A story challenge was issued on the ALLEFanfic list, for anyone to finish a story titled ‘When There’s No One To Blame’. The original beginning is written by Jill Hargan and you can find her completed version here, When There's No One To Blame. While Jill went on to finish her story after all, Linda2 came up with an answer to the challenge. It’s ‘When There’s No One To Blame Part 2’and follows the story starter below.

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When There's No One To Blame

The world spun crazily and John Gage had to shut his eyes against the streaks of color that danced before his eyes. Even in the dizzying gyration, his mind tried to sort the images out. Red -- red was the engine, sitting safely on the ground far below -- too far. Green -- the trees that surrounded the brown patch of dirt underneath him. Blue – that was the sky as he swung up to meet it briefly, then twirled away in another direction. And gray – there was entirely too much gray – that was the concrete pillars of the bridge as they flashed by too closely.

He knew what all the colors were, but they wouldn't stay in one place long enough for him to get oriented, and the growing sense of nausea watching them caused was only one more problem to deal with -- and he didn't need any more problems at the moment. For now his only concern was the boy in his arms – and how he was going to hold on to him much longer.

Though it had only been a few moments, it seemed like he'd been spinning here for an eternity. Already the muscles in his arms felt like they were being torn apart. The kid, Peter, had passed out after his seizure had taken them both off the bridge – before John had been able to get a belt on him -- and was now dead weight. Between the hundred plus pounds pulling at his arms and the drag at his waist from his own life line, John felt like he was literally being ripped in
half. Add to that, the fact he was twirling like some crazed puppet on a string and he knew he was in a world of trouble.

Amazed that his brain was still able to function, he distantly heard his own voice shouting to Roy -- telling his partner to drop him, and he wondered how he'd managed to think straight enough to say anything at all. Roy's answer wavered in and out as the pendulum John dangled from moved him close up, then far away from his partner. It was hard to hear, but he thought Roy said
something about not being able to bring them up. He didn't catch the rest, but whatever Roy wanted to do, it beat swinging here.

"Just do something!" he shouted, hearing the panic in his words, as he felt the boy slip a little further from his grasp. "I can't hang onto him!"

It was odd... despite his senses being scrambled, he could hear Roy's grunting efforts as he manned the line and worked heroically at lowering the weight that was much too heavy for one person. Amidst the kaleidoscope of sensory input, John managed one more thought... whose strength would hold out the longest – his or Roy's?

A instant later that question no longer mattered. Momentum carried them once more toward the bridge, this time slamming John's right shoulder into the concrete.

Everything happened at once. A searing pain shot down his arm, but before he could even cry out, it was replaced by an tingling numbness from his elbow to his fingers. All at once, he felt a tearing agony in his left arm as Peter's entire weight was abruptly shifted. A strangled scream filled John's throat as he struggled valiantly to keep his grip, then, suddenly he was free from the weight as he failed in that fight.

And Peter fell.

John's mouth opened, but no words came out. No cry of protest... no shriek of denial. He watched in mute horror as the fourteen-year-old boy fell to his death.

Everything was silent now. Even the pain in his battered body was a distant thing, as if his mind couldn't deal with it at this moment. The impact with the bridge had checked his insane spinning and now he merely swung slightly at the end of the rope, both arms dangling uselessly at his sides, as Roy slowly lowered him down. He was still too far away to hear what was going on below
him, but he could see it clearly.

He could see the boy's body sprawled on the ground, the guys moving around him, but unable to do anything to help. He could see Peter's friend being restrained by Scotty, and watched as the police officer finally led the teen to his squad car, out of sight of his dead friend. He saw when Cap at last covered the boy with one of the yellow blankets out of the Squad. It was that bright patch that held John's focus as he gradually grew closer to the scene. He couldn't take
his eyes off of it, though his ears were picking up sounds now, bits and pieces of things that really didn't register.

... a little more, Roy... that's it ... coroner's on his way ... called his parents ... need a stokes over here, Mike ... hang in there, John, almost down ... watch that arm, Chet ... s'okay now, John, we've got ya,...

He was down. He felt his feet touch the earth momentarily before he was swept off them again to be laid gently on the ground. Someone took his helmet off his head, but he couldn't say who. He knew it was the guys, but he couldn't stop looking at the yellow blanket long enough to see who was doing what to him. He knew he hurt. Even though they were trying to be gentle, they couldn't help jostling him some as they undid his belt and lowered him down, and he heard a groan escape his lips. It, too, was a distant thing, as if someone else had made the sound.

