Momentary Matter of Trust

By Caressa

"Roy, tie off."
 

Roy nodded in Johnny’s direction, distracted by the boy's sudden outburst. 
 

"Hey, two hands on the girder, son! We'll be right there!"
 

"Everything is spinning! I can't see!" The young boy's panicked cry cut the air. "I'm gonna fall!" The young child blindly reached toward Roy’s voice, his hand flailing in the open air.
 

Roy froze. Cropped blond hair fell carelessly around the boy’s face, framing his pale skin like a corona of light circling a cloud. Chris, Roy thought. Sweat broke on his forehead. His skin prickled with a sudden chill. He looks just like Chris.
 

Holding out his hand, Roy carefully took a step toward the victim, "Hold on, son, we're setting up some ropes! Just don't move!"
 

Johnny pulled himself up onto the girder, crouching to hook his safety line in place before he stood upright. Roy was ahead of him by about six feet. Johnny glanced down the long distance to the ground, then back up to Roy. He felt a chill ripple over his skin when he glanced at his partner.
 

"Roy! Tie off!!" Johnny's warning sliced sharply through the pale blue sky.
 

"Got it," Roy answered, his eyes never wavering from the boy’s face. Grasping the safety line, Roy leaned forward, judging the length he'd need to snake the line around the girder. In the distance, he heard the boy's 
sobs becoming louder. His eyes instinctively followed the boy's cries. Straightening, he reached for the coiled line around his shoulder, his gaze focused on the child. Pulling the coil upward, an errant loop caught his arm as it  slipped over his head. Roy reflexively compensated by shifting his weight. The heavy lines swung forward. Roy flung out his hand, desperate to balance. He teetered wildly. Pitching forward, he plunged off the edge.
 

Johnny hadn't even registered the thought before his feet pushed off the beam into the open air. He didn't feel the rush of wind around him. He didn’t hear the frantic calls from below. His heart stalled in his chest. 
 

His hand closed around Roy's arm.
 

Johnny almost dropped him.  The rope's whip at the end of the free-fall sliced into his gut. The air was shoved from his lungs. His heart beat frantically in his chest. Its’ wild pounding closed his throat, stealing his next breath. A tearing burn ripped into his shoulder, sending an icy stab of fear though him. He struggled to keep his hold. Roy's arm slid beneath his sweaty hand. 
 

"Pull up," Johnny hissed. "Pull up!"
 

Clamping his eyes shut, Johnny gritted his teeth. Pain tore a path through his chest when Roy grasped his arm with both hands. Johnny reached out with his other hand.
 

"Get . . . other one . . . too,"
 

Roy was reluctant to relinquish his hold, but one glance at John's pained expression caused him to grab for his partner's free hand.
 

Johnny immediately swung them toward the crossbeam, hoping the momentum would allow Roy to latch onto the girder.
 

Roy understood instinctively. Eying the beam on the second pass, he reached out and grabbed it. The metal was cool in his hot, sweaty hand. He pulled toward the beam, swung his leg around it, and pulled himself to safety.

Held taut between the pull of his safety line and Roy’s outstretched hand, Johnny called to Roy. “All set?”
 

"Got it!"
 

"Sure?" John asked again, waiting for Roy’s nod before letting go. 
 

Momentum carried John back and his arm dangled as he swung. Stars cut his vision, and pain stabbed his chest. I’ve got to get off this rope, he thought. Initially fearful Roy would fall to his death, Johnny's anxiety shifted. He knew his line was overworked and could snap, sending him plummeting the long distance to the ground. The thought was interrupted by the Captain's voice booming from below.
 

"John, you alright?"
 

Johnny's chest heaved from the effort of the rescue. Pulling himself upright, he glared at Roy.
 

"Tie the damn rope off!!" he yelled, the shock of the fall chipping at his control. He watched Roy secure his line.
 

The Captain beckoned again. "John?"
 

Johnny glanced at the crew below, then looked at Roy. "You get him down Roy," he paused, drawing an unsteady breath, “because I can't."
 

Roy winced at his partner's pained expression. The plane of Johnny's normally straight shoulder sloped downward. Dislocated, he sighed. His carelessness stabbed at him, filling him with regret. Roy nodded affirmatively.
 

Johnny called down to the men. "Cap! Roy'll take him!  I ... I need help getting down!"
 

Captain Stanley could detect the edge of pain in the uneven cadence of Johnny’s voice. "Can you get to a crossbeam?"
 

Johnny looked at the girder above him. It was less than 6 feet, but he knew there was no way he could reach it on his own. He pulled the injured arm to his chest. Momentarily closing his eyes tightly, he tried to quell the breathless pain. When Roy began across the adjacent beam toward him, Johnny vehemently shook his head, and gestured to the child. He watched Roy turn and move back toward the boy.
 

Captain Stanley saw Johnny's head drop in defeat. "No go, Cap!"
 

"John," he called out, "Marco's on the way up. He'll guide you down!”
 

"Just hurry!"
 

The Captain frowned. It wasn’t difficult for Hank to recognize the strain in Johnny's reply. Adrenaline's gone, he thought, what a mess.
 

Captain Stanley studied the paramedic slowly swinging from his lifeline tied to the girder. He could see Johnny's face was upturned, as if he were willing himself to solid ground. He glanced at Roy, who had finally made his way to the patient. The Captain frowned, his eyes narrowing in irritation. What the heck just happened, Roy? He shook his head, attempting to dispel his sour mood. Hank shifted his gaze when Johnny called out. He was immediately alarmed by the timbre of Gage's voice.
 

"Cap, the line!"
 

Tracing John's line of sight to the girder, his chest tightened. Without even being able to see the rope, he immediately understood Gage's rising fear.
 

Johnny didn't wait for the Captain's answer. "It's distorted! Hurry up!"
 

Hank spotted Marco and lifted the HT. "Marco, you got that?" He watched the firefighter pick up speed. 
 

"He's seconds away, John!"
 

Hank almost added 'hold on,' but caught himself. A jarring chill washed over him. His mind skirted back to the last time Gage had struggled with a lost line. It was years ago, but the incident haunted him. Rappelling off the side of a building on a rescue, Johnny’s unknowingly defective line had suddenly failed, threatening to toss him to the pavement stories below. It was only by sheer luck that they had a second line ready, franticly dropping it down to the paramedic in the last seconds. Johnny had dropped precipitously, and Cap had been sure he was dead. But Johnny was able to hook into the new line, escaping with minor injuries incurred by a brief free fall when the slack line finally pulled taut. Captain Stanley now looked to John again, and this time, he was fully prepared to jerk his eyes away if the line let go. Make it quick Marco, make it quick. 
 

As Marco paid out the line, Johnny reached up, willing the rope into his hand. Refusing to allow old fears to surface, he focused on the carabiner dropping rapidly from above. He scooped it with his uninjured hand and swiftly hooked the line in place, his experience taking control despite his frayed nerves. Johnny expelled a shaky breath. Twice threatened in one short lifetime was enough.
 

The Captain’s shoulders sagged in relief. Hank ran a nervous hand over his jaw. As Marco worked to lower Johnny to the next level, the Captain watched Roy rappel down with the boy held tightly to his chest. Chet and Mike guided them easily toward the ground. Before dropping the HT into his pocket, Hank looked up one more time, relieved to see Johnny’s feet touch down on the crossbeam. Sighing, he depressed the transmitter.
 

"Strong work, Marco."

**********

“What do you think Johnny?” Marco asked, slowly lowering himself the last foot to the beam. He crouched down and laid a steadying hand on Johnny’s back. Johnny’s head hung low, and Marco couldn’t see his face. But it was easy to feel the taut muscles of his back giving away the extent of his pain.
 

“I can’t control the line...to rappel,” Johnny said, “the arm’s useless. I’ll try to climb.”
 

“With one arm, amigo? I can lower you to each beam.”
 

“Too hard. Too far. I’d rather try and make it down the ladders.”
 

“Johnny...” Marco replied, concerned about his friend.
 

“Just my luck,” Johnny whispered, “elevator’s busted and I am too.”
 

“I’ll spot you, Johnny. We’ll take it slow and easy.”
 

**********

When Roy finally touched down, the crew disconnected the patient and gently guided the boy to the ground. Roy knew the child was uninjured, and that with time and medication, the vertigo would pass quickly. After confirming his vitals and contacting the hospital, he turned the boy on his side as a precaution against aspiration. With a wave of his hand, he signaled the ambulance crew to bring the stretcher forward.
 

When the patient was loaded, Roy jogged over to the Captain, his eyes closely tracing Johnny's slow progress.
 

They were half way down when Johnny stopped to rest. Marco stood two rungs below, his hand pressed firmly to Johnny's back, steadying him on the ladder. Johnny nodded in response to Marco's words and finally leaned heavily against the metal ladder for a few moments before resuming his descent.

Roy frowned deeply, mentally kicking himself. Johnny's stoic attempt to control the pain dug at Roy, intensifying his sense of responsibility for the accident.
 

Marco paused again, only twenty rungs lower than their last stop.
 

Is it worse than I think?  Roy wondered. Remorse overwhelmed him as he watched his partner confer with Marco. Watching the men closely, Roy had only one thought.
 

All because I screwed up.

*********

The taut lines drawn around his clenched eyes gave him away.
 

"Johnny?" Marco asked.
 

"How far down are we?" Johnny's voice was breathless, betraying his discomfort.
 

Marco hesitated, knowing the answer wasn't the one Johnny hoped for. "We're about half-way, another 60 feet or so."
 

He watched the paramedic shake his head slowly, seemingly deciding what to do next.
 

"Johnny, I can easily rig it up to lower you down the rest of the way. It’s not far now."
 

Johnny sighed in disgust. "If I could knock my shoulder back in, I'd be fine in minutes." He paused, catching his breath. "I'm losing sensation in my hand, Marco. I need to get the heck off this thing. Sorry, man."
 

If Marco was alarmed by the admission, he covered his concern with a quick answer.
 

"It's okay Johnny, I'll get you down fast."   Marco clicked his HT. "Engine 51, HT-51."
 

 "Go ahead, HT-51."  Hank immediately replied.
 

"Cap, I'm going to rig up the line and lower John the rest of the way."
 

"All right, Marco. Is everything okay up there?"
 

Hank knew something must be wrong for Johnny to have asked to be dropped down.
 

Marco hesitated, looking to Johnny for an answer. He couldn't help but cringe at Johnny's pained appearance when the paramedic tried to readjust his injured shoulder. By the angry edge to Johnny's expression, Marco knew he was unsuccessful.
 

Rolling his eyes at Marco's unspoken question, Johnny nodded, all the while dreading the stir it was going to cause.
 

Marco didn't hesitate, "Cap, his shoulders injured.  He's losing feeling in his arm."
 

Captain Stanley heard Roy curse under his breath. The Captain raised the HT, pausing for a moment before answering.
 

Roy shifted uncomfortably under the Captain’s steady stare.
 

"We'll be ready. Take it easy, John." The Captain broke his gaze to watch Marco set up the line. He sighed, shaking his head. This keeps getting better and better, he thought.
 

When John's feet finally touched solid ground, Mike and Roy were there to unhook him. They tried to support him as he walked, but Johnny pulled away, clearly annoyed.
 

"I'm okay, I can walk just fine."
 

Roy stepped back at his partner's uncharacteristically biting tone. He hesitated, thinking that Johnny might reject his help since he had precipitated the accident.
 

