The fire was big, spreading from one warehouse to another in Battalion 14's district. Station 51 rolled as part of the second alarm, calling in units from other battalions to lend a hand battling the blaze. By the time they arrived, at least three buildings were fully involved. Half a dozen engine companies and two other rescue squads were already on the scene.

Chief Redding from Battalion 14 was directing operations. With one hand holding an HT to his mouth, he waved them on to the north end of the street. Roy pulled the squad even farther down, out of the way of where the engine would be needed to pump water.

As Roy got out of the squad and pulled out his turnout coat, he could see Chet and Marco already pulling hose from Big Red. He knew Mike would be busy setting up the water supply, but he couldn't see the engineer from this angle. As Johnny came around the front of the squad, pulling on his coat, Cap trotted over from the engine to give them their instructions.

"John, Roy, Squad 6 is already doing a sweep. 106 is posted up at the other end. You two set up here. Be ready to treat our guys as well as any civilian casualties."

"Right, Cap," Roy acknowledged. He tossed his helmet back into the squad's cab and saw Johnny set his on top as the younger man started opening compartments and pulling out equipment.

In this size of fire, even if there was no one in the buildings, the paramedics would certainly be taking care of minor burns, smoke inhalation, even cuts and sprains, from the men fighting the fire. No matter how much care was taken, some injuries always occurred. Roy had no doubt they would be busy long into the night, and he was glad they'd at least had a chance to eat.

Working together, the paramedics laid out yellow blankets on the street and soon had a triage area set up. Their portable oxygen sat ready for use, along with the drug and trauma boxes and the biophone, in case anyone was injured seriously enough to require contact with Rampart. With that, the two men sat back to wait.

It had already been dark when they'd arrived, and the orange flames shooting up from the burning structures lit up the night sky. Roy watched the men manning the hoses, and up on the aerial ladders, all working hard to quench that eerily beautiful flame.

"You wish you were in there?"

Roy turned at Johnny's unexpected question. In the few years since they'd become paramedics, more and more of their time on the job had become medical in nature, pushing any actual fire fighting farther and farther away, until now it was uncommon for either of them to help on the hoses. Certainly, they were not immune from the dangers. They were still rescue men and were often called on to pull people out of dangerous situations, including raging fires like this one, but their days of fighting the beast one on one were mostly behind them.

Roy watched a moment longer as he saw a burst of flame flare up from the middle warehouse, pushing back several hose teams. The blond paramedic shook his head.

"I don't know. Sometimes... a little." Roy shrugged, knowing that wasn't much of an answer.

Johnny's mouth quirked a little at the corner. "I know exactly what you mean."

"DeSoto! Gage!"

Roy looked up and saw two men coming towards them. One was limping and being supported by the other.

"Here we go," Johnny stated as he got to his feet and rushed toward the pair.

As Roy had predicted, the next few hours were busy. They treated burned hands, sprained knees, a twisted back, patched up some cuts - and always smoke inhalation. Even with the SCBA equipment, there were always men who'd eaten way too much smoke. Fortunately, none of the cases were serious, and after some rest and a few puffs of clean oxygen, they'd all returned to work.

The last one to leave was Captain Stalling from 83. He'd gone in after two of his men he couldn't locate and had stayed in the building too long after his tank had gone dry. He'd found his men, though he was the one who had ended up being helped out of the building with his tank pinging away.

He was doing okay and had protested the entire time they were treating him that he didn't need all this fuss. Roy had been firm with him, though, and it wasn't until the paramedic was convinced the older man would truly be fine that he relented and let the man go back to work.

"Looks like we can start packing up," Roy observed as he noticed the fire was finally being knocked back.

Johnny looked over his shoulder. "Looks like it," he agreed and began picking up the litter that came with medical treatment. He paused when he found a stray HT.

"Captain Stalling must've left it." Johnny glanced around and spotted the striped helmet a ways down the street. "I'll take it to him. Be right back."

"'Kay," Roy answered absently and set about gathering supplies back into their proper boxes.

He could hear over the radio a few companies being released and he knew the fire had been beaten. He decided to leave out the oxygen, just in case, and picked up the drug box and biophone. He walked around to the passenger side of the squad to stow them in their compartments.

Roy felt the cold metal pressed against the side of his head an instant before he heard the voice and realized someone had come up behind him.

"Don't turn around and don't get smart." The voice was deep, but even. "We're going to go for a ride, and then we'll have some fun."

Several things registered in Roy's brain at the same instant. This was him - the man who tortured and killed firefighters. There was a gun pressed against Roy's temple. He was alone with this crazed murdered - not only alone, but on the far side of the squad where no one could see him.

His mouth went dry and his heart began to race as he realized he was going to be the next victim - the next missing firefighter, unless he did something very quickly.

"Hey, man," Roy began, knowing his voice was quavering, but not really caring at the moment. "You don't want to..."

He felt the gun press harder against his skull.

"Shut up," the man hissed. "That's rule number one. Now, you're gonna walk with me over to my car and you're not gonna make a sound. That's rule number two. You'll learn fast that you don't want to break the rules."

The implications of that threat sent an icy chill down Roy's spine. He shot a glance sideways and noticed a light colored sedan parked across the street. He swallowed hard, trying to think of something, anything, to call attention to himself, and it struck him that each of the other men must have felt this same feeling of helplessness, that a few yards away were dozens of men who could help him, but no one was even aware of what was going on.

The man yanked at Roy's shoulder and forced him to take a few halting steps away from the squad.

This can't be happening.

"Hey, Roy? Where are ya, man?"

Johnny! His initial rush of relief at hearing his partner's voice was instantly replaced with fear. God, Johnny get outta here!

But his partner rounded the back of the squad before Roy could find his voice. The man gripped him tightly and held the gun firmly in place. Roy watched helplessly as Johnny stopped, a confused look on his face that was instantly replaced with one of horrified comprehension.

After a brief moment of indecision, the dark haired paramedic held out his hands in a gesture of peace. "Hey, man, what's goin' on? You don't wanna do this."

Roy swallowed again and finally was able to talk. "Get out of here, Johnny," he rasped.

The man laughed lightly. "You better stay, Johnny," he warned as he cocked the weapon. "Or your buddy here dies."

Roy watched Johnny's eyes narrow and knew his partner was trying to figure a way out of the situation, but the only thing Roy could think of was for the younger man to run for all he was worth.

"Just go," Roy urged desperately. "Take your chance."

The dark eyes widened a bit, but he shook his head slightly, and Roy knew then that Johnny would never take that chance with Roy's life in the balance.

Suddenly, holding his hands up to keep the man at bay, Johnny took a step forward.

"Stay where you are," the gunman warned icily. "I only want one of you."

"I kinda figured that," Johnny replied casually, as if he was having an everyday conversation. "But you've got the wrong guy." He even managed an insolent grin.

"What do you mean?" the man asked with a laugh.

"I've been thinkin' about why you do... all these things. You're looking for a good time, right?"

The man nodded. "So, what if I am? I'd have a good time shooting you right now."

Johnny shook his dark head. "Man, if you want a good time, you don't wanna take this guy. He's the most boring person I know."

In a flash, Roy knew what his partner was up to and it scared the hell out of him. "Johnny..." Roy began, but added pressure against his head stilled him.

"Go on," the stranger urged. "You've caught my interest."

Johnny came a little closer. "Here's the deal, man. I'm a lot more fun than he is. You want somebody to help you have a good time?" He placed his hand on his chest. "I'm your man. Leave him here and take me."

"You'll just go with me, no struggles?"

"As long as you don't hurt him. Leave him here... safe. I'll go with you and play all the games you want."

"Johnny, you can't..."

"Shut up, Roy," Johnny ordered harshly, then turned back to the gunman. "See? He's a pain in the ass. Can't keep his mouth shut."

There was a moment of silence and then the man laughed again. "This is really interesting. Both of you so concerned about the other. But I like your style," he told Johnny. He turned his attention back to Roy. "Reach into my pocket and take out the cuffs," he hissed.

Swallowing hard, Roy stuck his hand back and found the big pocket. It was then that he realized his captor was wearing a turnout coat. In the crowd of fire personnel, no one would notice him. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

"Toss them to your friend," the man ordered. When Roy threw them to Johnny, the man hauled Roy up next to the squad. The whole time the gun never moved from the blond paramedic's head.