"John? John, ya with us, pal?"

It was Cap's voice. He knew that, but he didn't answer – he couldn't. The blanket held him mesmerized. It had changed. Crimson red now contrasted against the bright yellow as blood seeped out from under the thin covering.

"Did he hit his head?"

That was Chet -- his voice speaking his concern loud and clear. Still John couldn't respond.

"Didn't look like it from here, but he may have. Marco, go tell Roy to make it snappy."

"Right, Cap."

Running feet faded away.

"John?"

"What's wrong with him, Cap?"

"John... John, can you hear me?"

A hand moved in front of his eyes, momentarily blocking his view. He blinked as it drew near, then felt relieved when it left his field of vision clear.

"He's reactive at least. Mike, let Rampart know what's going on."

"Right, Cap. Rampart, this is Rescue 51..."

He tuned out Mike's voice, and Morton's filtered response. He couldn't find the energy to care right now.

He heard the footsteps returning at a run.

"Johnny?"

Even though it was Roy's controlled-panic voice, it was still somewhat comforting to hear his partner, as he slid to a stop and knelt down.

"Johnny... talk to me, pal. Tell me what's goin' on."

He couldn't. He didn't know why, but he couldn't find his voice.

Roy continued talking to him, his voice falling into his best soothing-paramedic tone, as he began his assessment of John's injuries. He was gentle, causing slight pain only when he examined John's arms and shoulders. It wasn't until he parked himself at John's head to talk to Rampart, that John was put out at all. He couldn't see the yellow blanket at all now and he frowned
slightly.

He wanted Roy to move, to get out of his way, but it would have required too much effort. He was fast falling into a strange lethargy. The world around him was slowing down and he was too tired to watch anymore. With a long sigh, he closed his eyes and shut out everything around him.

When There's No One To Blame

Part 2

by Linda2

Light shone in one eye and then the other as he heard Morton’s voice. “What exactly happened out there?”

Roy’s voice answered, “He was holding onto the boy when he hit the bridge support and lost his hold. The boy fell. I lowered John to the ground and he just stared at the body until he went out on us.”

John could hear everything going on around him, but opening his eyes was too much trouble. Images of the boy falling and then the body lying on the ground played over and over in his mind. Nothing seemed real, but he knew he was not dreaming. He let go of the images pushing them to the back of his mind. He could not, would not accept them. He felt himself floating off as darkness replaced the images.

+++++

“John, can you hear me?” his partner’s voice, he sounded far away. Fear gripped John. Where was Roy? Why did he sound so far away? John struggled to find his way in the darkness. Roy continued to call to him. He had to get to Roy. As John came out the darkness, it was replaced by pain. Both arms hurt. Finally he opened his eyes and found himself looking up into Roy’s face. At first the look of concern on Roy’s face puzzled John. Then he realized he was lying in a hospital bed, again.

“I’ve done it again, haven’t I?” he asked Roy.

“Done what?” Roy asked puzzled in his turn.

“Had an accident and put myself in the hospital.” John responded ruefully.

“No, John,” Roy said firmly, “this was not your fault.”

“What wasn’t my fault,” John asked, a frown creasing his brow, “what happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Roy asked concerned anew.

“No, I don’t,” John said still frowning, trying to remember. “We weren’t even on shift, were we?” He asked in confusion.

“Yes, we were on a rescue,” Roy said pushing the call button. Soon a nurse appeared and Roy asked her to summon the doctor. Morton appeared in the room shortly thereafter, he had been waiting for John to wake up and had expected Roy to be elated. The concerned look on Roy’s face puzzled him.

“Well, Johnny,” he quipped, “it’s about time you woke up.” Morton had been worried about Gage’s unconsciousness because there was absolutely no sign of a head injury. Now with both Roy and John frowning he was even more concerned. “What’s up guys?” he asked.

“John doesn’t remember the rescue,” Roy said sounding slightly panicky. “He doesn’t remember being on shift yesterday.”

“What’s the last thing you do remember, John?” Morton asked.

“Let’s see, I remember going to bed last night,” John replied, “then I woke up here.” Roy and Dr. Morton exchanged glances. “Look, I know something happened, something bad from the way my arms feel,” John said in exasperation, “just tell me what happened.”