"How's the sensation in your arm?" Roy asked tentatively.
 

"It's still tingling, I can't feel my fingers very well."
 

Roy wasn't sure if the edge in Johnny's voice was due to pain or anger.

"Johnny," Roy began slowly, "I'm sorry."
 

If Roy had hoped for something that hinted forgiveness, he didn't find it in Johnny's sharp reply.
 

"It was an accident, Roy. Forget it."
 

"It wasn't, but we'll talk later. Let's get you out of here." Roy lightly touched Johnny’s arm, leading him toward the waiting ambulance.
 

Johnny nodded, his expression suddenly reflecting his worry. "You're going to have to adjust it . . .I tried . . . I couldn't do it myself."
 

Roy suppressed an urge to cringe. The thought of further aggravating the hanging joint, causing Johnny more pain twisted his stomach.
 

"Hop in, Johnny, and we'll get it done," he said, with far more confidence than he felt. He turned to Mike and gestured to the ambulance. "Mike, can you give me a hand?"
 

John sat stiffly on the bench seat of the ambulance with Mike at his right side. Roy climbed in last, half kneeling on the floor next to John's affected side. He looked up to the attendant expectantly.
 

"The kid's fine, Roy."
 

Roy nodded, turning to give the boy a cursory exam. Once complete, he turned back to his partner, reaching to check his radial pulse. "Okay, Johnny, I'm going to move the arm outward slightly. You know the drill, no pulling back. This needs to be steady."
 

Johnny rolled his eyes again, "I know, I know, just get it over with. Are you forgetting who you're talking to?" He gritted his teeth and looked away.
 

Roy swallowed the knot in his throat. Ignoring Johnny's angry barb, he addressed Stoker. "Mike, I'll need you to stabilize the arm when it's in the correct position so I can sling and swathe it in place. We’re not resetting it, just adjusting the position to ensure circulation and hopefully take pressure off the nerves. Don't let it move once I've got a good pulse, okay?" 
 

Roy waited for Mike to acknowledge his directions, then he firmly grasped Johnny's elbow with one hand and placed his fingers over Johnny's radial pulse with the other.
 

"Ready?" Roy asked, averting his own eyes to his partner's shoulder. He couldn't look at Johnny's face. Guilt struck him: even Gage couldn’t hide the pain. When he manipulated the affected arm, Johnny said nothing. The only indication of Johnny's discomfort was a shaky, prolonged breath expelled through tightly pursed lips. Roy finally looked at his face. Sweat had broken out in lines across his forehead and his tanned skin had markedly paled. Eyes remained tightly closed, Johnny was silent.
 

Roy rechecked his radial pulse and finding it satisfactory, he instructed Mike to place trauma pads in the void between Johnny's arm and his chest. Before tying off the sling, Roy asked, "How’s it feeling now?"
 

"Better. The tingling was worse at first, but now it's going away." He paused, pain cutting off his voice, "Color's better too."
 

Roy tied off the sling and carefully placed a swathe around the paramedic's chest, tying it off to the side. He checked his friend's pulse a final time. After carefully placing the seatbelt around Johnny's waist, he turned away to reassess the teenager on the stretcher.
 

While tending to the patient, Roy was sure he could feel Johnny's hard stare on his back. But if he had turned around, he would have seen that the paramedic's eyes were tightly closed. Johnny sat rigid, fighting against the turbulent motion of the ambulance weaving its way through rush hour traffic.

***********

Johnny tried not to be angry. But as the ambulance jolted over the speed bump in Rampart's parking lot, the pain shooting through his shoulder kindled his ire.
 

When the back doors swung open, the attendant attempted to assist Johnny down the steep back step of the ambulance. An orderly pushed a wheelchair forward.  Johnny purposefully walked past without acknowledging its presence. The orderly shrugged his shoulders, raising his eyebrows at Roy. The man knew better than to cross an angry paramedic.
 

Roy followed the stretcher laden with the whimpering boy into the ER. Brackett was already leading Johnny into a treatment room when he spotted Roy and called for him to meet Dr. Early in Treatment Room 3.
 

Roy nodded, pushing the stretcher past Brackett's retreating form. He shook his head, wishing he could go home and start the day over. He wasn't looking forward to the inevitable interrogation by his captain, or to the silence he feared might follow when his partner's anger subsided. Anxiety was quickly creeping into the recesses of his mind, not only because of uncertainty surrounding the accident's effect on his job, but also because Roy worried his mistake threatened to dismantle the one thing that had never been an issue between the partners.
 

Trust.

************

"Popped it out again, Johnny?"
 

Brackett pushed a step stool over to the side of the stretcher and helped Johnny onto the exam table. The grimace on the paramedic's face told Brackett exactly how Johnny was feeling.
 

"What happened?"
 

John perceptibly paused. "I fell."
 

Brackett's eyes rose at Gage's evasive answer.
 

"And?" he asked, exaggerating the word. He stared at Johnny, waiting for him to continue. The longer Johnny remained silent, the more Brackett wondered what went wrong. He studied Johnny closely as if scrutiny could reveal what was behind the paramedic's guarded demeanor.
 

Johnny's eyes darted nervously under the physician's intense stare. "Look, someone fell, and I caught him. We, ahh, were up on a high rescue, on ropes. When I ran out of line, my left arm took the weight and it popped out."
 

"Okay." Brackett replied slowly. At Johnny's persistent silence, he became concerned. "Are you injured anywhere else?"
 

“No,” he replied impatiently. “Just the arm. Like I said, I had some tingling initially, but it went away after Roy adjusted it. Just pop it in and I’ll be all set.”
 

Something definitely went wrong, Brackett thought.
 

"All right, x-ray will be down in a few minutes. I need to be sure there aren’t any vascular or neural issues, or breaks. Julia will give you a sedative in anticipation of resetting the joint. Barring any complications, you should be out of here in a few hours."
 

He watched Johnny's expression turn sour. Brackett couldn't quite read Johnny's body language, and his rapidly shifting emotions did nothing to reassure the physician. Brackett spoke quietly, attempting to soften his mood.
 

"I'll be back in a few minutes." He stared at Johnny, his forehead wrinkled in concern. "John, are you sure everything else is okay?"
 

Johnny sighed in defeat, the edge to his voice fading away.
 

"Yeah Doc, I’m okay. The run didn't go right. I just got a lot on my mind. I'm fine, really... and...and thanks."

Johnny pulled a leg onto the exam table and pivoted, gingerly leaning back on the inclined bed.
 

"Okay, I'll try to hurry x-ray along. If there's anything else I can do, let me know."
 

Brackett walked out the door, his curiosity growing with each step. I wonder who screwed up, he thought. But Brackett instinctively understood that in the closed circle of the firefighting profession, he would never find out.

**************

Not one word was spoken.
 

The awkward silence hung over the paramedics during the ride back to the station. He wanted to talk about the call, but Roy couldn't find the right words to start the conversation. He could tell Johnny wasn't ready. His partner sat slumped against the door of the Squad, keeping his injured shoulder straight, unconsciously cradling his arm protectively against his chest. Sleep had always come easily to Gage, but Roy couldn't help but wonder if Johnny was avoiding him. The drugs probably aren't hurting either, he thought.
 

As Roy pulled into the driveway, he heard his partner’s sharp breath when the squad hit the bump at the edge of the garage. "Sorry," he whispered.
 

Johnny did not reply.
 

Roy parked the Squad and turned off the engine. He stared at Johnny for a moment, hoping he would look up. But Johnny remained silent, his eyes pulled tightly closed. Roy rounded the squad to open the passenger side.
 

Johnny beat him to it, standing on wobbly legs for a moment before he took a step forward.   He grimaced at the sound of Captain Stanley’s voice.
 

"John, my office."
 

Johnny sighed. He had hoped the Captain would let him off the hook today because of his injury. Man, I just want to go to bed, he thought, I'm not up for this today.
 

" 'kay Cap," he answered, clearly weary. He threw Roy a quick look of dismay before he turned into the office.  
 

The Captain firmly closed the door.
 

Sitting behind his desk, Captain Stanley stared at Johnny. He pulled out a blank form and tapped his pen on the corner of the paper.
 

Johnny suddenly felt on edge and worried that the Captain thought he had done something wrong as well. 
 

Captain Stanley took a deep breath. "What happened up there?"
 

Not wasting any time, Johnny thought. No 'Are you okay, John?' or 'How's the arm, John?' The initial lack of customary platitudes worried him. The Captain's abrupt manner was all business. Johnny couldn't help but squirm. He wouldn't lie, but he knew Roy would never make the mistake again, and he didn't want an isolated error to mark his record. He paused perceptibly. He was a lousy liar, and he knew it.
 

"Uh, Roy lost his balance." Johnny met the Captain's stare in earnest.
 

Captain Stanley’s silent reply echoed through the room. He let Gage squirm a moment longer before speaking.
 

"Yes, John, I think that is perfectly clear."
 

By punctuating each word, the Captain let Johnny know he wanted to get to the point. What had occurred was fairly obvious, but what he really wanted to know was what Johnny thought about the accident, and if something was brewing with his partner. He couldn't afford to let this uncharacteristic mistake cause a rift in the men’s working relationship, which, up until now, had been a model of cooperation and trust.
 

“What really happened?”
 

“I’m not sure, Cap.”
 

He looked Hank steadily in the eye. He wouldn't outright lie, but he didn't have to offer his opinion either.
 

“John.” The captain warned.
 

"I don't exactly know. One minute I was watching him start to tie off and the next, he lost his balance and fell. I caught him and that's it. It was an accident."
 

“He didn’t tie off right away.”
 

Cornered, Johnny hesitated. Captain Stanley waited silently. He folded his hands together and locked eyes with Johnny.
 

“No, sir.”
 

“Did you warn him?”
 

Johnny returned his Captain’s gaze, remaining silent. He knew the Captain heard his calls.

Captain Stanley shifted in his chair.

“Yes, sir.”
 

“I know you did. Twice.”
 

Johnny sat quietly, a vague sense of nausea heating his stomach. The pain in his shoulder pulsed at an agonizing rate. He didn’t know where this was going, but he knew he couldn’t take it much longer.
 

“Cap, it was an accident. Pure and simple. Roy’s a careful guy. It won’t happen again and I’m not worried it will. It was an accident. Nothing more.”
 

Captain Stanley abruptly sat back in his chair, letting his clasped hands fall to his lap. He inwardly smiled, relieved to find Gage defending his partner. Gage had verified, albeit reluctantly, his conclusions about the incident. And most importantly, he confirmed it was an isolated mistake. His expression visibly softened.
 

 “Seems possible something else might have contributed to the accident, John. Don’t you think?”
 

Johnny paused, momentarily confused. Suddenly, he realized what the captain was looking for.
 

"It was a mess up there, Cap,” he began slowly, continuing when the Captain nodded. “He may have . . . slipped . . ." Johnny watched the corners of the Captain’s mouth curve upward. ". . . on filings or sand . . . I really don't know."
 

Captain Stanley’s thin smile widened slightly and Johnny knew he had offered what the captain wanted. A plausible excuse, he thought.
 

Hank looked down at the paper and began writing, addressing Johnny without looking up.
 

"It sounds plausible to me, John, and it will sound reasonable to the Department as well." Stanley regretted putting Gage on the spot, but he didn't want this one mistake to mar DeSoto's sterling record any more than Gage did.
 He suddenly stopped writing and looked up.
 