"Cuff your buddy to the truck," he ordered. "And hurry up. I don't need anybody else poking their nose over here."

Johnny's eyes never met Roy's as he walked up and fastened the first cuff, then slid the other half through the door handle.

"Johnny," Roy pleaded in a low voice. "You can still try and run. Why are you doing this?"

A slight smile actually lifted one corner of Johnny's mouth. "I'm keeping a promise," he said, then snapped the other cuff closed.

"All done," he reported.

"Johnny," Roy tried once more, his hands pulling at his restraints.

With Roy taken care of, the gunman dug into his pocket and pulled out a roll of duct tape and lobbed it to Johnny. "Shut him up."

The younger paramedic tore off a piece of tape with his teeth. Without a word, he reached up and placed the taped over his partner's mouth. Even though Johnny was trying to act calm, Roy noticed the tremble in his friend's hands and knew his partner was just as scared as he was.

No longer able to say anything, and chained to the squad, Roy had no choice but to stand and watch as the gunman made Johnny put tape over his own mouth, then fasten one half of a second pair of handcuffs to his own wrist. Still holding the gun on to Roy's head, the man had Johnny hold out his hands and he clicked the other cuff in place.

The stranger at last stepped away from Roy. He shoved Johnny toward the car. "Let's go, Fireboy."

Roy jerked helplessly at the cuffs, not caring that they cut into his wrists. He tried to call out for help, but the faint sound that came through the tape had no chance of being heard. The man opened the back door of the sedan and pushed the paramedic inside.

"Johnny!" Roy tried to scream. Johnny! God, don't do this!

The man shut the car door and walked back toward the squad. Roy kept his eyes on the car, his hands still straining frantically at the cuffs, trying his best to will Johnny to look at him, but his friend's eyes never turned in his direction. Roy could only assume Johnny didn't want him to know how really frightened he was.

Johnny, please! Get out of the car! God, somebody please come over here!

A scraping sound caused Roy to turn and he saw the man grab the drug box out of the squad.

"This might come in handy," he told the paramedic casually, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

He trotted back over to the car, opened the door and tossed the box into the front passenger side. As Roy watched, the man leaned over and said something to his captive. After that, everything happened at the same time.

The stranger laughed. Johnny's head snapped around to look over at Roy, the panic in his dark eyes obvious, even from this distance. The man lifted his gun, aimed, and fired.

Roy heard the gun go off a split second before he felt the bullet tear through his left shoulder, slamming him back against the squad. The second shot set his abdomen on fire. He couldn't seem to breathe and the tape on his mouth only made it harder. With his heart slamming against his chest, and his head growing lighter, Roy knew he was going to go out. His legs buckled and he slid down the side of the squad until the only thing holding him up was the handcuffs binding him to the door handle. His vision was blurred, but he could still see the sedan as it sped away.

Johnny! Wait! God, Johnny, what did you do?

He tried feebly to pull himself upright, but fell back with a anguished groan. In that moment, he knew he was going to die here; that his partner's sacrifice would be for nothing.

The sounds of the fire crews grew dim, muted by the ringing in his ears. It was too dark to see, but he knew his shirt would be covered in blood.

Losing fluids fast. Need Ringers.

Things were confusing now, and a gray haze was creeping into his mind. Even the pain that had been so bad at first was receding. He closed his eyes and waited.

It doesn't hurt now. Shouldn't it hurt more? Johnny... Johnny will know. He'll call Rampart for me. Johnny... call Joanne. Tell her not to worry. Kiss the kids for me.

The gray was darkening into black. Roy's head lolled back as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

Captain Stanley trudged back to the engine, along with his weary crew. It had been an exhausting few hours, but the fire was out. Fortunately for his men, they had just been released and wouldn't be required to stay for the clean up. Battalion 14 was taking care of that chore.

As they reached Big Red, Hank gave out the orders that would get them ready to go back to the station.

"Lopez, Kelly, get that hose packed up. Stoker, give 'em a hand."

"Right, Cap."

"Sure, Cap."

Hank checked his watch. It was after midnight. He rubbed at his tired eyes. With any luck they'd get at least a few hours sleep before the wake up tones.

He glanced over at the squad. He could see the yellow blankets that had made up the triage area. No one was there now, but he knew his paramedics had been kept fairly busy tonight.

Hank pushed his helmet back on his head. It was odd that neither Roy nor Johnny was in sight. He didn't remember hearing about any serious injuries that might have required one or both of his men to accompany a victim to the hospital. But it was possible. There had been more than enough to worry about fighting the fire, he could have missed a transmission. He pulled out his HT.

"Squad 51, this is Engine 51, can you give us your location?"

There was no response. Hank waited a minute, then repeated his call.

"Squad 51, Engine 51, please call in."

Silence was his only answer. Hank didn't like this. It wasn't like Roy or John to take off without checking in. He keyed the mic once more on the HT.

"L.A., this is Engine 51. Can you give me the status on Squad 51?"

"Engine 51, L.A. Squad 51 is available at scene."

"10-4, L.A."

Hank frowned. This wasn't right at all. He could see the portable oxygen sitting next to an open compartment. There was no sign of any other medical equipment. The captain once more pulled out his HT as he walked over toward the squad. He glanced in the cab and saw one helmet, probably Roy's, laying on the seat. John had left his on top of the truck. The sight of them only added to Hank's uneasiness.

"Battalion 14, this is Engine 51. My paramedics are not at this post. Can you check other units and see if they are assisting at some other location?"

"10-4, 51. We'll check."

Hank stood with his hands on his hips and listened to the Battalion Chief send out the call to locate the missing paramedics. His eyes narrowed at each negative response, and he could feel the first prickle of fear. There were a thousand different reasons why his men might not be here. He didn't want to dwell on the one horrific possibility.

He picked up the oxygen and walked around the back of the squad, meaning to put it away. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

"Holy Mother of God!" he breathed.

Roy was hanging by his hands from the door handle of the squad, his blond head leaning back lifelessly. John was nowhere in sight.

Hank didn't know how long he stood there rooted to the spot, but it seemed like an eternity before he could make his legs move. He rushed over to Roy, calling for help as he ran.

"Lopez! Kelly! Stoker! Over here, now!"

Hank knelt down beside his fallen paramedic.

"Roy? Roy, ya with us, pal?"

He reached to feel for a pulse in Roy's neck. It was there, faint and thready, and Hank breathed a relieved sigh, but his relief was brief as he cast a searching look and could see no sign of John. He returned his attention to the injured man before him.

"Hang in there, Roy," Hank murmured as he fumbled for his HT. "We're gonna get you some help."

"Madre de Dios!"

"Holy shit! What happened?"

"Where's Johnny?"

Hank wanted the answers to those questions just as badly as his men, but he held up his hand for quiet as his men crowded around their fallen friend.

"Battalion 14, Engine 51. We have a code I at our location. We need a squad now! Paramedic down."

"Looks like he's been shot, Cap." Stoker's normally calm voice was strained as he held Roy's turnout coat open.

"Shot?"

Hank knew he sounded stupid echoing Mike's words, but he was having trouble processing this whole scene.

"Yeah, looks like the shoulder, may be another one in the abdomen. It's hard to tell for sure in this light."

"Lopez, Kelly, get a couple flashlights off the engine," he barked. "We gotta be able to see what we're dealing with."

Marco raced off, but Chet hadn't moved.

"What about Gage? Cap, where's Johnny?"

Hank glanced at the Irishman, knowing very well what he was thinking. Hell, it was what they were all thinking, but they couldn't fall apart now. The captain was all too aware he'd only found half of his paramedic team. But he also knew he had to hold his men together. Roy was in real trouble here and right now needed all their concentration.

"First things first, Chet. Let's take care of Roy."

Marco came back with several flashlights. The eerie illumination they cast on the scene revealed the dark red that drenched the front of Roy's uniform and the pool of blood they were all kneeling in. Hank shoved his initial revulsion aside and gestured at the handcuffs that held his paramedic fast to the squad's door. They suddenly represented all that was evil and cruel and Hank wanted them gone.

