roy's love for Joanne. Love was love. In whatever form it took. And who was he to say that it was wrong?

He'd been a fool of monumental proportions and it was time to start making amends.

"Hey, Mike," he said very quietly. "If I can get a flight to San Francisco this weekend, do you think you could drive me to the airport?"

Their eyes locked and a full-fledged smile blossomed on Mike's face.  "I'd be glad to."

+++++

Johnny stood on the tiny stoop for nearly fifteen minutes before he worked up the courage to ring the bell labeled 'McMullen'.  For God's sake, just do it, he chastised himself.  He wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans and jabbed at the tiny button set in the doorframe, yanking his hand back as quickly as if it were a poisonous snake.

There.  It was done.  There was no turning back now.  

He felt like he was going to throw up.

"Coming," a familiar voice called, followed by the sound of booted feet approaching the door.  "Did you forget your key again?  I swear to God I'm gonna tie it on a string and hang it around your neck if you don't..."

And then Frank McMullen was standing in the open doorway.  The welcoming smile on his face vanished, replaced by a look of astonishment and tight-lipped resentment. He made a move to close the door and Johnny lunged forward, bracing his shoulder against the frame.

"Please," he said urgently, "you've got every right to wanna slam the door in my face but please hear me out."

Frank said nothing, but he stopped trying to shove the door closed and stared at Johnny, his eyes shuttered and his expression carefully blank.

"I just wanted... I'm sorry, okay? That's what I came here to tell you. I worked out this long, rambling speech on the plane ride up here but the truth of the matter is I screwed up. I was a jerk and I did everything wrong and I don't know how to make it right. But I thought the least I could do was apologize.  So I came here to say I'm sorry," he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away from the other man's penetrating gaze. "And to tell you that I can't be what you wanted me to be... it's just not who I am. But maybe, if it's not too late, I could still be your friend."

He glanced up hopefully, but Frank's face was still an undecipherable mask. The two men stood there on the crumbling stoop staring at each other for several long, agonizing minutes.  Just as Johnny was about to turn and go, Frank smiled.  It was a mere shadow of the million watt grins he used to flash at Johnny back when they'd been partners.  But it was a start.

Frank took a step back and held the door open wide.  "C'mon in."

And smiling, Johnny stepped over the threshold.

______________________

At my back I hear the word -- "homosexual" -- and it seems to split my world in two.... It is ignorance, our ignorance of one another, that creates this terrifying erotic chaos. Information, a crumb of information, seems to light the world.

-- John Cheever

______________________

The End

______________________