"Roy's lucky you were watching him, John. If he was paired with anyone else up there today, he would have fallen. Not many paramedics would chance jumping off at 100 feet."
 

Johnny lowered his eyes, his expression clouding intensely.
  "I've vowed never to have to tell another woman that her husband has died."
 

John looked away and Captain Stanley realized Johnny was referring to his friend Drew Burke, who had died on the job a few years before. The thought caused him pause, realizing the painful parallel John had drawn in that instant. He remembered Johnny's visible grief following Drew's death and the lost look that had plagued him after treating his dying friend in the field. The grief simmered for weeks, fueled by Johnny's admirable dedication to helping his friend's wife and child deal with the loss.
 

Johnny slowly got to his feet, his movements stiff, deliberately attempting not to jar his shoulder.
 

Captain Stanley offered his hand as he stood, momentarily regretting his tactics when he noted the paramedic’s haggard appearance.
 

 "You did an excellent job, John. Let me know if you have any problems getting back to work at the end of your leave and I'll fix it up for you."
 

Johnny nodded, the relief of being set free leaving his legs weak. As he turned to leave, he hesitated at the sound of the Captain's suddenly stern voice.
 

"Send in DeSoto."
 

Johnny was glad that for once, he wasn't the one in the hot seat.

*********

Roy stared at the door for the fifth time since it had closed behind his partner. Cap's pissed if he won't wait 'til tomorrow, Roy thought. He walked slowly into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Staring at the cup, he reworked the call over and over in his mind. He wandered back toward the Captain's office. His coffee went cold by the time his name was called.
 

Roy's eyes darted nervously from Johnny to Captain Stanley's open door, his expression painfully expectant.
 

Johnny thought Roy looked like a man awaiting execution. He couldn't resist leaning forward, a half smile lighting his lips as he whispered.
 

"Really Roy, you need to get in trouble more often. After three or four times, you don't worry anymore. Think of it as the Principal's Office."
 

Opening the door to the Captain's office, Roy glanced back at Johnny, attempting a brief smile.
 

"Thanks for the advice."

***********

"DeSoto, have a seat."
 

Roy cringed. The Captain's use of his last name coupled with his no-nonsense tone clearly conveyed his lingering anger. At first Roy envisioned a punishment of hose cleanup for a month, now he was worried he'd be suspended for his negligence.
 

The Captain was writing steadily and after signing his name at the bottom of the page, he slowly turned the form over and pulled out a fresh one. He looked up.
 

Roy was troubled by his expression. Johnny's right, he thought, I need to get into trouble more often.
 

"Were you hurt, Roy?" the Captain started.
 

"No, Sir."
 

"What happened?"
 

Roy squirmed, "I, uh, lost my balance."
 

Hank couldn't help but raise his voice. "Did you and Gage rehearse this?"
 

Roy was shocked, "No, no, uh, we didn't talk... at all, I..."
 

The Captain cut him off with a raised hand. His expression softened.
 

"Roy, off the record, I need to know what happened."
 

Roy looked down. He felt badly about the incident and it showed.
 

 "I didn’t pay close enough attention. I didn't tie off my line when I was supposed to.”  He paused, fidgeting with his wedding ring.  "The kid kept moving around on the girder. I let myself get distracted. When I went to tie off, I pulled the line over my head. It got caught. That's when it happened," he looked up. "I really did lose my balance."
 

The Captain watched DeSoto squirm in his seat. "Where was Gage all this time?"
 

Roy immediately understood the Captain's implication: Johnny had been remiss in looking out for his partner, only catching him at the last moment, causing his own injury. Roy leapt in.
 

"It was my fault. Johnny warned me to tie off more than once, but I didn't listen. He did everything right and I did everything wrong. It was solely my fault."
 

The captain sat quietly, relieved that the paramedics were in agreement about the circumstances of the accident. While he would never hesitate to sanction one of his men if he thought there was an ongoing problem, he had no desire to unnecessarily cut short a good man’s career for a single mistake. But Gage’s injury was serious, and if there had been any hint that Gage didn’t agree, he would have immediately disciplined DeSoto. But Gage firmly asserted this was a one-time incident, and Hank Stanley knew he could implicitly trust John’s assessment.
 

"From where I was standing, it looked like you might have slipped." Roy sat up, "I didn't..."
 

The captain cut him off. "And I think the explanation is reasonable. One that John agrees is likely. The conditions were sub-optimal. I believe there could have been filings or other debris on the girders.”  He paused, not waiting for an answer. "I believe John is right and I believe the Department will think so, too."

The Captain paused, his voice hardening. “It was an unfortunate accident. One that will not happen again. Correct?”
 

"Yes, Sir."
 

Roy felt sick. Let off the hook, his relief at escaping reprimand warred with guilt over the accident. He sat silently, staring at his hands.
 

“All right Roy, Mitchell won’t be in for another half hour. John doesn’t look like he should be driving. Take him home. Then get back here.”
 

Roy stood nervously, "Yes, Sir," he repeated, heading for the door.
 

"Roy," the Captain called, his icy tone halting the paramedic's retreat.
 

"If you hadn't been partnered with Gage today, you would have died."
 

A prickling chill ran down Roy's back and he closed his eyes against the words. Pushing the disturbing thought to the back of his mind, Roy turned to face his Captain.
 

"I know, Cap."

********

The silence that dominated the ride home filled the apartment, broken only by a sharp chink and slide of metal keys skittering across the kitchen table. Johnny walked slowly to the sink, turned on the tap, and filled a glass with water. When he pulled the small bottle of medication from his pocket, his hand froze in mid-air.
 

“Damn,” he whispered, closing his eyes in defeat at the white childproof cap locked in place. He looked from his good arm to the injured one, which was securely tethered by a sling and swathe. He contemplated smashing the bottle open with a hammer, but sighed at the impulsive thought. Slipping the bottle into his affected hand, he slowly closed his fingers around it. He turned the lid, gritting his teeth at the pain caused by the jarring motion.
 

Serves me right for refusing more drugs, he thought. Leaving the bottle open on the counter, he popped two pills into his mouth and chased them with tepid water.
 

Johnny shuffled across the worn carpet, stopping before the threshold to his bedroom. He looked longingly at his bed, the covers turned down from the morning, their rumpled softness inviting him to return to their comfort. He turned away and headed for the couch. He knew that if he lay flat, getting up would be near impossible. The dull throb of his shoulder bounded up to his neck and down to his hand. He rubbed it unconsciously, wishing the injury away.
 

The sleep he desperately wished for eluded him. As soon as his heavy eyelids gave into his exhaustion, his mind surged with energy. Images of Roy faltering on the beam were following by visions of his partner’s body free falling toward the ground. Looking much like a skydiver alighting from a prop plane, Roy’s arms fluttered with the pressure of the driving wind. But the chute never opened. The imagined screams of his flailing partner jarred Johnny’s eyes wide open time and time again.
 

The vivid nightmare dulled into an analytical film of the rescue. The climb. His warnings. Roy’s wavering step. His own leap into thin air. Roy’s arm sliding through his sweat-slicked hand. The desperation of the moment squeezed the breath from his chest yet again. As his mind’s eye looked down at his partner dangling at the end of his arm, Johnny’s eyes went wide. Drew’s bloody face stared back. He jerked upright on the couch. His semi-sleep state failed to register the painful protest of his shoulder until he was perched on the edge of the couch. Eyes twisted shut, Johnny panted from the sudden assault. Moisture seeped through the slits of his eyes and he hissed a string of vivid curses.
 

There would be no sleep tonight. He reached to turn on the TV, grateful for the piercing volume that drove the haunting images from his mind.

********

Dixie entered the lounge and stopped when she saw Dr. Brackett flipping though the channels on the TV set.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.
 

“A news report about a rescue 51 was on.”
 

“What happened?”
 

“I don’t quite know. Johnny was injured.” He continued changing the channel.
 

Dixie was startled.  “Is he all right? Are they on their way in?”
 

“He’s already been here and gone. Dislocated shoulder. No apparent complications, but he had some tingling after the injury. Since he’s young, I don’t want to chance missing a brachial plexus injury. I’m sending him for a neuro consult tomorrow, just in case.”
 

“How did it happen?”
 

“Like I said, Dix, I really don’t know.” Brackett signed in frustration, snapping off the set. “Nothing,” he whispered.
 

Dixie shot him a confused look.
 

“Dix, have you ever heard the phrase “tight-lipped” and “John Gage” used in the same sentence?”
 

“No.” she said. “Never.”   If it hadn’t been for Brackett’s serious expression, she would have found his question humorous.

“Well there’s a first time for everything. You know what Johnny said when I asked him what happened?”

 “What?”
 

“I fell.”
 

“You’re kidding.”
 

“No Dix, I’m not. He wasn’t just quiet, he was completely silent. For a few minutes, I was worried he had a more serious injury. He was in a lot of pain, but he usually handles it well. Anyway, he finally admitted that ‘someone fell, he caught them’, and the call didn’t quite go right.”
 

“Sounds like he was on the receiving end of a mistake.”
 

“It does.”
 

“What did Roy say?”
 

“Roy?  Did you see him?”
 

“No, I’ve been at the ACLS recert class all day.”
 

Brackett shook his head. “He was nowhere near that treatment room. I only saw him when Johnny was discharged. Neither one said a word. Johnny just walked toward the bay. Roy hesitated, and then followed. Something definitely went wrong.”
 

“Roy was okay?”
 

“Other than preoccupied, he appeared fine.”
 

“It seems like there might be a problem.”
 

“I have no idea, Dix. But for their sake, I hope they work it out.”

*********

A stream of cold water ran into his undershirt. I’m too young for this crap, Johnny thought, pulling a towel under the bag of ice to staunch the flow of frigid water.
 

Three more days, he thought. While numbed by inactivity, Johnny was somewhat anxious about returning to work full-tilt. Despite the neurologist’s blessing, he was surprised that Brackett had cleared him, even though his leave had already been extended two weeks longer than expected.
 

But that had been his fault. In a moment of weakness, Johnny confessed to the discomfort that plagued him the nights following therapy and Brackett immediately consulted the PT. Johnny rolled his eyes, thinking of the stir it had caused. His offhand comment had set him back two more weeks. This time, he shut up. He needed to work, and he needed the money. He was bored, and the bills couldn’t wait much longer.
 

Johnny slowly stood, the chill of his wet shirt causing him to shiver. He pulled off the damp clothing, and threw it into the laundry basket.
 

Hungry and tired of sitting around in his apartment, Johnny grabbed his keys and pulled a new shirt from the closet. In his haste, his uniform slipped from its hanger and fell to the floor. He picked it up, pausing before replacing it. Running a finger over the slightly faded fabric, Johnny wondered how much longer the shirt would last. Kind of like me, he thought, and then mentally scolded himself. He was lost without his routine, bored without any challenges, and for the first time, worried about working with Roy.
 

He had thought about the accident far too much over the last few weeks, reliving it on a nightly basis and reviving it during the rational light of day. And while he talked to Roy multiple times since the accident, the conversations had been brief. Each of them danced around the subject, sticking to the safety of day-to-day news. As time went on, the conversations became shorter. He hoped that in three days, a miracle would occur, and everything would fall back into place.

**********

“If you get sick of your partner, give me a call, Roy. I’ll switch in a heartbeat.”
 