"Marco, cut those damn things off. Stoker, I'll support Roy so he doesn't fall. We're gonna lower him down to the ground and then we need to put pressure on those wounds. Chet, see what supplies you can find."

Marco used his wire cutters and deftly snipped the metal links, freeing Roy's hands. The paramedic's arms fell limply as he slipped down into Hank's arms and the captain lowered him gently to the ground. Chet found the trauma box and grabbed out a handful of compresses. Soon both he and Mike had their hands holding pressure on a bleeding wound. During the whole process Roy had remained unmoving, not uttering a sound, and that scared the hell out of Hank.

"Lopez, grab the oxygen, will ya?"

Marco got the oxygen mask settled over Roy's mouth and nose, and Hank pulled the biophone out of its open compartment to set up the relay.

"Rampart, this is County 51, how do you read?"

The next few minutes were a nightmare. Squad 106 pulled up with their tires squealing, and their team of paramedics rushed in to take over. His men hovered nearby, lending a hand when they could, holding IV's, reaching for pads, whatever the guys from 106 asked for. Hank stood there and watched it all, helpless, listening to words he'd heard countless times from John and Roy.

IV Ringers, full bore... BP 90 over 50... getting shocky... 10-4 Rampart, second IV Ringers...

It was obvious from the tone of the men's voices and the almost frantic way they responded to Morton's instructions that the situation was bad, but there wasn't anything else Hank could do for his injured man. As hard as it was to leave Roy in someone else's hands, there was still John to consider. Hank had to switch gears. He pulled out his HT once more.

"L.A., this is Engine 51. We have a missing paramedic. Contact the Sheriff's Department. This is Code MIA."

"10-4, 51."

The dispatcher's voice was as impersonal as ever, but Hank knew he had just dropped a bomb and that a lot of people were going to get rousted out of bed tonight. The department had come up with the code after the Anaheim man had disappeared. Hank had never in a million years figured he'd be the first captain to use it.

"Cap?"

Hank turned to see Stoker standing beside him. The paramedics from 106 were loading Roy into an ambulance that Hank didn't remember seeing roll up.

"They're taking Roy to Rampart," Mike told him quietly. "He's in pretty bad shape."

Hank nodded. He would have to call Joanne, but he also needed to stay here. He had a missing man and wouldn't leave the scene until he'd done all he could for John. But there were duties to perform for Roy as well.

"I'll go with him, Cap," Mike volunteered. "I can call Joanne."

Hank nodded grimly and slapped his engineer on the shoulder. Mike may not say much, but sometimes it seemed like the engineer could read his captain's mind, and Hank could always count on him. "Thanks, pal. Tell her we'll be in as soon as we know... well, as soon as we can."

Mike nodded and headed over to the ambulance.

He heard the sound of sirens and knew the police would be here any moment.

"What about Johnny, Cap?"

It was Kelly again, and Hank could tell what little control Chet had been holding onto was shredded. "This creep shoots Roy and takes Gage and we're sittin' around on our asses, doin' nothing!"

Hank grabbed the Irishman by the shoulder. "We wait for the police. We don't even know for sure it's the same guy." He pointed to the squad's open compartments. "The drug box is gone. It could just be a junkie out looking for a score."

"You don't really believe that, do ya, Cap?"

Hank's shoulders sagged. Chet was right. As much as he didn't want it to be true, he knew in his heart that right now Johnny was with that maniac. Hank met Chet's worried eyes and he shook his head.

"No. But the police are gonna need anything they can find and if we go traipsing all over the place, we may be screwing up evidence. Then they'd never find John."

Chet turned away. Hank wished there was something he could do or say to make things better, but they didn't train you for situations like this. He'd always thought he could deal with it if he ever lost a man in a fire, but this wasn't something you could prepare for. He had one man on his way to the hospital who was near death and another man unaccounted for who they would probably find dead in a week or two. There was no manual for this kind of thing.

Several black and whites screeched to a stop by the engine. The police were here.

Christ, let me wake up from this.

But he knew he wouldn't. He took a shaky breath and walked over to make his report.

* * *

For a fireman's wife, the most frightening sound in the world is the ringing of the phone in the middle of the night. Joanne had experienced the chilling fear of waking up and dreading picking up the phone only once in her married life, and that time it had actually been Roy on the other end telling her Johnny had been hit by a car. Certainly, Roy had suffered his share of on-the-job injuries, but nothing that had required that soul shattering phone call.

As she rushed into the Emergency Room at Rampart, Joanne kept recalling Mike's brief words.

Joanne, it's Mike Stoker. Sorry to wake you up. Roy's been hurt. You need to come to Rampart.

That was Mike - short and to the point. And when Joanne had pressed him for more details, he had grown very quiet on the other end of the line.

Just come down, Joanne. You need to be here.

You need to be here. Those words had struck an almost paralyzing terror and it was all she'd been able to do to call Eileen and ask her to come stay with the kids. The twenty minutes it took her sister to get there were the longest of Joanne's life. With nothing to do but wait, her mind dredged up all the horrible possibilities she lived with every day. Roy could be burned. He could have been caught under falling debris. He could have fallen through a roof. There were endless scenarios and none of them good. Then other thoughts began to plague her. Why had Mike been the one to call her? Why not Hank... or Johnny? She would have expected either man to be the one to let her know. Had others been hurt tonight besides Roy? Hank might be busy with whatever emergency the station had responded to, but Johnny would have made sure he was the one who called.

Those thoughts continued to gnaw at her after Eileen arrived with some vague words of comfort and a quick hug and Joanne got into the station wagon and drove faster than she probably should have to Rampart.

Now she stood in the Emergency Room lobby, not seeing anyone she recognized. Roy was much more familiar with the staff here. Joanne knew Dixie pretty well, and a few of the doctors who worked closely with the paramedics - Brackett, Early, even Morton, but at this time of night, it was doubtful any of those people were here.

Deciding she was going to have to ask, Joanne walked up to the admitting desk. It was a busy night and there were several people in front of her. She was normally a patient person, but right now worry for Roy was stretching that patience thin. She was just about ready to throttle the man ahead of her as he kept arguing with the young woman manning the desk about one of the papers she'd asked him to complete.

Just fill out the damn form! she screamed mentally.

"Mrs. DeSoto?"

Joanne turned to see a tall, dark haired woman walking toward her. Though Joanne didn't know this nurse as well as she did Dixie, she was at least a familiar face.

"Betty! How's Roy? Where is he? What happened?" The questions flowed faster than the nurse could answer.

Betty took Joanne by the arm. "He went right upstairs to surgery," she reported gently. "I'll take you up to the waiting room there." She led Joanne to the bank of elevators.

"But how is he?" Joanne persisted.

As they stepped into an open car, Betty shook her head. "I don't know right now. Dr. Stephens was here tonight, and he's a wonderful thoracic surgeon and Dr. Morton's assisting. Dr. Brackett came in to help, too."

Betty's information was maddeningly incomplete. But as the elevator pinged and the doors opened onto the surgical floor, Joanne spied a lone figure in dirty turnouts standing against the far wall. She forgot about the woman beside her and rushed over to see if Mike could answer her questions.

He straightened as she approached, and she cringed at the exhaustion she saw on his face. It must have been bad for him to be here alone, looking like this. He hadn't even taken the time to wash the grime of the fire off his face.

"Hi, Joanne," he greeted in a low tone.

"Mike." Her voice came out in nearly a whisper. "Have you heard anything?"

He shook his head. "Brackett went in to help about half an hour ago."

She nodded at what she already knew. "What happened?"

His eyes suddenly found interest in the floor. "He was shot," he stated softly, then added, "Twice."

Joanne's eyes widened at the engineer's words.

"Shot?" she echoed in disbelief. She had never prepared for that, not in any of the paths her imagination had taken on the way to the hospital.

Mike gestured for her to take a seat and he sat down beside her.

"We're not really sure what happened," he began slowly. "Cap may be able to tell you more when he gets here. We were working the fire. Roy and Johnny..." Mike paused and Joanne wasn't sure what she saw pass across his face. "Roy and Johnny were doing triage. We hadn't seen them most of the night."

He suddenly stood up and turned away from her, his fists clenched at his side.

"Mike!" Joanne urged desperately. "Please tell me!"