Roy told him about the attempted rescue, faltering when he got to the part about John hitting the concrete and the boy falling. It was all he could do to relate the story without breaking down. As he spoke the images of the accident played through his mind. He pushed the painful images aside. If only he had been able to get the swinging rope under control sooner, this never would have happened. In the end he could only look at his friend and partner and say “I’m so sorry, John.”

John was looking at Roy in astonishment. He remembered nothing of the incident. He remembered nothing of the day before.

Morton examined John once again. Physically he could find no evidence of trauma other than John’s arms. He asked John questions to test his orientation and memory. John answered every question correctly only faltering when the questions concerned the day before. Morton concluded that John was suffering from amnesia.

“But he didn’t hit his head,” Roy said puzzled.

“This isn’t that kind of amnesia,” Morton explained, “he is repressing the memories from yesterday.” Morton went on to explain that this kind of amnesia was usually triggered by a traumatic event which the person could not accept. Therefore, their subconscious mind suppressed the memory and other memories related to it.

“Will I ever remember what happened?” John asked.

“Probably,” Morton said nodding his head, “when you are ready to deal with it.”

Roy visited a little longer, then left so John could get some much needed rest. He had tried to reassure John that what had happened was not his fault. He only wished he could reassure himself of the same thing.

After Roy left, John drifted off to sleep. Images began floating in his mind. They were spinning and as he tried to make sense of the images they spun faster and faster. Reds, greens, blues, grays. What did they all mean? Engines, skies, bridges, trees. He could not make sense of anything. Pain, falling, blood. Blood on his hands. Not his blood, whose blood? Then he saw the yellow stained with crimson red. John screamed and woke with a start. He was covered in sweat. The scream brought nurses running. The images from the dream faded quickly leaving John with a vague feeling of guilt and pain. The nurses gave him pain medicine for the pain in his arms. He floated away again into the blessed darkness.

Dr. Morton had been surprised to find John had no broken bones. His right arm, which had hit the bridge, was deeply bruised from shoulder to elbow. The bruise went all the way to the bone. The other arm was severely sprained, and the shoulder had been dislocated. John recovered physically from his injuries in due time and the nightmares subsided. He continued to be unable to remember anything about the day of the accident. However, the consensus was that the sooner John got back into the swing of things, the better. Therefore, when he was physically able, John returned to work.

His crewmates welcomed him back. No one spoke of the accident. The subject was just too painful for any of them to broach. Roy was by turns overly cheerful and almost morbidly quiet. Soon they were back into the routine and things appeared to have returned to normal until one day when they were called out on a rescue involving a 14 year old boy. The whole crew was called out on the rescue. Roy and John arrived first, in the squad, with the rest of the crew directly behind them in the engine. Having fallen off the roof of his house where he had been helping his father with new shingles, the boy was on the front lawn. Roy and John grabbed their equipment from the squad and started towards the boy, followed closely by Chet, Marco, Cap, and Mike. Roy, catching sight of the boy, stopped in his tracks. John seeing the boy hesitated and then moved on. The boy lying on the ground was the same age, coloring, and size as Peter had been on top of which he lay in virtually the same posture as Peter had. Coming up behind Roy, the engine’s crew, also, were stunned by the similarities. Cap recovered first and put his hand on Roy’s shoulder.

“You okay, Pal,” he asked Roy.

“What?” Roy seemed dazed, he looked at Cap and then back at the boy, “Yeah, I’m alright, Cap,” he said shaking off his daze and moving forward. He knelt on the other side of the boy assisting John.

The similarities between this boy and Peter escaped no one. This boy, having fallen off a one story structure, was severely injured, but he was alive and, most likely, would make a good recovery. Seeing the boy triggered flashes of memories for John. He pushed them aside and took the lead on the rescue even riding in the ambulance with the boy. Roy followed the ambulance in the squad. He felt as if, once again, he had let his partner down. First by not getting control of the rope and preventing John from hitting the bridge, and now by not fully participating in the rescue.

Later that night, after lights out, John finally fell asleep in his bunk. Images began swirling in his mind, this time they were clearer. He saw the boy lying on the lawn. He saw him from high above. He saw the boy lying in the dirt. He watched him fall, over and over again, reaching for him, trying to catch him. His arms would not work, his voice would not come when he attempted to cry out. This time he knew what was under the yellow and crimson. This time he knew where the blood on his hands came from, he knew how it had gotten there, and he knew it would never go away. Finally he ended the dream and sat up with a start. He needed water. He got up and pulling on his turnouts made his way into the kitchen.