“Thanks, Todd,” he smiled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
 

As the paramedic walked away, a string of adjectives fluttered through his mind: easy, comfortable, and uncomplicated. But Roy’s comforting thoughts were quickly replaced by disconcerting questions. Would Todd be there in a pinch? Would he stick with him when the heat was overwhelming? Would Todd have jumped off a girder into thin air to save him? Or watched in horror when he fell?
 

Roy didn’t allow himself to answer, but the twist in his gut told him the truth.
 

He wanted Johnny back. But he wasn’t sure if Johnny felt the same. Roy sighed, pressing the door of his locker closed. He stared at the adjacent door for a brief moment, wondering what Monday morning would bring.

********

He did his best thinking in his locker. Unsure of the reason, Johnny found great comfort perched on the wooden edge, his feet firmly set on the bench.
 

Johnny glanced at Roy’s locker, its door partially ajar. He leaned over, drawn by a small picture of Roy’s children carefully taped to the inner surface. Johnny squinted, studying Roy’s son. Spooky, he thought. Johnny had noticed the similarity of the rescued boy to Chris immediately. The blond hair, the light blue eyes...right down to the missing front tooth. He thought back to the last time he was at Roy’s. The children’s voices filtered though his mind, their lilting laughter filling him with memories of Drew's tow-headed child. He could see her wide blue eyes staring up at him expectantly, the corners of her lips drawn up, leaving soft dimples pressed into pink cheeks. But Drew was dead. He hadn't seen that child smile again.
 

It was selfish and he knew it. Losing Roy would have been devastating, and having to tell Joanne and the children would have driven the final stake through his heart. The scenario had haunted his dreams for weeks.
 

Johnny was acutely aware that his lingering anger was unreasonable. But in that scant fraction of a second when Roy had fallen, Johnny relived those long weeks of loss that even now, pulled him into depression. He had lost Drew despite his best effort. He wouldn't lose Roy if he could help it. The accident had scared the life out of him, and losing another friend was something he felt he couldn't survive. He didn't intend to distance himself. He didn't purposely check and recheck the gear. He didn't want to be obsessive. And he certainly wasn't angry with Roy for his own injury. Johnny just didn't want anyone else close to him to die.
 

He had recovered from the shoulder injury, but easing back to work had been difficult. As the days went on, Johnny's discomfort grew. The awkward feeling wouldn't leave him. It was as if a piece was missing from a treasured puzzle, causing the cohesive picture to be permanently marred. There was nothing he could place his finger on, nothing he could even verbalize, but when the bells rang out and they reached a call, anxiety pulled at the back of his mind. He could tell Roy was feeling the same way. They were uncharacteristically hesitant, and when the time came to collaborate, words replaced their typically silent, coordinated actions. They worked in an abrupt manner, moving forward through the call much like a car making its way down a pitted road, propelled onward, but jarring, at each rugged patch they encountered.

**********

Martin Taylor knew everything. At 13 years old, his breadth of knowledge for unusual skills was well refined. Originally a stellar student of lock picking, shoplifting, and small-time thievery, Martin decided to try new things when he turned 15.
 

Martin loved firefighters. And he loved setting fires. But while the thrill of pocketing someone else’s valuables still sent a shiver of excitement through his lanky five-foot-five frame, the thrill of his latest love could not be outdone by any coveted bauble he stole.
 

Lights. Sirens. Engines. Command posts. Firefighters. All summoned by the strike of his match. The thought made Martin smile. It had started innocuously enough, his first fire the result of the careless toss of his lit cigarette into a dumpster. The flames had transfixed him; his eyes traced their dancing steps toward the sky. The heat had beaten him away from the alley and into the street. He didn’t look away until sirens filled the air. He didn’t stop smiling until the flames were extinguished.

It was the first of many in his résumé, each an incremental escalation of heat and flames. Today would be no different. Two alarms, he thought, carefully assembling his tools. At least.
 

Why a vacant tinderbox was left standing amidst rows of apartments, no one knew. But after a year of complaining, the neighbors gave up fighting with the city. It was an eyesore within their community, exactly the eyesore that Martin Taylor was waiting for.
 

At precisely 2:49 am, Martin cracked the rusted lock on the doorway leading to the alley. He froze, the quiet snap filling the night air. He held his breath, his hand hovering over the door. Fumes from the can clutched in his gloved hand caused his eyes to tear. He lingered a moment longer. Hearing nothing, he shoved the door open and fled into the darkness of the hallway.

**********

Johnny had been blind for over 10 minutes. Flat on his belly, he pressed his body to the floor. Bumping along the baseboard, his helmet butted the threshold of yet another doorway. If he had a spare breath, he would have cursed.  But his air supply was thin and the smoke was thick. Laying his head on the torn carpet, he drew a short breath, and then shoved himself forward another foot, hoping to find the stairway.

Swells of heat broke over him. The relentless surf of searing air pummeled him in wild waves flowing from an ocean of flames. Nausea churned his stomach, tempered only by small sips of stale bottled air. He was ice in hell: foundering, melting, drowning in the pool of sweat filling his turnouts.
 

Roy huddled at the base of the stairs, the smoke quickly banking down. Black and grey swirls churned in front of his fogged mask, cutting his view to mere feet. Knowing how bad the heat was on the first floor, he couldn’t imagine how rough Johnny had it on the second. With the waves of heat funneling down the stairway, Roy’s concern grew the longer he waited for Johnny to appear. He contemplated going for help, but the last thing he wanted to do was bail on his partner. Just when he was raising the HT to his mask, Roy’s legs were knocked from under him and he fell to the floor.
 

“Johnny? You all right?” Roy yelled over the roar of the fire, untangling himself from his partner’s body.

“Yeah! Guess I found the stairs.”
 

Roy pulled Johnny to his knees, nudging him forward.
 

“We gotta get out of here!”
 

Johnny nodded and crawled ahead, all too aware of the loud threatening crackling of the ceiling. Sparks flew with each loud snap, and flaming debris stung their backs. Following the contours of the baseboards, and then the sound of firefighter’s voices, they didn’t stop moving until they were immersed in the spray of hoses.
 

Stumbling into the night, Roy pulled off his mask, the heat from the building tempering the coolness of the night air. Johnny was by his side, suddenly grabbing for Roy’s sleeve, and sinking to his knees on the pavement.
 

“You okay?” Roy asked quietly, crouching down next to Johnny.
 

“Yeah. Just need to cool off.”
 

“Pretty hot up there.”
 

“An inferno.”
 

“We shouldn’t have split up.”
 

Johnny looked up at Roy. “No. No, we shouldn’t have.”
 

“I’m sorry.”
 

“Wasn’t just your decision, Roy. I knew what I was getting into.”
 

“Did you think it would save time?”
 

“No.”
 

“Me either.” Roy paused. “Then why’d we do it?”
 

Johnny stared at the building. He was about to answer when Captain Stanley’s voice called to them.

“Gage, DeSoto.”Johnny swayed slightly as he stood. Roy caught his arm and steadied him before letting go.
 

The Captain studied each firefighter as they approached. He stopped before them, his practiced eye determining what had occurred. He looked from Roy’s worn, but relatively well countenance to Johnny.

Johnny’s hair was plastered down in a wet nap. Sweat ran in grey lines down his blackened face. He hadn’t missed Gage’s unsteadiness. He looked directly at Johnny.
 

“Torch job?”
 

“Yeah. I could smell gas.” Johnny replied.
 

“You swept two.”
 

Johnny nodded.

Stanley looked at Roy. “ You took one.”
 

“Yes.”
 

“You split up.”
 

Both men nodded.
 

He hadn’t missed Gage’s wince.
 

Hank Stanley stood quietly, his dissatisfaction evident by the set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes.

“Pretty risky. Didn’t save any time either, did you?” he said, the edge to his voice causing the men to shift uncomfortably.
 

“I’d expect judgment like that from a probie. Not from either of you.”
 

The Captain let the statement hang, locking eyes with each man in turn before speaking again.

“16’s set up a hose. Gage, go get cooled off and get some water. You’re out for the duration. DeSoto, go with him. Report back in 5 minutes unless I call.” Captain Stanley turned away abruptly, heading back toward the Engine.
 

Johnny and Roy walked toward Engine 16 in silence. Johnny’s boots dragged on the pavement with each step, his shoulders pitched forward.
 

Johnny pulled off his coat and peeled his sweat-slicked uniform shirt from his chest. Wandering into the spray of a hose, he was suddenly dizzy from the cool water soaking his hot body. He stumbled and sank down onto the running board, dropping his head between his knees. When he heard the sound of ice tinkling in a cup, he raised his hand to grasp it.
 

“Thanks Roy,” he whispered, taking a sip from the cup.
 

“Sure you’re okay?”
 

“Yeah,” Johnny replied, “I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”
 

They sat quietly sipping water until Roy reluctantly stood. He looked at Johnny for a moment, seemingly deciding what to say, and then shrugged.
 

“See you in a while.”
 

Johnny remained at the engine while Roy headed back toward Captain Stanley. The cup he held was wet with condensation. He pressed it to his forehead, relishing its coolness. Popping off the cover, Johnny poured the remaining liquid over his head, allowing the cold water to run down his chest. He needed to get back into the spray of the hose, but the weight of his weary body held him in place.
 

Lost in thought, Johnny replayed the fire. Both he and Roy had known they weren’t making the right choice, but gambled anyway.
 

For what? Johnny thought. Comfort, he replied to himself. He was sick of the awkwardness between them and went alone to avoid it. And worry, he added. Drew was all too present in his mind. With each risk they took since the accident, Johnny couldn’t help but think of his friend. He closed his eyes and sighed. He had no idea how to make things better.
 

Johnny finally pulled himself from the running board. He welcomed the draft of the hose against his heated skin. Glad that at least one thing was easy to fix, he pulled his tee shirt over his head and turned around in the water’s cool spray.

*******

“You look beat.”
 

Roy half-smiled at Dixie as he handed her the supply form. “Yeah, it was hot one.”
 

“Where’s your partner?”
 

“Probably sleeping in the squad.” Just as Roy’s words escaped, she saw Johnny round the corner.
 

“What happened to him? He looks terrible.”
 

“Heat exhaustion. He’s better now.”
 

Dixie watched Johnny’s pale complexion and shuffling step with concern.
 

“That’s better?”
 

“Yeah.”
 

Johnny stopped at the base station, leaning on the counter with one hand.
 

“Johnny, are you all right?”  Dixie leaned forward, studying him closely. 
 

“Yeah, Dix. I’m doing okay.”
 

“You look like you could use a line.”
 

Johnny scoffed. “Nah, I’ll keep drinking. I’ll be fine.”
 

She looked from one firefighter to the other, noting their solemn expression. She smiled, attempting to tease Johnny.
 

 “Well, maybe you should follow your partner’s example. He looks pretty cool.”
 

Both men shifted uncomfortably in place, their gaze falling to the floor. After a moment, Johnny pushed off the counter and slowly walked toward the restroom.

“I’ll meet you in the squad,” he said.
 

Roy nodded, his gaze averted.
 

Dixie’s brow rose. “Roy, I’m starting to worry about you guys. What’s going on with you two?”
 

Roy’s eyes remained focused on the IV sets on the counter.
 

“Roy, did something happen?”

Roy met her gaze before picking up the supplies. Unsure of what to say, he stared at her for a moment before speaking.
 

“Nothing to worry about, Dix.”  Roy turned and walked down the hall toward the bay. Nothing at all.

********

Mike Stoker looked out from the behind the Engine at the sound of the Squad pulling into the bay. The Squad stopped, and he waited for the paramedics to alight, but neither Roy nor John exited the vehicle. Curious, he stood and watched.
 