The engineer spun around to face her, his face stricken. "I was right next to them. I never even saw it happen and I was right next to them."

The fear Joanne had experienced before was nothing compared to what was coursing through her now as she listened to Mike's guilt ridden words, saw the raw emotion on his face, the sorrow in his eyes. She stood and reached out to lay a hand on the engineer's arm.

"Tell me what happened," she demanded in a controlled voice.

"We found Roy... he was next to the squad. He was unconscious and bleeding. We don't even know when it happened. We never heard the shots." Mike ran a hand over his face and rubbed at his eyes. "The guys from 106 took care of him and brought him in. I haven't heard anything since they took him to surgery, but he was alive, Joanne. He was alive."

Joanne stared at him for a long moment. Little things were suddenly registering in her mind. Mike had blood on his turnouts, even on his hands - Roy's blood. The guys from 106, Mike had said. Roy had been shot and left alone to die next to the squad - alone. That wasn't right. Something wasn't right. She glanced around the waiting room. There should be more people here. The rest of the guys should be here - Johnny should be here. Her eyes grew large as she once more met Mike's gaze, afraid of what he was going to tell her next.

"Where's Johnny?"

Mike was a tall man, but his whole being seemed to shrink as his shoulders suddenly sagged. He shook his head.

"We don't know," he murmured. "When we found Roy... Johnny just wasn't there."

"Dear God," she breathed and suddenly had to sit down. The full impact of what had happened tonight was only now sinking in.

"It was him, wasn't it?" She glanced up at Mike. "It was that animal. He was with Roy and Johnny tonight."

Mike again took the seat beside her. "We don't know for sure, Joanne," he tried to reassure her, but Joanne wasn't listening.

She knew. She was as certain of it as she was of anything. Her Roy, the man she loved more than life itself, had been with that madman tonight, and was now fighting for his life. As bad as that was, she knew there could have been a worse outcome of tonight's events. Johnny could be the one in surgery and Roy could be missing, out there somewhere suffering unmentionable horrors. As selfish as it sounded, Joanne could only thank God that her husband was the one here with the chance for life.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, Joanne gave into tears that were a mix of fear, sorrow and shame. They poured silently down her cheeks as she felt Mike's arm go awkwardly around her shoulders.

* * *

Hank, Chet and Marco rode the elevator up to the surgical floor in silence. They'd stayed at the fire scene, now a crime scene, answering endless rounds of questions, then had been asked to leave by the forensics team. Hank hadn't argued. Chet had been ready to explode at what he considered the police department's inactivity and it was better to get his men away from the place. Regardless of what Chet thought, Hank knew there wasn't anything else they could do for Johnny, except maybe pray. That's what Marco had been doing the entire ride to Rampart. As Hank had driven the engine, he could see Lopez out of the corner of his eye, rosary in hand and lips moving in silent litany. Hank knew Chet was Catholic too, but he'd never seen the Irishman outwardly practice his religion. Right now though, he didn't think it mattered what anybody was, they were all praying tonight in some form or fashion.

The doors opened, and as the men walked out into the hall, Hank spotted Stoker right away. The engineer was leaning his tall frame against the wall. His eyes were focused on the floor, but he glanced up when he heard them coming. Hank was startled at how haggard Mike appeared, and he wondered if they all looked that way.

"Hank?"

The captain turned to see Joanne DeSoto getting up from one of the hard, plastic chairs that lined the walls. Roy's wife had always seemed such a strong woman to Hank, it was hard to see her looking so uncertain now. She stepped up to him, her face a mix of emotions.

"How's Roy?" he asked, before she could say anything.

Joanne shook her head. "We don't know yet. They're still working on him."

Hank glanced at his watch. It was nearly 4 a.m. Joanne smiled ruefully.

"I know. It's been a long time. I don't know if that's a good sign or not."

"He's tough, Joanne." Hank tried to be reassuring, even though he was aware how lame that sounded, but the woman in front of him didn't seem to notice. She gave him another weak smile.

"I know. He's a fighter." She sniffed and swiped at her eyes with a worn tissue. "Any news about Johnny?" she asked quietly.

Hank shook his head regretfully. "No. The police... the police were going over the scene with a fine tooth comb, but..."

"But they're not gonna find squat," Chet declared bitterly and he moved over to flop down in a chair. Marco shuffled over to sit beside him.

"Kelly..." Hank began, but paused when another voice spoke up from behind them.

"I hope we can prove you wrong," Lieutenant Crockett stated firmly.

"Oh, yeah?" Chet challenged. "How ya gonna do that?"

Hank was more than a bit embarrassed by Kelly's attitude, but Crockett didn't seem put off by it. The detective stepped closer to address everyone.

"Well, for one thing, we've got more to go on this time."

"How's that?" Marco asked.

"We've got a change in M.O. He attacked more than one man at a time. He left evidence... and a witness." He turned to Joanne. "How is your husband doing?"

"He's doing just fine."

All the heads in the room turned to see Kelly Brackett standing there in sweat soaked scrubs, looking exhausted, but very pleased.

Hank suddenly felt like he had no strength in his legs. He staggered over to a seat as he watched Joanne rush to Dr. Brackett and fling her arms around his neck in a grateful embrace. The normally gruff surgeon held the sobbing woman tenderly for a time, then Joanne pulled away, wiping at her eyes. After a few minutes, when she could control herself a little, the doctor continued to fill them in.

"He gave us a run for our money," he told them. "He'd lost an awful lot of blood. But everything's repaired and he's stable." Brackett turned to Joanne. "He's not completely out of the woods yet, but he's looking good right now."

Joanne drew in a shuddering breath. "When can I see him?"

"In a little while. When we get him up to ICU."

Crockett stepped forward. "Doc, we're going to need those cuffs DeSoto had on his hands. I hope your people haven't handled them."

"Cuffs?" Joanne looked confused. She looked to Hank for an explanation.

Hank caught Stoker's slight shake of the head. Obviously he hadn't told her everything.

"We haven't touched them," Brackett was assuring Crockett. "We had more pressing problems to deal with, but if you've got a key, we'll take them off now and you can have them."

"Handcuffs?" Joanne asked again, this time gaining everyone's attention.

Crockett opened his mouth to explain, but Hank managed to get to his feet. This needed to come from him, not from a stranger. The captain stood next to Joanne, put an arm around her shoulder and led her back to the chairs. As they sat down, Hank saw Crockett disappear through the double doors with Brackett.

"Hank, please," Joanne pleaded. "I'm not made of glass. I need to hear everything. I don't want any more surprises."

Hank sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. This night seemed like it would never end. "When we found Roy," he told her in a quiet voice. "He was handcuffed to the squad... to the door handle."

Joanne's hand went to her mouth, but she didn't make any sound. Hank glanced over at his men. They were each lost in their own thoughts, probably reliving the events as he related them to Joanne.

"The police think..." Hank lay a hand over Joanne's. "The police are pretty sure he was cuffed there and then shot. There are bullet holes in the squad."

He watched Roy's wife as she nodded slowly, trying to process everything she was being told. A single tear escaped to travel down her cheek, but she managed to keep from crying again. More than once Hank had been impressed with Roy's wife and her strength of character. Tonight only reinforced that opinion. How many women could deal with the fact that their husband had nearly been executed by a madman?

"You gonna be okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded again, looked up at him and gave him a weak smile. "Yeah. I just need to see Roy."

As if on cue, Brackett returned and beckoned Joanne over. She stood, but before she left she reached down to take Hank's hand again.

"Thanks for taking care of Roy," she told him. She bent down to kiss his cheek gratefully, then she spoke quietly, for his ears alone. "Mike's pretty upset," she told him with concern in her eyes. "He thinks he should have heard what was going on." With that, she left to follow Brackett down the hall.

Hank watched as the two of them disappeared, then he turned his gaze to his men. They'd been through a lot tonight. McConnike had told them he was calling B shift in early. All he had to do now was take the engine back to the station. The police wouldn't release the squad until they'd satisfied themselves there was nothing more to find there.

"All right, guys, let get going," he announced and stood up slowly, his knees creaking in protest. "Maybe we can see Roy tomorrow."

They moved slowly, and Hank knew it was more than just physical weariness. They shuffled toward the elevators and Hank made sure he ended up walking next to Stoker. He placed a hand on the engineer's shoulder.