“You can’t sleep either,” Mike said from where he sat on the couch startling John who had not realized he was there.

“Nah,” John said rubbing his eyes. He continued on to the sink and got a drink of water. “I know what my trouble is,” he said walking back around the table toward Mike. “What’s yours?”

“That kid today,” Mike said, “he looked so much like…” Mike stopped hesitating to continue.

“Go ahead you can say it,” John said, anger beginning to rise, “like the kid who died. Like the kid who’s dead because I couldn’t hang onto him.” John’s voice rose with each word. “I wish you guys would stop tiptoeing around and just come out and say it, you blame me for that kid dying.”

“No we don’t,” Mike started. But John interrupted.

“Yes you do,” he yelled, “why else won’t you talk about it?” Placing his had on his chest for emphasis, he continued. “I know I’m to blame. Don’t you think I know that? I should have held on to the kid, I should have got the belt on him or…something.” John was flailing his arms by this time, pacing back and forth. Mike jumped up from his seat.

“No one blames you,” Mike shouted, trying to make John hear him.

“What’s going on in here,” Cap’s voice asked from the doorway. Both men stopped yelling and turned to face the Captain. Three other faces could be seen behind him. “Mike?” Cap asked turning to his engineer.

“John thinks it was his fault the boy fell,” Mike explained. He was embarrassed to have been caught yelling at John, but his concern for John out weighted his embarrassment.

“John, do you remember what happened?” Cap asked seeing the significance of what Mike had said.

“Yeah,” John said bitterly, “Not everything, but enough, enough to know it was my fault.”

“It was not your fault,” Roy said, slipping past Cap to stand beside John. “I told you that before. If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine.”

“Your fault?” John asked, incredulous. “How was it your fault?”

“Roy, we’ve been over this before,” Cap began at the same time.

“It was my fault,” Roy said adamantly, overriding both voices. “If I had gotten that rope under control sooner, you wouldn’t have hit the bridge and lost your hold on Peter.”

“At least you could do something,” Chet muttered, “I felt totally helpless, all I could do was stand there and watch.”

“That’s all any of us could do,” Cap said, sadly. “Look you guys can’t continue to blame yourselves for what happened. You both did the best you could under the circumstances. You can’t let this eat at you. You can’t start second guessing yourselves, that’s the best way I know to get someone else killed.”

“You’re right, Cap,” John said trying to hold back tears. “I just felt so…helpless,” he said finally breaking down and crying in earnest. Roy put his arm around his friend and guided him to the couch. Both men sat on the couch, John continued to sob as the others looked on in sympathy.

“We all felt helpless, I think,” Roy said, his eyes filled with tears, when John’s sobs had subsided.

“I know I did,” Mike said sitting on the couch on the other side of John, “that’s why I never talked about it. It was just too painful. All I could do while you guys were up there was stand on the ground and watch and hope that everything would be alright, then when you hit the bridge and…,” Mike stopped as tears filled his eyes and choked him, preventing further speech.

“Yeah, man,” Chet said, “that’s the way I felt.”

“Me, too,” Marco added.

“Like I said earlier, we all felt helpless,” Cap said, “but now we have to accept what happened and that there’s no one to blame and get on with our lives.”

“And, no one, blames you, John,” Mike said, “or you Roy. We know you both did the best you could.”

“Thanks, Mike,” John said, drying his eyes. “You’re right, Cap.”

“Now, can we get some sleep before…,” Cap was cut short by the tones sounding calling the engine crew out.

“Too late, Cap,” Chet said as he hurried out the door into the bay.

Soon Roy and John were left alone in the day room. Sitting side by side both men seemed reluctant to move.

“Roy,” John asked, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Roy replied. He rubbed the thumb of one hand against the palm of his other hand unconsciously, looking pensive.

“Something is,” John said, seeing a gesture he was becoming all too familiar with and just beginning to understand. “Come on, you need to get it out into the open.”

“I just can’t help feeling responsible,” Roy said reluctantly. “If I had gotten that rope under control…,”

“Look, man,” John said, “you didn’t. Cap’s right we have to accept what happened and get on with our lives.”

“I know, but…,”

“Look, how about this,” John said, “what if I forgive you, would that help?” Then before the other man could respond, “because I do, you know, I forgive you,” he said sincerely.

“Thanks, John,” Roy said, tears in his eyes again, “that means a lot to me.”

The tones sounded once again and both Roy and John responded quickly. After that things got back to what passed for normal at station 51.

The End