Finally, Roy pushed the driver’s door open. He headed toward the dorm. The only sound was the quiet click of his shoes on the floor.
 

Johnny followed, albeit more slowly. Mike knew the paramedic had suffered from heat exhaustion at the scene, and to Mike, he still looked a bit worse for wear. But his drawn, pale face and slumped shoulders weren’t what caught Mike’s eye.
 

Hank Stanley came up beside him, looking toward the dorm when the door swung shut. Mike looked briefly at the Captain, then back to the dorm.
 

“They look like they lost their best friend.”
 

Captain Stanley glanced at Mike, and then walked away. The Captain paused before his office door, momentarily looking back at his engineer.
 

“Let’s hope they don’t.”

********

It was a rare moment in his command that Captain Stanley didn’t know precisely what to do.  His gaze ran over the framed certificates filling his wall, all solid testaments to the knowledge and skill he had amassed to successfully handle any situation placed before him.
 

Which was exactly why he was so frustrated. With all the training exercises, all the years of bookwork, and all the dirty, in-the-trenches experience, nothing had prepared him to fix what was broken with his paramedics. Even if he’ d been able to figure out what “it” was.
 

But instinct told him they were on a course to disaster. He couldn’t believe the sophomoric error in judgment they had made today, and worse, he had the feeling that it hadn’t been an error at all. He believed they had consciously made the wrong choice. For what reason, he wasn’t sure. But he was their Captain. The ultimate guardian of his men. He prayed they would fix the problem on their own, before he was forced to fixed it for them.
 

Captain Stanley opened his file drawer and pulled out two blank forms. On the top of the first he neatly penned the name, “Roy DeSoto”. On the second, “John Gage.”
 

He laid the forms side by side in front of him, hoping they would never leave his desk. But he knew his duty, and if things got much worse, he’d be forced to use one of them. Which one, he wasn’t sure. His first duty, as their Captain, was to protect them. Hank Stanley glanced once again at the certificates lining his walls.
 

Scooping up the papers, he pulled the drawer open and neatly slid the forms back into the file. He hesitated closing the drawer, and found himself unable to believe he would ever have deliberately withdrawn a sheet from that folder. He shoved the drawer closed, bristling when he read the black letters neatly printed on the white label one more time.
 

“Request for Permanent Reassignment.”

*********

He didn’t know how long his hand rested on the phone. Johnny wasn’t sure why he was hesitating. But Drew had been on his mind, and he hadn’t spoken with Pam in at least four months. Time had gotten away from him, and he knew Drew’s widow was busy with their daughter and her job.
 

He finally dialed the number, and was startled by the laughter he heard when the phone was picked up.
 

“Hello?” Pam said, her voice carrying an easy lilt he hadn’t heard in years. He automatically smiled.
 

“Hey Pam, it’s Johnny.”

“Johnny! How are you?” Initially smiling at the sound of her happy voice, he immediately frowned at her change in tone with her next question. “Is everything okay?”
 

“Everything’s great, just great. I was thinking of you and just wanted to check in.”
 

“Oh, things have been wonderful,” she said, hesitating when a doorbell rang in the background.
 

“Ah, hang on a minute.”
 

Johnny could hear muffled conversation. His brow wrinkled in confusion when she came back on the line. 

The lilt was gone, and she spoke in a guarded tone.
 

“Ah Johnny?”
 

“Yeah, Pam, are you busy? Want me to call back later?”
 

“How about I call you tomorrow?”  
 

Johnny hesitated.
 

“Johnny, I’m going out tonight.” At his silence, she added, “on a date.”
 

The sudden pressure in his chest was no different than the blow from a bat. He recovered quickly, the pain dissipating to a tingle that ran down his arms. When he caught his breath, he forced a reply.
 

“Pam, that’s great. It’s really great. I’m glad you’re finally getting out.”
 

“Are you Johnny?"
 

"It’s...” He managed a false smile, hoping it was transmitted in his voice. “Pam, go. Have fun. It’s time.”
 

“Thanks, Johnny!” she said, the lilt returning to her voice.
 

 “I’ll call tomorrow.”
 

“ ’Kay Pam. Have a great time.”
 

At the disconnecting click, he replaced the receiver and bent forward, suddenly angered by the sting burning his eyes. He rubbed his hands over his face. It’s okay, he thought. It’s about time, he reasoned. Drew would want that. He straightened at the thought, staring out the window.
 

Would he? 
 

Johnny considered the question for a moment, and then felt selfish for the idea. He knew how lonely Pam had been. He only hoped this guy wasn’t a jerk. I’ll kill him, he thought. Suddenly feeling foolish, he closed his eyes and shook his head. Sadness descended over him, and he felt somewhat guilty for having difficulty with Pam’s news.
 

She’s letting go, he thought. When will I?

********

"Roy, you all set with the trauma box?"
 

"Yeah, and the IV's too."
 

Johnny reached to pick up the heavy box, began to lift it, but paused, switching hands before hauling it into the cabinet.
 

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Still bothering you?"
 

"Huh?" Johnny answered, unsure of what Roy was referring.
 

 "Your shoulder. You switched hands."
 

"Ah," Johnny hesitated, not wanted to kindle any more unsettled feelings. "Habit. It feels great."   He turned his left arm in a wide arc over his head as proof.  "See?"
 

Roy nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced. "Good."
 

Johnny smiled briefly and turned back to the equipment door. He heard the soft click of Roy's shoes retreating toward the dorm. When the sound disappeared, he leaned forward against the cool metal, letting out a long sigh. Truth be told, his shoulder was bothering him. Rain, he thought. He’d never admit to the discomfort though, no matter how bad it got. The injury sat solidly between them since he had returned, separating the two like a yellow police ribbon, quietly declaring 'do not cross'. Bewildered as to the reason, Johnny sighed again, unconsciously attempting to rub away the dull throb seated deeply in his shoulder.

Definitely rain, he thought. Johnny stowed the last box and slammed the door shut.

*******

It poured.
 

Rain fell for three days straight and John Gage was beginning to think it would never end. Torrents of water filled the streets and the cool rain added an early chill to the air. He flipped up the collar of his coat and shoved his hands in the pockets.
 

Scanning the muddy hillside, Johnny searched for clues to the car's location. All he saw was mud, sliding in slow slick lines over a ledge fifty feet below. All traces of the car's path had been cleanly erased. He couldn't help looking down at his boots, partially buried in the muck. Twisting the ball of one foot, his boot was quickly immersed. He frowned, pulling himself free. Scanning the hillside one last time, Johnny climbed back up to the Captain.
 

“It must be over the ridge Cap. There's no sign of it and no way to tell how far it's gone. We'll just have to run with 200's and hope it's enough."
 

"I'll send down four lines, two for the car, and one for each of you. You'll need to share your lifelines if you find victims. Be careful, it's a mess."
 

The crew quickly rigged the lines. Johnny and Roy stood poised at the top of the slope, the sodden mud sliding around their boots. Eyes fixed to the ridge below, the paramedics calculated the best route over the edge.
 

The rain picked up. Johnny cursed. Roy glanced at him with an equally sour expression, and then quickly ran his eyes over Johnny's line. If Roy had looked up a moment earlier, he would have caught Johnny's brief inspection of his own gear. He had missed it.
 

But Captain Hank Stanley had not. His eyes narrowed. The observation worried him, not because one rechecked the other, but because of the surreptitious nature of the normally routine act. He tucked the thought in the back of his mind, but he couldn't help worrying that the event a few weeks ago had done more than just superficial damage to a paramedic's shoulder. The Captain looked over at the crew and back to the paramedics before calling out.
 

"You guys ready?"
 

Johnny looked at Roy. “You ready?”
 

“Yeah,” Roy replied. “Let’s get this over with.”
 

 "All set Cap!" Johnny answered.
 

The lines immediately loosened and the two paramedics cautiously began their decent. If the footing hadn't been so treacherous, Roy would have laughed at the quiet stream of expletives uttered by his partner.
 

It wasn't long before one of them went down. Clawing at the ground for purchase, Roy raised his head in attempt to draw a clean breath. Covered in slick mud, he fumbled for the rope as the mud washed over him. Momentarily alarmed, he was relieved when he felt Johnny pull him up by the back of his coat.

Johnny stifled a smile at the sight of Roy's blue eyes staring out from his mud-slicked face. But a playful jibe quickly died on his lips. Out of balance from Roy's shifting weight, Johnny suddenly had trouble staying upright himself. Letting go of Roy’s coat, his left foot slid out from beneath him. He dropped a hand into the mud, grimacing as it sunk deeply into the earth before reaching solid ground. The cold thick slurry rushed into his glove. Johnny cursed, pulling his hand free and leaning back on his line. If the chilling rain wasn't running down his back and he wasn't working so hard to stay on his feet, he might have tried to crack a joke. But comfort had long evaporated, and the dangerous conditions intensified. With each passing second of pouring rain, humor swiftly fled.

Barely able to keep from sliding, Johnny was already thinking about how to stabilize the car in the steady stream of moving earth. His mouth drew into a tight line. Hearing Roy call out he was all set, Johnny grasped his own line again and dropped down the last 10 feet to the ledge. Glancing over the edge of the precipice, he scowled at what he found.
 

Johnny wasn't even sure what kind of car it was. Blazing blue twists of metal shone in stark contrast to the dusky brown earth smeared over the car's exterior. It was easy to see it had rolled multiple times. But it wasn't the compressed roof or the crushed ends that caused Johnny to pause and scan the slope.
 

It was the glass.
 

Every window of the vehicle was gone, and not a trace of the windshield was in sight. The car lay on its roof, ominously shifting with the flowing earth. Johnny prodded Roy, letting out a slow breath as he pointed to the empty window frames. Mud ran swiftly through the car. A chill ran down his back. The image of mud-coated bodies resembling a bad Halloween prank flashed though his mind. But this wasn't a practical joke and the grim realization of the probable outcome for the victims lingered in Johnny's mind. He set his jaw, mentally preparing himself for what might lie ahead. He lifted the radio.
 

"Engine 51, HT 51."
 

"Go ahead HT."
 

"Cap, we're going down to tie off the car. Ground's soft. The car’s belly up. Glass is gone. The whole slope is moving."
 

Hank shook his head at the report. Worried about the safety of his paramedics, he silently cursed the driving rain.
 

"10-4 HT 51, careful down there. You need more help?"
 

Johnny looked at Roy shook his head. Roy nodded in agreement.
 

"No Cap, we can manage it. We need about 10 feet of slack drop down."
 

Hopping off the rise, Johnny steadied himself and waited for Roy. The lines halted. Johnny called topside.
 

"Okay, let her out!"
 

The lines slackened once more and the paramedics descended. Progress was slow, and they made their way in a jagged line, all hope of sure-footedness forgotten. About twenty feet down, Johnny stopped abruptly. Instead of sinking down to the rocky earth below, his foot landed on something round and giving. He pulled back sharply, falling off to the side as his mind immediately registered what lay beneath his feet. Kneeling in the mud, Johnny didn't look up when Roy stopped beside him.
 

"You okay?"
 

"Found something."  Johnny answered.
 

Roy's initially confused expression was quickly replaced by a frown when Johnny pulled a leg from the mud. Roy dropped to his knees, following the line of the man's body to his head. They began digging in earnest, but the flooded earth quickly filled in each handful of mud they removed.
 