"You were doing your job, pal," he stated firmly. "There wasn't anything you could have done."

Mike shot him a brief glance. "Thanks, Cap," he replied evenly. "But it's gonna be a while before I'll be able to believe that."

Hank tightened his grip on Mike's shoulder and they followed Chet and Marco into the elevator.

* * *

ICU was a strange place. There was very little talking, and the voices you heard were hushed, as if the patients here were merely asleep, and people were afraid of waking them, when in truth, most of their families would give anything to have them awake. Yet, in spite of the effort everyone made to be quiet, the machines that monitored and supported life were inherently noisy; beeping and buzzing and whirring, creating an undercurrent of sound. There was virtually no privacy, but as Joanne sat beside Roy, holding his hand, she didn't care if the whole world was watching.

She didn't mind the nurses who came in often to check monitors, change IV's, adjust tubes - and there were plenty of tubes. She knew what some were; others she could only guess at. But they didn't matter either. The only important thing right now to Joanne was that Roy was here; he was alive and breathing and, according to Dr. Brackett, would get better. Eventually, he would open his eyes, he would talk to her, he would come home to her and to their children.

She tried not to think of those children whose fathers were gone, of the wives who no longer had their husbands. She couldn't dwell on how close she'd come to joining their ranks. And she couldn't let herself think of Johnny - fun loving and silly one minute, serious and straightforward the next. Johnny, who had carved out a place in all their hearts and was now lost to them, for Joanne couldn't bring herself to cling to the small hope Lieutenant Crockett had held out.

In her heart, she was convinced they would never see their friend alive again. He might already be dead for all they knew, and in a way she almost hoped he was. If he was still living, then she knew he would be suffering and he would be alone and she couldn't bear to think of the things the paper had written about happening to the man who was such a part of their lives.

She let her gaze rest on Roy's face. He was pale, but the anesthesia gave him a peaceful look that Joanne knew would vanish as soon as he woke up. She reached out and brushed the back of her hand over his cheek.

Oh, my love, how are you going to handle this? I know you so well, and I know this will tear you apart. You have to be strong, Roy. We both have to be strong.

She glanced down to the hand she was holding, saw the bandages that circled his wrist. There were matching ones on the other side. Dr. Brackett had told her they were caused by the weight of Roy's body hanging from the cuffs, but Joanne had watched as they were bandaged. She had seen the torn flesh nearly all the way around his wrists.

"You tried to get loose, didn't you," she whispered. She brought his hand up and held it to her cheek, breathing out a shaky sigh.

"Joanne?"

She turned at the quiet voice and saw Dixie standing at the foot of Roy's bed. The older woman was dressed for work and Joanne glanced at the clock on the wall.

"You're in early, aren't you?"

Dixie moved to the side of the bed. "Not much. Shift change is at 6:00." She rested a hand lightly on Roy's knee. "Kel called me and told me what happened. I had to come in and check on our boy here."

Dixie had a smile on her face, but it didn't reach her eyes. That was going to be the way of things for some time, Joanne realized. Joy for Roy's recovery; sorrow for Johnny. Joanne felt her eyes sting once again.

"Sorry, Dix," she said in a quavering voice. "Just when I think I've run out of tears, they show up again."

"Don't apologize," Dixie replied and put a comforting arm around Joanne's shoulder.

It was too much and Joanne leaned into Dixie's embrace and let the tears flow. After a few minutes, she drew in a ragged breath and straightened up. She took the tissue Dixie offered and gave the nurse a watery smile.

"I can't seem to stop doing that," she stated self-consciously. "I'm not usually this weepy." She turned to gaze back to her husband. "I feel so bad, Dix. I keep thinking how glad I am that Roy wasn't the one... that he didn't get..."

She knew she probably wasn't making much sense, but Dixie seemed to understand at once. The nurse let her hand slip down to rest on the back of Joanne's chair.

"Don't ever stop being glad for Roy," she declared firmly. "Just because you're happy Roy was saved, it doesn't mean you wanted anything bad to happen to Johnny."

Joanne sniffed and wiped at her eyes. "But that's what keeps going through my head," she admitted. "If it had to be one of them... God, am I a horrible person?"

"No," the older woman told her emphatically. "What you're feeling is totally natural. It's what they call survivor's guilt. The hard part is that Roy's going to go through it worse than you are."

Joanne nodded glumly. "I know." She let out a loud breath. "No matter what happened, he's going to think he should have been able to help Johnny. It's going to eat him up, Dix."

"It's a bridge you're going to have to cross. At least he has you and the kids to help him."

Joanne nodded again. "That's another thing that's been going through my mind, and I know it's not fair... but, Roy had a family and Johnny..." Joanne stopped and sat up straight. "Oh my gosh! Kathy!" She lay her hand on Dixie's arm. "Do you know if anybody called Kathy?"

Dixie shook her head, her eyes troubled. "It probably never occurred to anyone. Joanne..." Dixie paused and looked uncertain. "Joanne... Kathy and Johnny... is it really as big a thing as Johnny thinks? I mean, you know how he can get..." Dixie didn't finish her sentence.

Joanne heard the catch in the nurse's voice. She felt another surge of tears and fought to hold them back. She knew what Dixie was trying to say.

"They've been dating for almost six months," she replied. "I know Johnny thought it was serious. I'm not so sure Kathy felt the same, but she still needs to be told. I really think she liked Johnny, just not in the same way he did." Joanne cringed inside as she realized she was already using the past tense.

Dixie didn't seem to notice. She merely nodded her understanding. "She's probably on already. They have a different rotation in CCU. I can go talk to her."

Joanne shook her head. "I will, Dix. She needs to hear this from me." She glanced back down at Roy's unconscious form. "Dr. Brackett told me he'll be out for a while. I guess I can take a short break." She stood up, her back protesting already from being in the hard chair for so long.

"I'll go with you," Dixie volunteered and Joanne smiled her gratitude.

Bending down, she placed a kiss on Roy's forehead, then followed the older woman out into the hallway. She cast one more look at her husband.

"Don't worry." Dixie patted her arm. "They'll page us if he starts to wake up."

Joanne nodded. "I want to stop at the bathroom first. I must look a fright." She knew her eyes were swollen from crying and the rest of her face was probably puffy too.

"You look just fine," Dixie stated. "But we'll stop anyway. It'll probably make you feel better."

The older woman was right. After splashing several handfuls of cold water on her face and combing her hair, Joanne felt a great deal better. As she stared at her reflection she grimaced. She still looked pretty dreadful, but there wasn't much she could do about that now.

They took the elevator up two floors to the Cardiac Care Unit. They didn't see Kathy at the nurse's station, but when they asked, an orderly directed them to the staff lounge. They found that quickly and Joanne pushed the door open and stepped inside, with Dixie right behind her.

Kathy was sitting at a small table, a cup of something steaming in front of her. It didn't smell like coffee. It only took a moment for Joanne to identify it as tea. Kathy glanced up as they walked in and Joanne thought for an instant that the woman had already heard the news they brought. She looked awful. Her normally tanned complexion was pale and her eyes lacked their usual brightness.

"Joanne? What are you doing here?" Her surprise was genuine and Joanne knew then that the woman was still uninformed.

"You don't look very good," Joanne commented. "Are you sick?"

Kathy rolled her eyes and gave a snort. "Yeah, you could say that. I'm just waiting for a friend to come in and cover my shift, then I'm going home."

Joanne took a seat at the table and Dixie pulled up another chair to sit beside her. Kathy's eyes moved between the two women.

"You don't look so good yourself, Joanne," Kathy remarked. "What's going on?"

"Kathy..." Joanne's voice caught and she had to steel herself to continue. "There was a pretty big fire tonight... last night," she corrected herself. "Roy was hurt."

"God, Joanne, I'm sorry. Is he all right?"

Joanne nodded. "He will be. He was in surgery for quite a while, but Dr. Brackett says he'll be okay."

"That's good." Kathy regarded her visitors curiously, then her face grew wary. "This isn't about Roy though."

"Partly," Joanne hedged. "Roy wasn't hurt in the fire. He was shot."

Kathy's blue eyes widened in shock. "Shot? How?"