Johnny finally shoved his hand deep into the slurry, and grasping a piece of cloth, attempted to yank the body free. Roy pulled from the opposite side and the coated torso was wrenched from its hold. Johnny froze at the haunting vision, then cleared the victim's mouth and checked for a pulse.
 

The brief closure of John's eyes was the only sign Roy needed to confirm it was too late. He watched Johnny lay the man down, hesitating to let go.
 

Johnny looked around quickly, searching for an answer to an unspoken question. Roy touched him lightly on the shoulder. He already knew what Roy would say.
 

"We can't spare the rope, Johnny."
 

John's head dropped to his chest. The rain ran down his back and the mud continued to slide around his feet. Reaching down, he cleared some earth back with his arm, and replaced the body in the shallow trench. He shook his head in defeat, knowing that trying to hold the body in place against the tide of moving earth was a futile gesture. He knew he'd never find the untethered man again. Taking a last glimpse of the man’s battered face, Johnny replaced his glove, grabbed his line and stepped over the body.
 

The Captain’s brow wrinkled in concern at the paramedic’s slow progress. It was atypically sluggish to him, despite the poor conditions. Their movements appeared disjointed, and he felt they were throwing away critical time. His concern grew for their safety as the rain intensified. He pulled the HT to his mouth.

“HT 51, pick it up, it’s not getting any better out here.” He frowned, shoving the HT back in the pocket of his turnout.
 

They made their way as quickly as conditions allowed.  The car was shifting in the shallow river of brown water flooding the slope. Water ran freely through the open windshield, the car’s crumpled roof pressed into the soft mud. Johnny went immediately for the front axle, calling to Roy.
 

"I'll tie off the driver's side." The car shifted unexpectedly, knocking Johnny off his feet. His gaze ran up the slope, lingered for a moment, and then he pulled himself from the mud.
 

"You okay, Roy?" He called to the opposite side where Roy was making his way to the front axle.

"Yeah, I'll tie off over here."
 

"Right." Quickly securing the line, Johnny tugged on the rope to set the knot.
 

"You all set?"
 

"Yeah, go ahead."
 

Johnny pulled the HT from his pocket. "Engine 51, the car is tied off, pull up the slack."
 

Johnny watched closely as the lines tightened. He glanced up the slope to the ridge, his eyes stalling before looking away. He dropped to his belly and slid through the back seat window.
 

Johnny crawled through the mud lining the interior of the roof. Reaching out to the body in front of him, he gently palpated her neck. "I got one, Roy, she's alive." He could see Roy pulling a young boy out of the backseat of the car. "You okay?" he called.
 

"Yeah," Roy answered, pulling a boy to his chest. "I'm all set."
 

Johnny wrapped a belt around the young woman and unhooked his own line to transfer it to the girl’s life belt.
 

It began with a low rumble.
 

Johnny's head popped up in recognition, slamming his helmet into the steering wheel. He backed up frantically, yanking the teenaged girl with him, all gentleness abandoned. He didn't spare a glance toward the sound. Pulling the girl free from the car, he roughly threw her up onto the car's undercarriage and began to climb up out of the flowing mud.
 

The rumbling grew louder. The car swayed on the lines. He saw Roy struggling over the top, dragging the boy with him. Johnny grabbed for the abandoned lifeline, cursing as it slid through his muddy gloves. The car bucked wildly, burying the rope in the rising tide of mud. Johnny reached up to pull himself from the flowing earth. His feet were thick with muck. Unable to find purchase, his foot slid over the slick metal, sending him sprawling back into the drag of the mud. Chest heaving, Johnny fought his way back to the car. The mud rose in a brown swell around him. The car shifted sharply. Johnny caught the frame and hoisted himself from the drag of the streaming slurry. Pulling up onto the exposed undercarriage of the car, he dropped down on top the girl, pinning her securely
beneath his body.
 

Wrapping one arm around the doorframe for stability, Johnny reached out, instinctively locking arms with Roy, who was lying beside him clutching the boy to his chest. The paramedics pulled tight, heads low, bracing for a tumultuous ride.
 

Johnny chanced a look up, seeing the lines straining against the swell of mud. In an instant, one of the lines let go, its threads spinning as it snapped. The car pitched at the end of the remaining rope like a tethered balloon whipping about in a wild wind. Johnny stole a second glance at the crumbling ridge. Debris poured down the hillside, sweeping the car to and fro. He pulled the girl closer, shielding her from the rubble raining down on his back. Roy's hold loosened and Johnny tightened his grip, pulling him closer. The HT screamed incomprehensible calls from his coat. Johnny was sure they were going to die. Convinced that the remaining line would soon snap, Johnny knew they were about to be thrown free. Images of the mud-covered bodies flashed in his mind. The car bucked beneath him. The taste of dirt filled his mouth. He knew he'd be breathing thick mud any moment. The rumbling continued. Johnny shut his eyes tightly and prayed for a merciful end.

*********

Inevitably there will be a moment in one's life that defines them as a leader.
 

Hank Stanley recognized that moment instantly and realized it was one slice of time he would rather live without. Looking down at the hillside falling away before his eyes, he knew what needed to be done, and was well aware of the consequences.
 

The Captain looked back at the engine, the slope's edge already rapidly gaining on the Engine's wheels. He had tried to pull the engine forward. He had willed the lines to hold. But the pull of the car amidst the tons of sliding earth was too much to overcome. Mother Nature left him with only one choice. His crew froze at his next command.
 

"Chet! Bolt-cutters! Now!"
 

Kelly hesitated, the plan suddenly becoming clear. Stunned, he stared at his Captain in disbelief, before pulling open the compartment. His hand stalled over the heavy tool. Closing his eyes briefly, he shook his head and pulled out the cutters. He ran back to the Captain. The ropes lay taut between them. Chet stared at it for an instant and then eyed the edge of the slope sliding from sight scant feet from where they stood. He held the tool up. His voice was raw when he finally spoke.
 

"They'll die when I cut this Cap."
 

"They'll die if 6 tons of engine rolls over them, Kelly."
 

 The Captain paused, holding out his hand.
 

"And you're not cutting anything."

**********

The coffee had a thin ring of cream lining the edge of the cup.
 

Abandoned hours before, the chilled liquid looked less than appetizing. But after years in emergency medicine, Dixie didn't hesitate to draw a long sip. She had learned long ago that cold coffee is better than no coffee at all.
 

Pushing the cup to the side, Dixie scanned the white board over the base station. 16, possible heart...18's wrapping up an MVA...36 on standby at a fire...51...51... Dixie checked her watch, frowning at the time. She looked up as Carol walked by.
 

"Carol, have you heard from 51?"
 

Carol answered while hurrying toward treatment room three. "No Dix, but 18's on the way in with two victims. ETA 12 minutes."
 

Dixie nodded, the frown returning to her face. One hour. The thought left her unsettled, and an uneasy feeling flitted through her chest. Sighing, Dixie depressed the transmit button on the radio.
 

"Squad 51, this is Rampart Emergency, how do you read?"
 

She wasn't surprised by the lack of response. She tapped her long nails on the counter, each sharp steady tick marking the lengthening silence. Her uneasiness grew.
 

"Squad 51, this is Rampart Emergency, come in please."
 

Brackett, noticing her worried expression, stopped beside her.
 

"Dix, everything okay?"
 

"51 contacted us an hour ago, but we haven't heard back."
 

She paused looked up at the doctor. "I've got a bad feeling, Kel. I don't know why. They probably just forgot to call in an update."
 

"Who's on?" He asked.
 

"Johnny and Roy."
 

"They wouldn't forget."
 

She looked down at the radio, willing them to call.

"Try fire dispatch, Dix, they'll know what’s up. And if they did overlook calling in, make sure you give them a hard time."
 

Dixie picked up the phone and dialed quickly. Jack Warren answered on the first ring.
 

"LA County Fire Dispatch, Firefighter Warren."
 

"Jack, it’s Dixie McCall from Rampart. I wanted to check on one of our squads."
 

"51?"
 

Dixie froze. "Yes. I take it something's going on?"
 

The silence following her question hung over the line. She could hear snippets of men's urgent voices dispatching in the background. The uneasy feeling thickened in her chest.
 

"Jack?"
 

"Yeah, ah, sorry, Dix." He paused again. "All hell's breaking loose. A car went over into Paola canyon. There's been a mudslide, and ah, we just heard 51's Captain is going to order the Engine pulled out."

Dixie's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand Jack. Is that a problem...that the engine's leaving?"

The background voices again filtered over the phone. She could hear Jack Warren sigh deeply before he spoke. Dixie held her breath, knowing the news wasn't good.
 

"They'll lose the engine if the hill collapses. They’re cutting the lines to the paramedics to move it. When the lines are cut, he'll lose 'em. The Captain's already asked for a recovery team."
 

To Dixie's stunned silence, the dispatcher answered, "Sorry Dix. I have to go."
 

By the time she thought to reply "Thanks, Jack," the dial tone was already buzzing in her ear. She slowly dropped the phone back on the cradle. Her hand stalled, and then slipped to the counter. Dixie’s eyes fell closed.
 

Brackett's hand brushed her shoulder.
 

"Dix," he said quietly, "what happened?"
 

When she finally spoke, Brackett could barely hear her reply.
 

"If you believe in praying, Kel, It's time to start."

********

His last prayer flitted up to the sky.
 

The sound of the rain tapped sharply on his helmet as the rumbling of the flowing earth tapered away. The car's wild pitch slowed to a gentle sway. Johnny was covered in cold mud. The metal of the undercarriage dug into his arm and knee, his chest spared by the softness of the body beneath him. Pulling himself from the slurry, he swiped a glove across his face, clearing the mud from his eyes. He drew the young woman up with him and feeling her course tremor, pulled her close to his chest.
 

"Shhhh," he whispered, "I'll keep you safe. Shhhhh." He tightened his arms around her.
 

Johnny's gaze wandered from the woman to Roy and back to the hillside. Eyes drooping and jaw slack, he stared blankly at the mud slowly sliding down the hill. The girl's silent sobs sent shivers though his chest. He rested back on his heels with a sigh, kneeling motionless, his eyes gently falling closed when he heard Roy's whisper.
 

"Johnny, you okay?"
 

Johnny nodded, turning to meet Roy's eyes. His gaze slipped back to the hillside.
 

"You?" he asked.
 

"Yeah," Roy replied.
 

The sandy taste of dirt lingered in his mouth. Running his tongue over the grit, Johnny shook his head in disbelief. They were alive. He had no idea why. Shrugging off his weariness, Johnny hitched his head toward the top.
 

"Let's get the hell out of here, Roy."
 

Progress was slow. Struggling to keep their footing, Johnny swore they advanced one step for every five steps they attempted. The burden of the victims made for difficult assent, and Johnny wished he could sling the girl over his shoulder and be done with it. When they finally made it to the top and Chet lifted the woman from his arms, Johnny felt as if he couldn't take another step.
 

The haggard look on Roy's face was somehow comforting. Johnny sucked in a deep breath and pulled himself over the top. Following Chet to the ambulance, he was grateful to get out of the rain.

**********

The silence had already killed her.
 

With each minute that passed, her heart slowed to a quiet gallop, circulating her blood in a sluggish crawl. Her hands were chilled, her lips numb. Dixie stared at the radio in silence.
 