Joanne kept her hands occupied by twisting her wedding rings. "Kathy, I know Johnny talked to you about the murdered firemen."

The younger woman nodded. "Yeah, he kept wanting to talk about it, but I thought it was too creepy, so I told him..." She trailed off and stared at Joanne, comprehension dawning with horrifying quickness. "Joanne... " Kathy's voice was barely a whisper. "Where's Johnny? What happened to Johnny?"

Joanne's throat suddenly constricted, and she couldn't make the words come out. She felt Dixie's hand cover hers as the nurse took over this horrible task.

"Johnny's missing," she said, her voice filled with compassion.

"Missing?" Kathy nearly choked on the word. "What does that mean?"

"The police feel that this man showed up at the fire. He shot Roy and kidnapped Johnny. They're doing all they can..."

"All they can?" Kathy's voice was filled with indignation. "All they can means Johnny's dead and they'll find his body next week." Tears began spilling down the woman's pale cheeks.

Joanne finally made her voice work again. "We don't know that for sure," she stated with more conviction than she felt. She reached out to try and take Kathy's hand, but the young nurse pulled away from her.

"How can you say that?" she demanded. "Have they found any of those men alive?" She closed her eyes and brought her hands up to her face. "God, this can't be happening."

Joanne didn't know what else to say. Comforting words weren't going to help in this situation, especially when Joanne didn't believe them herself. She watched the woman in front of her. Kathy's shoulders were shaking as she sobbed silently. Joanne felt bad now for having doubted the girl's feelings for Johnny. It seemed she'd been mistaken.

Kathy drew in a deep breath in an effort to control herself. She wiped at her eyes in an almost angry gesture. "This can't be happening... not now. I can't handle this now."

With those cryptic words, Kathy pushed away from the table and rushed out of the lounge. Joanne moved to follow, but Dixie's hand stopped her.

"Let her go. She needs to deal with this in her own way."

Joanne stared at the door, unsure how to take Kathy's last comments. She seemed almost more angry at the timing than the fact that Johnny had been kidnapped.

That's not fair, she chided herself. Everybody reacts to bad news differently.

She sighed heavily. Right now all she wanted to do was to be with Roy.

* * *

Roy became aware of his surroundings slowly, as if emerging from a deep fog. He could hear the beeping of the heart monitor long before he could force his eyes to open. Everything was blurred, but he knew on some level he was in the hospital. It took a lot of willpower to move his head to the side, but it was worth the effort. Even though her image was fuzzy, he would recognize Joanne anywhere. Seeing her beside him gave him enough motivation to try and bring the world into focus. He blinked several times to clear the cobwebs. He tried his voice, but nothing much happened except for a soft groan.

It was enough.

"Hi, handsome." His wife's smiling face bent closer and he could see her much more clearly.

He tried once more to speak, had to lick his dry lips. "Jo," he managed to croak out.

"I'm right here," she assured and he felt her squeeze his hand.

He tried to return the gesture, but had no strength. He felt like he'd been wrung out. He settled for letting his gaze move around the room. His mind was clearing enough from its haze for him to identify some of the medical equipment that blinked and beeped beside him.

ICU... I'm in ICU.

He tried to figure out why he was here, but he couldn't make his brain cooperate. He let his eyes meet Joanne's again.

"Whaa... what..." His voice was raspy and it was hard to concentrate. He spoke the only word he could come up with. "Fire?"

"You were at a fire" Joanne answered in a soft voice. "But you weren't burned. You're going to be fine, honey."

Roy felt a degree of relief. Bones knit, cuts and bruises healed, but burns were a fireman's worst nightmare. He let his eyes close a moment, then opened them again.

"Johnny... okay?"

He felt the pressure on his hand increase, but there were no reassuring words this time. As groggy as he felt, he could still hear the alarm bells in the back of his mind. Something was wrong, but he was still too drugged to work it out. Then Joanne was talking to him again.

"You're going to be fine, Roy. Dr. Brackett says you'll be up and out of here in no time. You just worry about getting better, okay?"

That sounded good to him. It was too much effort to put the pieces together yet. Later, after he rested. Then he could figure it all out. He tried to smile at Joanne, not sure if she could tell that's what it was, then he closed his eyes and let the restful nothingness of sleep claim him.

* * *

"When do you think DeSoto will be awake enough for us to talk to?" Lieutenant Crockett asked, a bit of exasperation in his voice. "We're losing time. This psycho's already a day and a half ahead of us."

"And I've told you before," Brackett answered, his tone carrying his own annoyance. "I can't put his recovery on that kind of timetable. Now he's been awake a couple of times, but not very coherent. I don't think he remembers what happened yet, and I won't have you barging in there and upsetting him. You can talk to him when he's up to it. That's all I can tell you."

Hank sat in Dr. Brackett's office. He'd really only come to visit Roy, but had somehow been pulled into this meeting, not even sure who had asked him, Brackett or Crockett. He watched the interplay between the detective and the doctor with a detached interest. Brackett, of course, was not being deliberately vague. These kinds of questions really had no definite answers, but Crockett was frustrated by the lack of anything else to go on. It was a likely possibility that Roy was an eyewitness, that he could identify this maniac. It was only natural that the officer would be eager to talk to him.

Crockett rose and walked over to stare out the window. He'd taken off his suit coat and the white shirt underneath was wrinkled. Hank doubted if the man had even been home yet.

"I'm sorry, Doc," the man apologized. "It's just that the longer we wait, the less chance we have of finding Gage alive."

"You think he's still alive?" Hank inquired. He wanted to hope, but there seemed so little to go on.

Crockett nodded. "That's his M.O. According to the autopsy findings, the other men weren't killed until the day they were found. If he follows his pattern, John has at least two weeks, possibly more."

"That's not a lot of time," Hank observed. Or too much time, he thought to himself. If what the papers say happened to the other men is happening to John right now... He couldn't finish that thought. Better to focus on the efforts to find him.

"No it's not," Crockett agreed. "That's why it's so important to get started on any leads we have."

"Believe me, Lieutenant," Brackett assured the detective. "Just as soon as Roy is able, you can talk to him. But you have to be prepared for the possibility that he may not remember much about what happened. It's not uncommon for patients who suffer serious trauma to not be able to recall details of the incident."

Crockett returned to the desk. "For Gage's sake, we better pray DeSoto not only remembers, but can give us something solid to go on."

* * *

Joanne walked into Roy's room and was pleasantly surprised to find her husband lying in his bed with his eyes open. He looked more alert than she'd yet seen him. She pulled the chair up to his bedside and gave him a cheerful smile.

"Hi, honey. It's good to see you awake. Are you feeling any better?"

Roy's mouth lifted in a slight smile and he nodded. He was still weak and it took a lot of energy for him to talk for very long.

"Dr. Brackett thinks they can move you to a regular room tomorrow if you keep doing so well."

"That's great," he whispered. "How're the kids?"

"Missing you," Joanne laughed. "They sent you some get well cards they made. She pulled out a stack of colored drawings and laid them on his lap. "They must have drawn a dozen each."

Roy fingered the papers without actually lifting them up to see them. He seemed pensive and Joanne suddenly felt a chill of foreboding. He was starting to think more clearly and obviously there were things that were bothering him. This was what she'd been dreading.

"Jo..." He paused and she knew he was still trying get it all sorted out. His hand moved languidly up to his chest and his fingers ran over the bandage. "At the fire..." His brow furrowed as he struggled to pull it all together.

It was heartbreaking to watch, but she hadn't yet found the courage to just tell him. She wanted so much to delay it, to give him a chance to get stronger before he had to deal with the truth.

"Roy..." She hesitated, unable to steer him into safer waters.

His eyes were on her, but he was focused inward now and she noticed his breathing had gotten faster. She reached for his hand, wanting to at least provide him an anchor - something to hold on to.

"We were at the fire," he whispered. "Johnny and I..." He paused and his eyes narrowed. "It was over... we were done... packing up. There was a gun..." Roy's eyes widened in remembrance. "God, he has a gun!" Once more his hand rose up to touch his bandaged shoulder, then paused halfway there, a look of panic on his face. "Johnny, get out of here!"

He was panting now, trying to sit up. Joanne was growing concerned, but she was helpless to stop the flood of memories he was reliving. Tears flowed down her cheeks as his face contorted with pain and fear.