Voices rose and fell in a quiet swirl of whispers. But the voices she longed to hear weren't forthcoming. As the minute hand swept slowly toward the hour, a distant memory of mournful tones melded with the voices around her. Dixie stared at the fire radio, remembering a paramedic who had died years before. Smoke filled her nose; visions of mottled skin blinded her sight. In her mind's eye, she traced the line of his dying body to his face. Her eyes widened and she drew a sharp breath. Johnny.
 

"Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read me?"
 

The vision vanished. Dixie swung around toward the voice, thinking she had imagined his call. Only when she heard his weary words once again, did she react.
 

"Rampart, Squad 51, come in please."
 

Her heart surged, pumping a flush of blood to her cheeks and a tremble to her hands.

"Go ahead, 51, we read you loud and clear." Dixie beckoned Brackett from across the hall.

"Rampart, we have three victims of a car wreck. The vehicle went off the road, caught in a mudslide in Paola Canyon. We have one DOA. The first victim is a female, age..."

Brackett carefully listened to Johnny's transmission, relating the treatment plan for each patient once Johnny's report was complete. He paused thoughtfully before depressing the microphone one last time.
 

"Squad 51, what's the status of your crew?"
 

Johnny sighed, wiping his hand over his mud-smeared face. "Cold. Tired...intact. ETA 25 minutes. Will update en route."

********

After slamming the doors shut, Johnny tapped sharply on the back and watched the ambulance pull away. His shoulders slumped and his head dropped to his chest. While shaken by their thin escape, Johnny silently regretted being forced to leave the body behind. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his turnout. Johnny stood quietly, suddenly chilled by the cold wet fabric sticking to his legs. He lifted one foot, frowning at the frigid water swirling in his boot. He didn't hear the Captain walk up behind him.
 

"Pretty close one, pal."
 

Johnny nodded, turning slowly to face Captain Stanley.
 

 "Yeah, Cap, 'thought it'd let go for sure."
 

Hank nodded silently.
 

Johnny’s eyes swept over the wide wheel tracks in the mud only four feet from the edge of the hillside. He stared at the Captain thoughtfully.
 

 "Actually Cap, I figured you'd be forced to cut the lines."
 

Johnny half expected Hank Stanley to come back with a quick denial, or perhaps some form of dark humor, but the Captain's silence told Johnny just how close he had come to dying. He studied his mud-coated boots. A cold chill raced through his body.
 

Hank Stanley rested his hand firmly on the paramedic's shoulder.
 

"You'll make a great Captain someday, John."

*******

The base of the porcelain cup caught on the table, sending the steaming coffee flooding over the edge, spreading in a thin circle over the smooth surface.
 

Johnny shifted back and laughed. "You need decaf, Dix."
 

He glanced up to her face, expecting to see her smiling. His brow instantly wrinkled. Her blue eyes were flooded with tears, teetering on the edge of escape.
 

"Dix, what's wrong?"
 

"You."
 

"Me?"
 

"You."
 

Johnny's confusion grew. "What did I do?"
 

Dixie shook her head slowly, the motion setting a single tear free to roll slowly down her cheek.

"We thought you were dead."
 

Johnny was speechless. He had thought the same thing.

"We thought Roy was dead."
 

Johnny didn't reply. He stared at the coffee, its escaping heat swirling in vague smoky circles, dissipating into the cool air.
 

"Dispatch told me your Captain was going to cut the lines to you and Roy. He told me the engine was at risk of going over the edge. They called for a recovery team."
 

"He didn't have to cut 'em. The mudslide slowed. He was able to pull the engine back a few feet. The hillside held. So did the rope."
 

"This time."
 

"Yes," Johnny replied, leaning forward. Feeling suddenly defensive, he attempted to control his irritation. 
 

"This time."
 

The point to the conversation eluded him. If it hadn't been for her tears, he might have been angered by her tone. But the sight of her dampened cheek checked his irritation. He didn't know what was on her mind, but he guessed he wouldn't like it when he finally figured it out.
 

"Just what are you getting at Dix?"
 

"What happened the day you hurt your shoulder?"
 

"What?" He was completely lost.
 

"You and Roy haven't been the same since."
 

"Nothing happened that hasn't happened before," Johnny answered.
 

“Okay, then tell me what went on between you two at the apartment fire.”
 

Sitting back in his chair, he averted his gaze.
 

“How about what happened today? Why isn’t Roy here?”
 

"Dix, I don't want to go into this. It doesn't matter. It's between Roy and me."
 

"No Johnny, it's not. I feel like you two are skirting the edge of disaster."
 

"There's nothing wrong with our work."
 

"Can you really say that with a straight face?"
 

Johnny didn't reply.
 

"I don't know what's going on, but I can feel something. You're still excellent paramedics, but anyone can feel the tension. Make it go away, John, before it does matter."
 

Johnny contemplated the drying edge of the spilled coffee. He could feel Dixie's stare boring into him. He could think of nothing to say. She was right, and he knew it.
 

"Don't scare me like that again," she admonished quietly. Dixie reached across the table and laid her hand over his. Expecting him to pull away, she was surprised when his fingers gently closed around hers.
 

"Pretty close one, huh?"
 

He nodded, his gaze still fixed on the table.
 

She tipped her head toward him, trying to catch his eye. Her brow wrinkled in concern when his eyes clenched shut. Aching pain squeezed her throat. Her breath stalled. Dixie filled with regret, surprised by his uncharacteristic display of emotion. Only at the moment of his friend Drew’s death, had she glimpsed his vulnerability. For once, she was at a loss how to react. She leaned back, creating a physical gap for the feelings to dissipate. She waited.
 

Johnny’s eyes slowly opened. His grip on her hand loosened.
 

Uncomfortable with the silence, a hint of a smile touched Dixie’s lips. “Hey,” she said softly, attempting to lighten the moment, “were you repenting for a lifetime of sin?”
 

“No,” he whispered, “I was praying for a quick end."

*********

"Now or later?"
 

Johnny's arm slid off the doorframe when the squad turned sharply into the driveway. He scowled and slouched back into the corner, resting his head against the seat.
 

"Now," Johnny answered. "I'm freezing. I don't want to get warm only to go out and freeze again."
 

"You're right. It'd be a tease."
 

Johnny settled back into the corner, intent on stealing the last few moments of sleep. Roy pulled the squad around back and parked by the hoses. When Roy didn't get out immediately, Johnny finally opened his eyes. Roy was staring at him and quickly turned away, his eyes fixed on the tower in front of them.
 

"Roy?"
 

"What went wrong?"
 

Johnny was confused. "Huh?"
 

"We messed up."
 

Johnny was instantly defensive. "We did not. What are you talking about?"
 

"I don't know."

Johnny's eyes narrowed. "I think you do."
 

"We took too much time. We missed the signs. I guess, well, things just don't seem right, since..." Roy trailed off, reluctant to bring up Johnny's injury.
 

Johnny answered for him.
 

"Since the accident."
 

"If that's what you want to call it."
 

"It was."
 

Roy flared, "It was not. I messed up. You ended up hurt because of it. I know your shoulder still bothers you."
 

"Give me a break, Roy. So you had a lapse. Like I haven't. Remember the dummy on the tower? I was taking the ladder so fast I almost took a 200 foot swan-dive myself."
 

"It's not the same and you know it. I feel uncomfortable. I feel like you're watching me like some kind of rookie. And I find myself doing the same thing."
 

"Watching you? Watching you? I am not watching you! I think you're too sensitive."
 

"I'm not sensitive!"
 

"Yes, you are! Ever since that day. I'm not doing anything differently than I ever did before. I shouldn't have to remind you that if I hadn't been doing my job and watching out for you, you wouldn't be here right now."

"See, I knew you were angry."
 

"I am not angry!" Johnny yelled.
 

Roy raised his eyebrows.
 

Johnny took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. He stared out the windshield for a long while. When he finally spoke, Roy was startled by the quiet sound of his voice.
 

“He was a ringer for Chris.”
 

“Yeah.”
 

“That’d surprise anybody.”
 

 “You weren’t.”
 

“He’s not my kid.”
 

 “It’s not an excuse.”
 

Johnny sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Sometimes things just happen, Roy, I don’t need to tell you that," he said, turning back. "Look, I'm your partner. I'm not just here just to hold up the other end of a stretcher. Yeah, I was angry. But not because of my damn shoulder. I was angry because you could have died, Roy. I saw Drew flash before my eyes all over again. That's all. Nothing else has changed. It's not as if I haven't ever screwed up."
 

Roy met John's eyes in surprise. He had thought Johnny was angry over his mistake. He had been sure Johnny didn't trust him. Positive that he had wanted a new partner. But never did it cross his mind that Johnny would be angry because Roy had almost died. Roy thought of the rough weeks following Drew's death and suddenly understood. Nodding slowly, he strained to listen to Johnny‘s words.
 

"It is my job to watch out for you and yours to look out for me. That mudslide, maybe there was something we could of caught, maybe not. But either way, neither one of us could have made it on our own. No one can see everything they need to see on this job."
 

Johnny paused, drawing a slow steady breath. "Everyone needs another set of eyes, Roy, to be sure nothing goes wrong, and make sure neither of us misses anything. So maybe I've been a little hyper-vigilant, but that's what partners are for. To look out for each other,” He turned back toward Roy. "Especially when we just can't do it ourselves."
 

Roy stared at Johnny, unsure of how to reply.
 

"You've done it for me, Roy. I just returned the favor. I’ve let it go, you need to do the same.”
 

They sat in silence, until Roy finally shifted in his seat.
 

“Thinking about Drew?”
 

Johnny’s eyes automatically closed.
 

“Yeah. Too much.”
 

“It was a bad scene.”
 

“Shouldn’t matter anymore.”
 

Roy looked at him in surprise. “Of course it should.”
 

Johnny nodded, looking unconvinced. He paused before speaking again.
 

“Pam’s started dating.”
 

Roy immediately frowned. “You’re having a tough time with it?"
 

“No. Yeah. No. I mean it’s okay. At least I’m telling myself that. It’s just, well, I don’t know. I guess Pam’s lived with the aftermath of Drew’s death every day, so she’s moved on faster than me.”
 

“You’re thinking about it everyday too?”
 

“Yeah.”
 

“Since the accident.”
 

“Yeah.”
 

“Maybe you needed to.”
 

“You might be right.”
 

Roy stared at Johnny for a moment. “I never said thanks.”
 

“I did it as much for myself as for you, Roy. Forget about it.”
 

From the bay doors, Captain Stanley eyed the paramedics carefully.  His concern over the past few days grew heavier by the moment. He felt slightly relieved as the animated conversation waned and the men sat quietly talking.

Hank Stanley watched Roy and John exit the Squad and begin to rinse the mud from the chassis. Once completed, they pulled the Squad into the bay and retrieved dry ropes from the supply closet. The Captain watched DeSoto lift the ropes and hand them to Gage, who in turn placed them on the hook in the cabinet's recess. As Gage backed up, DeSoto closed the cabinet and locked it in place. The Captain's tension eased. First thing they've done together in weeks. Pushing off the doorframe, he walked purposefully toward the men, placing his hands on his hips when he reached them. He resisted the urge to tap his foot.
 

The Captain couldn't dampen his concern. He would never know if the men could have foreseen the near catastrophe on the hillside, but he had a feeling that if they weren't so preoccupied with the accident weeks before, they may have moved more quickly, and been able to head off the near-disaster. He could never be sure. But he was convinced that the stress of the last few rescues and their strained relationship was placing them at risk.
 

The two men stiffened defensively at the Captain's approach. "Want to tell me what happened down there?"
 

Johnny's eyes slid to Roy's and the two exchanged an unreadable expression. Johnny looked at the Captain, "Well, Cap, uh, it was tough going. We just didn't see the signs that it was gonna let go."

Johnny stole a glance at his partner. Roy shrugged.
 

“I’d trust any man’s life on my crew to you guys. But I’m having a hard time wondering if I can trust you with each other’s.” He looked from one man to the other. “Clean up your act. Talk to each other. Fight if you have to.  But fix it before someone gets seriously hurt. Or before I have to intervene.”
 

Stunned by the Captain’s warning, the two firefighters stood silently, studying the ground as he walked away.
 

They each knew he had spoken the truth. And while John felt they had made steps toward fixing what was wrong, he was unsure that the smooth relationship could be restored.
 

Johnny didn't know what to say. His momentary sense of relief fled like a soothing balm of a mother's voice, chased away by the closing of the door following a soft 'good night'. He walked slowly to the front of the squad, pulling off his coat. Thankful it was the end of the shift. He stowed his turnout.
 

Roy hesitated before heading for the dorm. "I can't help but feel you don't trust me."
 

Johnny looked at him squarely, staring for a long moment before speaking.
 

"If I didn't trust you Roy, I would have died a long time ago."

******

"Eastbound, Roy."
 

If Johnny had hoped their conversation would finally end the tension between them, his wish hadn't come to fruition over the last few shifts. While their relationship had somewhat improved, they remained deliberately cautious. Johnny felt as if the ease that had dominated their work for so long stood just out of reach. Watching Roy maneuver the Squad onto the highway, he refocused on the map, pushing the uneasy feeling aside.
 

The Squad accelerated quickly as Roy pulled into the high-speed lane of the freeway.
 

"Should be about two miles up," Johnny directed, scanning the mile markers on the map. "Cars aren't backed up yet, must be off to the side."
 

Roy nodded silently as he drove, watching the cars clear his lane. "Half-mile," Johnny said, pointing ahead.
 

Roy signaled, leaning on the siren as he pulled over to the next lane, making his way to the far right. "I see it, Johnny."
 

"Only one car." Johnny scanned the scene. "Man, that thing's a mess." As Roy began to pull behind the vehicle, Johnny called out.
 

"Hey, watch the gas, watch the gas." Johnny immediately raised the microphone.
 

"LA, Squad 51 on arrival. Dispatch an engine for a gasoline spill. Advise the police, this appears to be a hit and run."
 

The rapidly expanding ring of fuel rippled out onto the pavement. Its widening circle reached yards behind the vehicle, spilling over the edge of the embankment. Roy attempted to pull quickly into the right lane to leave adequate distance between the spill and the squad, but a VW van suddenly dodged into the far right lane and swept around the squad, blocking his path to the breakdown lane.
 

"Damn it." Roy cursed, pulling over once the van sped away.
 

"What an idiot!" Johnny yelled.
 

Roy reluctantly pulled ahead of the car, avoiding the spill. He parked on the edge of the breakdown lane, leaving the lights running.
 

Johnny jumped out, pulled on his gloves, and ran back toward the disabled vehicle. The car was a small blue sedan with its passenger's side resting solidly against the guardrail. The driver's side faced the traffic and was creased from bumper to bumper. Peeled from its hinges, the driver's door lay flat, like a screen door blown open on a windy summer's day.
 

Johnny glanced down the steep shoulder beyond the guardrail. "Nothing down here!"
 

Roy nodded and pulled the drug box from the Squad, and handed it to Johnny.
 

Johnny made his way around to the driver's side, setting down the black box. A young man sat unnaturally straight in the driver's seat, clinging white-knuckled to the steering wheel with both hands. Surveying the damaged car, Johnny's eyes narrowed. The twisted metal of the door was flattened against the front wheel well of the car. Johnny coughed briefly, and took shallow breaths, momentarily overcome by the gas fumes burning his nose and throat. He immediately reached into the vehicle, shut off the engine and threw the keys on the dashboard.
 

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?" he asked, raising his voice above the traffic. The man didn't move. "Sir?" he said again, waving his hand in front of the man's open eyes. Again there was no response. Johnny's forehead wrinkled in concern. He pulled off one glove and reached in to check the victim's carotid pulse.
 

"What do you need Johnny?"
 

"He's catatonic, Roy, his pulse is strong, but he's not responding to anything," Johnny explained. He firmly pinched the skin of the man's arm between his fingers and watched for a reaction. Nothing, he thought.

"Can you hand me the cuff?" Johnny took out his penlight and leaned in the car, noting the man's even breaths as he clicked on the light. "Eyes are equal and reactive." He stepped back to reach for the BP cuff, wondering if the man's unresponsiveness was a stress reaction to the accident.
 

Roy placed his hand on John's back. "Watch the traffic, Johnny, they're trying to make it home for dinner.” Johnny flinched as he felt the wind from a passing truck press him against the disabled car.
 

"No kidding," he answered, as his eyes warily followed the truck's retreat.
 

He turned back to the patient. "I can't find anything wrong with him. It's a miracle, considering the damage. There's no sign of head injury and his vitals are fine. Can't find a scratch on him." Roy nodded as Johnny continued, "How about we get him collared and boarded. He might relax a little away from the traffic."

As Roy went to gather the equipment, Johnny cut the man's seatbelt away from his body and checked his legs to be sure they didn't become entangled in the pedals when he was moved.
 

Roy handed him a collar, and then retrieved the backboard, laying it against the front end of the car in order to thread the straps. "I can see the Engine coming Johnny, they can give us a hand."
 

John nodded absently, concentrating on writing down a second set of vitals on the victim. He momentarily looked up at the oncoming traffic, spotting the Engine in the distance. As he turned away, a dark blur caught the corner of his vision. He stood abruptly, dropping the paper to the ground.
 

His heart raced in his chest, pounding painfully in his throat. His eyes grew wide in recognition long before his mind assigned meaning to the danger. Pushing off the cool metal, Johnny stepped back in disbelief. His breath stalled in his chest. His body locked in place. The black Mustang swung in front of the Engine. It racing engine tore into the breakdown lane directly behind the mangled vehicle.
 

God, not again, Johnny thought, unable to flee from the speeding car bearing down mere feet from his frozen form. Closing his eyes tightly, he desperately wished that this time, he wouldn't have to know what hit him.
 

The sound of the impact was wrenching. Metal sharply sliced metal, the glass' shattering scream filled the air, matching the pavement's ragged protest as the twisting body of the oncoming car carved it in jagged lines. The painful sounds ended abruptly, and only the occasional tinkling of glass falling to the asphalt remained.
 

He lay immobile on the pavement.
 

One knee was tucked to his chest and the other leg was splayed out, extending toward the front of the sedan. He was on his side, arms to his chest, eyes closed, lying as still and silent as the hushed hours before dawn.
 

The Engine screeched to a halt and Captain Stanley jumped clear of the rig before it stopped. Running swiftly to Johnny, he stopped suddenly, feet from his body, unable to clear the shaking from his hands, fearful of what he might find yet again.
 

Roy pushed up off the ground with one hand, and disentangled his other arm from under Gage's chest. Resting both hands on his knees, he took a deep breath to steady his racing heart.
 

"Johnny, you okay?"
 

Johnny remained still. The only clue to his well-being was the fine tremor coursing through his shoulders. His eyes slowly opened, focusing on the chrome grill of the blue sedan. His head still to the ground, he sighed deeply, tightly closing his eyes once more before he too pushed up off the pavement. Blankly staring at the sedan, he studied the ear piece of his black stethoscope hooked precariously on the edge of the hood, neatly tracing the path where Roy had yanked his body over the hood to safety.
 

The Mustang had swerved in the final moment, sparing the sedan, but the driver had overcompensated, and drove directly into the squad, parked just 10 yards ahead. Johnny turned to look, the rumpled red squad tangled in a bizarre twist with the black sports car. He looked away, dropping his head to his hands.

Roy moved in front of him. "Johnny?"
 

Johnny nodded, unable to immediately speak. Swallowing heavily, he whispered, "Yeah, I'm okay..." His eyes met Roy's, "...thanks."
 

Roy reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him unsteadily to his feet.
 

"Anything left of the drug box this time?" Johnny asked.
 

Roy shook his head negatively.
 

"Figures," Johnny whispered. He looked up at Roy for a moment, then lightly grasped Roy’s arm before heading back toward the victim.
 

Hank Stanley raised his HT and called for assistance. While inwardly shaken by the deja vu experience, The Captain was reassured by Roy’s quick action, and Johnny’s subtle expression of thanks. Surveying the scene, he watched Johnny begin to work on the original victim, while Roy automatically headed off to the other vehicle without a word.
 

He thought of the forms tucked away in his file, uncertain of how to interpret the men’s brief characteristic actions. He shrugged and turned back to the engine, feeling somewhat encouraged.

Maybe, he thought tentatively, there’s hope yet.

***********

It was wrinkled like crumpled holiday paper, its shiny bumper hanging in the roadway like discarded ribbon.
 

Roy eyed the Squad for a moment then turned to assist the attendants lifting the bed into the back of the ambulance.
 

Officer Vince Howard watched Roy shut the ambulance doors, tapping them twice when they were secure. Vince gestured to the retreating ambulance. “Kid doesn’t look too good.”
 

Roy shook his head. “He’s pretty bad off.”
 

“Didn’t even recognize him ‘till I got his ID. He’s well known to us. Theft, shoplifting and the like.”

 Roy nodded absently, his attention drawn to the other ambulance idling in the breakdown lane.

 “Only 15 years old, Roy. There isn’t a cop who doesn’t know Martin Taylor.”
 

“Huh,” Roy said, walking toward the other ambulance. “Never heard of him.”
 

Johnny sat at the end of the bench, chewing on the cap of his pen, concentrating on the paperwork carelessly balanced on his lap. He looked up when Roy sat down beside him, eyebrows raised, conveying his unspoken question.
 

"Cap said we should both go. 16's all set with the kid. The wrecker's coming for the Squad. They're going to empty it out and gather the rest of the stuff."
 

Roy looked out at the ground, littered with equipment. Johnny turned away and focused on the patient, deliberately averting his eyes from the scene. He didn't want to remember those few drawn out seconds. Fidgeting with his pen, he stole a quick look at Roy before speaking. He sighed heavily, anxiety effectively stealing coherent thought.
 

"Roy, I..."
 

Johnny found himself unable to continue as old memories gripped his voice. He shuddered as visions of the hit and run flashed through his mind. A tearing pain streaked through his chest and he drew a shuttering breath, banking down the memory. He knew the pain wasn't real.
 

"I know, Johnny," Roy said. "It scared the life out of me, too."
 

Johnny shook his head. "I froze, man, I froze."
 

"Give yourself a break, will you? It's understandable after last year."
 

John looked at him gratefully, his worried expression dissipating, "Thanks for pulling me out of the way."
 

Roy watched him for a full moment before speaking.
 

"I think," he said, leaning forward, "someone once told me that partners are there for us when we're unable to be there for ourselves."
 

Johnny’s eyes fell closed and he felt the awkwardness of the past few weeks wash away. He sat quietly, settling his emotions before he spoke.
 

"He's right, Roy," Johnny said, unable to hide his relief. "Everyone needs a second set of eyes."

Many thanks Audrey, for giving some old stories a new home!

-c

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