"Oh, God... he took Johnny! He took Johnny!"

He lay back, spent, but his head turned slowly until he met her gaze. His blue eyes were filled with tears, and his face anguished.

"Jo..." he breathed raggedly. "He took Johnny."

His voice broke and he closed his eyes, letting the tears spill unheeded down his unshaven face. There was nothing Joanne could say to him, no soothing words, no hope to hold out. She merely took his hand in both of hers and cried with him.

* * *

"Let me remind you, Lieutenant, this interview ends when I say it ends. If Roy starts getting agitated, I'll put a stop to it."

"I understand your concern, Doctor," Crockett answered coolly. "But you have to realize, Roy is the only one who can give us any kind of lead. John Gage's life depends on how much his partner can tell us."

Kelly Brackett regarded the detective appraisingly. He understood the importance of getting a statement from Roy, but as a doctor, Kel was more concerned for the man in the hospital bed than any investigation. He knew that sounded cold hearted. He had been as rocked as anyone when he'd learned about what had happened to Johnny. His years of working closely with both paramedics had forged a bond of both mutual respect and genuine affection. But Roy had come very close to death - closer than Kel had let on to any of the paramedic's family and friends. Roy was gaining ground, but was still in a very weakened state. Kel wasn't about to let anything jeopardize that recovery.

"As long as we're on the same wavelength," the doctor reiterated. He pushed open the door to Roy's room and allowed the detective to precede him inside.

Roy was still pale, but Kel knew that was as much from emotional strain as it was from his injuries. When his memory of the events had returned, it brought with it sorrow, guilt and anger - emotions that the paramedic hadn't really had any chance to give voice to. Knowing Roy, these feelings could get bottled up inside until they did real damage. Depression was a very real threat to a patient's recovery. Hopefully, talking to Crockett would give Roy a chance to open up a little.

"Roy, Joanne," Kel greeted evenly. Joanne smiled at him, but Roy remained silent. "Roy, I've agreed to let the detective here ask you some questions, but only if you feel up to it."

Roy finally met his eyes and the depth of despair he saw in the injured man's eyes shook Kel. Finally, though, Roy nodded his agreement. Crockett pulled up a chair and sat beside Joanne, pulling out a notebook and pen.

"Roy, why don't you tell me what you remember first. Then, if I have any questions, I'll ask them."

Roy seemed to be considering that, then he fixed his gaze on the officer. "Can you answer a question for me first?" he asked in a low voice.

"If I can," Crockett replied.

"Do you honestly think you can find Johnny before..." He had to stop and swallow before he could continue. "Well, do you really have any hope at all?"

The detective stared down at his notebook for just moment before he raised his eyes to met Roy's.

"I can't guarantee anything, Roy," he answered honestly. "But I believe there's always hope."

Roy nodded bleakly and, after a moment, began telling his story.

Kel knew only what everyone else did. As Roy related the events in a halting voice, the doctor couldn't begin to imagine what it must have been like for Roy when he realized who it was holding a gun to his head.

"He wanted me to get into his car," Roy was saying. "We were about halfway there when Johnny came around the back of the squad." Roy paused, waging a struggle with his emotions. "I wanted him to run... I told him to run." The paramedic closed his eyes at the memory. "Johnny... he started talkin'... trying to make a deal with the guy."

"A deal?" Crockett interjected.

"Yeah." Roy's voice had grown softer and Kel heard the rawness of the man's grief in that one word. "He talked the guy into makin' a trade... him for me."

Joanne's sharp intake of breath was loud enough for all to hear. Her hand flew to her mouth too late to cover the sound. Kel's own reaction was one of shocked acknowledgment. It was so like John Gage to jump in with both feet, and the doctor had no trouble believing the grand gesture made by the younger man on behalf of his partner.

"That's really all there is," Roy finished. "He told Johnny he wouldn't hurt me, but he lied... and he made sure Johnny knew it." The paramedic turned his head away from his audience, his jaw working in an effort to control himself.

There was silence for a time, then Lieutenant Crockett cleared his throat. "Do you know what kind of car he was driving? See a plate?"

Roy shook his head as he tried to remember. "Didn't see the plate," he answered huskily. "The way he was parked... I only saw the side. I don't know the make. It was a four door... kinda light in color. White maybe, or yellow. It was hard to tell for sure."

Crockett jotted the information down, then leaned forward for his next question. "Did you get a look at his face?"

Roy closed his eyes and sighed wearily.

"Roy?" Kel stepped forward, ready to intervene, but the paramedic lifted his hand to indicate he was okay.

"I saw him," the injured man informed them. "He was about my height... maybe a little bigger... you know, heavier. He had brown hair... kinda curly. His voice was deep."

"Do you think you could work with a police artist? Help us work up a composite?"

Roy nodded. "Yeah. I can do that."

"That's great. I'll make the arrangements." Crockett made another note. "Anything else you can tell us?"

Roy thought a moment. "He was wearing a turnout coat. Guess that's how he blended in at the fires."

"He didn't say anything that might help us out? Mention a place? A reason for what he did?"

"Not really. He talked about having fun."

Kel repressed a shudder at what this man considered fun. He noticed the hollowness of Roy's eyes and decided the paramedic was pretty much done in.

"I think that's all for now," he announced.

The detective closed his notebook and got to his feet. "Thanks for all your help, Roy," he stated. "I'll have the sketch artist here as soon as I can arrange it." He left the room.

Kel moved over to the side of Roy's bed. "You need to rest," he instructed kindly.

Roy let out a weary sigh. "I know," he whispered. "I just can't stop thinking about... Damn it, Doc," he exploded. "Do you know what was in those autopsy reports? What this bastard did to those men?"

The outburst left the paramedic drained, and he lay back and closed his eyes. Joanne leaned forward to brush the hair off his forehead.

"Roy, you can't help Johnny by getting yourself all worked up," she reminded him gently.

"I can't help Johnny at all," Roy snapped and turned away from his wife.

Joanne cast helpless eyes up at the doctor. Kel gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and turned his attention to his patient.

"Listen to me, Roy," he began firmly. "You're already doing what you can. You've given Crockett a description of the kidnapper and the car. And if I know the detective, that sketch artist will be here ASAP, so that'll be an even bigger help."

"That doesn't add up to much," Roy argued. "Not while Johnny's with him... going through God knows what."

"Maybe not," Kel countered. "But if he is hurting Johnny, then we all have to be prepared to help him when he's found. He's going to need the support of all his friends. That's when you'll be able to do the most for him." The doctor placed an understanding hand on Roy's shoulder. "I know it sounds cliche, but the best thing you can do for Johnny is let yourself get well. You're going to need to be strong in order to help your friend. And you can't do that by beating yourself up over what happened."

Roy closed his eyes again and Kel could see the tears leaking out of the corners, trailing into the man's dark blond hair. Unfortunately, this wasn't something words were going to make right.

"I'll go now so you can rest. I'll come by later." He nodded to Joanne and left the room.

* * *

Joanne opened the door to their house and stepped inside. She dumped her purse wearily on the entry table. This was the first time she'd been home for more than a few minutes since the shooting, and she was more than ready for a nice long bath and a good night's sleep in her own bed. She knew, however, that those two things were not going to happen right away. Well, maybe the bath. Eileen would hold the kids off for that much at least, but they would be full of questions that were going to need answers.

"I'm home," she called, wondering why she hadn't been met by a whirlwind at the door.

"I'm in the kitchen, Jo."

Joanne slipped off her shoes and walked in her stocking feet to find her sister busy at the sink. Like her older sister, Eileen was dark headed, but the younger woman wore her hair long. Joanne had kept hers short most of her adult life.

"I wasn't sure when you'd be here," Eileen told her. "The kids are down the street playing. I'm fixing chicken and rice for dinner and Norma brought over a cake. She's been over half a dozen times already, making sure I don't need any help."

"That was sweet of her," Joanne replied, making a mental note to thank her long time friend and neighbor. "I don't know what I'd do without both of you."

Joanne moved over to give her sister a hug. The two women embraced for a long moment. When they parted, Joanne took a seat at the table while Eileen went back to her cooking.

"How's Roy doing?"

"Okay, all things considered." Joanne heaved a sigh. "He talked to the police today... and he helped their artist do a sketch." She shook her head. "This is so hard on him." Her voice caught in her throat and she knew Eileen heard it. Her sister gave her a sympathetic glance.

"Not just on him," the younger woman observed.

Joanne gave her sister a rueful smile. "When did you get so smart?"

Eileen chuckled. "I've always been smart, you just never noticed when we were kids."

Joanne's smile grew wider. "I guess you're right. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you being here the last couple of days."

"Not a problem, Jo," Eileen assured her. "The girls have been pestering me anyway to let them come play with Jenny." She laughed. "Poor Chris has been a little overwhelmed with all the females in the house."

Joanne could well imagine her son feeling put upon with his sister and both his cousins invading his space. It was one thing for him to occasionally give in and play Barbies with Jennifer, but to have three little girls after him would have been too much for his nine year old manly pride.

"That's why I thought it was a great idea when they got invited to go play at the Bradford's. At least there'd be a few boys there." Eileen glanced at the clock. "They should be home in about half an hour."

"Good, that'll give me just enough time to go soak in the tub." She got slowly to her feet. "Somebody really should redesign hospital chairs."

Eileen laughed. "Go on. I'll call you when everything's ready."

"Thanks, sis."

Joanne made her way up the stairs and before long found herself lying in a tub of wonderfully warm water. It felt good to just lie here and not think of anything. She didn't even realize she'd dozed off until she heard a soft knock at the door.

"Jo?"

Joanne blinked completely awake. The water had gone cool.

"Yeah, I'm coming," she answered as she got up and wrapped herself in a towel.

"Okay. The kids are home and dinner's ready."

"I'll be right down."

It only took her a few minutes to dry off and get dressed. As she came downstairs, she could smell dinner and her stomach rumbled in response. Cafeteria food had held little appeal for her.

"Mommy!" reached her ears only an instant before both children had their arms wrapped around her waist. She hugged them back tightly.

"How's Daddy?" Jenny asked, her big blue eyes turned up hopefully.

"Yeah, Mom," Chris echoed. "How's Dad doing?"

"He's doing much better," she answered. "But let's go eat dinner first, then we'll sit down and have a nice long talk."

The kids agreed. They each took one of her hands and led her to the table. Eileen's girls were already seated. They each greeted their aunt cheerfully as everyone sat down to eat.

"Aunt Eileen's a good cook, Mom," Jenny announced happily.

"I know," Joanne agreed, then gave her sister a wink. "I taught her everything she knows."

Dinner was full of the kids' reports of their activities while she was gone. For the first time in days, Joanne felt like eating and the meal was delicious. When they were finally done, Eileen shooed them into the living room.

"The girls and I will do the dishes. You guys go catch up."

There were groans of protest from Amy and Cynthia, but their mother soon had them clearing the table.

Grateful to her sister, Joanne took her kids and sat down on the couch, Chris on her left and Jenny on her right.

"Okay, Mommy," Jenny told her. "Tell us all about Daddy."

"You're so bossy, Jen," Chris scolded, but Joanne stopped him.

"That's okay, son. She's just been worried."

Jenny nodded her agreement and Joanne smiled. She wrapped her arms around her children and held them close.

"Daddy's doing much better," she reported happily. "Dr. Brackett says he might be able to come home in a few days."

Both children cheered the news and Joanne let them go on for a time before she hushed them.

"He's going to need to rest a lot at first when he gets home," she told them. "We'll all have to help him."

"We will, Mom," Chris assured her. "We can do all kinds of stuff for him."

"And Uncle Johnny will come over and help," Jenny stated with such confidence that it hurt Joanne's heart. "He always does when Daddy's hurt or sick."

Joanne closed her eyes for a moment and searched her soul for the strength to do this.

"Uncle Johnny won't be able to come over and help this time," she informed the kids.

"Why?" Jenny asked, obviously puzzled.

Chris, older and more discerning, studied his mother's face with concern. "Was Uncle Johnny hurt at the fire, too, Mom?"

"In a way, Chris," Joanne answered.

"Oh, Mommy," Jenny exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell us? We woulda made Uncle Johnny some cards, too."

"Jen, shut up," Chris hissed and for once Joanne didn't correct him.

"Kids... I need you to be as grown up as you can be. I want you to listen to me and don't ask any questions until I'm all done. Can you do that." Both children nodded solemnly. "There's a very bad man whose been hurting fireman. The police have been looking for him, but they haven't been able to find him yet." Joanne took a deep breath to steady herself. "At the fire the other night... this man came there. He had a gun, and he shot your dad. That's why Daddy's in the hospital."

Jenny gasped softly and Chris' face grew grim, but neither child interrupted. She gazed at their faces, so innocent still, and hated the man who was the cause for the pain her babies were going to suffer.

"You both know what it means to be kidnapped, don't you?"

Chris nodded solemnly.

"It means a stranger takes you away when you don't want to go," Jenny recited and Joanne remembered that the school had just finished up a safety unit for the lower grades.

"That's right, Jen. And this man, after he hurt Daddy, he kidnapped Uncle Johnny."

Joanne could feel Chris grow tense under her arm, but Jennifer actually laughed.

"Oh, Mommy, how can a grown up person like Uncle Johnny get kidnapped? That's silly. He's not a kid, even though you say he acts like one."

Joanne felt Chris start to bristle at what he thought was his sister's stupidity, but she held him tight as a warning to keep still.

"Jen, you don't have to be a kid to be kidnapped," she explained patiently. "It's just the word they use when someone is taken against their will. This man had a gun, and he made Uncle Johnny go with him."

Jenny's face grew apprehensive. "When will Uncle Johnny come home?" she asked tentatively, as if she was afraid of the answer.

Joanne shook her head and sighed. "We don't know, sweetie."

"Does this man want us to pay him a lot of money to get Uncle Johnny back?" Chris asked. "I've got almost twenty dollars in the jar on my desk and there's more than that in my savings account that Grandma DeSoto keeps for us."

"Me, too, Mommy," Jennifer added. "I have some money, too."

Joanne felt the tears slipping. "I don't think this man wants money," she said sadly.

"Then why..."

"Chris..." Joanne bit her lip to keep her control together. How could she put this on a level the kids would understand? "There are some people out there who are just... sick in their minds. The police think that's what this man is. We can't really understand why he does these things, but he took Uncle Johnny for the same reason he shot Daddy... he enjoys hurting people."

They sat in silence for a time as the children grappled with all she had told them. She could hear Jenny sniffling quietly and knew her daughter was trying hard not to cry. She knew she had to try and end this on a positive note, if she could find one.

"We have to remember that the police are looking hard for Uncle Johnny. And Daddy is even helping them. He told the police what the man looked like and what kind of car he drives... so that's a big help. And when Daddy comes home, we have to remember that he's going to be very sad about Uncle Johnny, too. He may act grumpy or angry. Just remember that he's not mad at us."

Jenny stood up and wiped a hand across her eyes. "Can I go to bed now, Mommy?" she asked quietly.

Joanne reached out and took her daughter's hand. "Are you tired, sweetheart?"

"A little," Jenny answered. "But I want to say my good night prayers. I've been saying God Blesses for Daddy, but I want to add Uncle Johnny, too."

Joanne couldn't trust her voice. Instead she kissed Jenny's hand and nodded her approval. She watched her little girl go up the stairs and said a silent prayer of her own that God would listen to the prayers of her child.

"Mom?"

Joanne turned to see Chris still sitting on the sofa beside her. He wasn't crying, but he looked suddenly younger than his nine years.

"Do you really believe the police will find Uncle Johnny?" he asked and she knew he needed the truth from her, not soothing words.

"I don't know, Christopher," she told him regretfully. "I wish I could say yes, but I just don't know."

Chris was quiet a moment, and she thought he might be done, but he had one more question for her.

"Mom... if this man likes to hurt fireman, does that mean he's hurting Uncle Johnny right now?"

Joanne's throat grew tight and she couldn't answer her son. She supposed that in itself was answer enough for him. His young face took on a determined look.

"When Dad comes home, I'll make sure me and Jenny don't fight," he promised. "I don't wanna make him any sadder than he's gonna be.