Title:  A Little Rain Must Fall
Author:  krh 
Rating:  PG
Disclaimer:    The following is a work of fan fiction based on the television series, Emergency!.  It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of MARK VII LIMITED, Universal Studio or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters and settings.  I don't own the characters, and am only using them for a short time.  I will return them in relatively the same shape as when borrowed.

Acknowledgements:  A huge thanks to MJ for her thoughtful comments, and to Caelie for sharing her medical knowledge and helping me to fine tune the story.  As always, any errors or inconsistencies are mine and do not in any way reflect on those who assisted me.

Note:  Greetings.  This is my first full Emergency story, but not my first fan fic.  I remember being in love with Roy and Johnny as a child.  Now, through reruns and the wonderful stories available on the net, I have fallen in love with them all over again. So, sit back and enjoy the adventure.  And don't forget to drop me a note to
let me know what you think of it ( krhwriter@alltel.net ).

Karen 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Little Rain Must Fall
by krh

9:35 p.m. Rampart Hospital

"Look.  You can't do anything more here.  Why don't you go home and try to get some rest.  I'll call you the minute there is any news," Dixie McCall said softly, squeezing the arm of her friend, careful to avoid the large bandage on it. 

John Gage looked up, the weight of his fear and worry reflected in his eyes. Forcing a half smile, he sighed and nodded.  "I know.  I just need a minute."  

Smiling tightly, Dixie squeezed John's arm again before rising.  "I'll call you.  Promise."  Stopping at the door, she turned back.  "Would you get the light on your way out?"

Nodding at her, John watch the door to the Rampart break room slowly close before he looked back at the half full cup in his hand.  It's probably cold by now, John thought lifting it to his lips anyway.  Grimacing at the bitterness of the cold coffee, he rose and dumped the remaining contents down the drain.  Absentmindedly rinsing the mug, he set it to the side to dry. 

Turning, he leaned against the counter, lost as to what he was exactly looking for.  Spotting a blue uniform jacket on the couch, he moved across the room and picked it up.  The glint of the overhead light reflecting off the metal badge on the cushion froze the dark haired man's movements.  With an effort, Gage forced is hand to pick up the badge and nameplate.  Dropping the coat, John ran his fingers over the letters on the narrow strip of metal.

Roy DeSoto.  Los Angeles Firefighter/Paramedic.

Blinking back tears, John swallowed several times trying to dislodge the lump in his throat restricting his air.  Dropping his arms helplessly, he gripped the cold metal until the edges cut into his hand.  At least it gave him something else to concentrate on.

Movement on the windows drew his attention.  Water was trickling down the outside of them.  It's raining, he thought.  You were right Roy.  Shaking his head, he remembered Roy's earlier comment that it would be raining before the day ended.  John had scoffed at him, pointing to the clear blue sky and making some smart-ass comment.

Picking up the coat again, John turned to leave the small room.  He should go.  Really he should.  His mind was coaxing him, knowing it was the right thing to do.  Stopping beside the door, his hand moved on its own volition and shut off the light.  As his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, John Gage quietly turned and moved back to the window.  Leaning his forehead on the cool glass, he looked out at the night-lights twinkling in the moisture and traced the path of the water on the window with his finger.

He was tired.  It had been a hard day.  He really should go home.

In fact, there were a million things he 'should' do.  He should check in with the guys at the station.  He should try to reach Joanne in San Diego again.  He should go take a shower.

Trouble was... there was only one thing he could do.

Wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earlier that day....
7:40 a.m., Station 51

"Morning," Roy DeSoto said, coming into the locker room to find that his partner had beat him in for a change.  "You're here early."

"Yeah, well, the landlady decided she needed the grass mowed this morning," John Gage said, pulling his shirt on.  "At six a.m., mind you. She couldn't wait til tomorrow morning when I wasn't there, no," he grumbled as he buttoned the shirt.

"It'll be wet tomorrow morning," Roy offered, tossing his street shoes into the locker.  "It's going to rain today."

Freezing mid-movement, John looked skeptically at his partner.  "Rain?  I didn't hear anything about rain for today.  Are you sure?"

"Shoulder's telling me," Roy offered in explanation.  He had wrenched it years ago in a rescue, and ever since then, it had been a sort of barometer for changes in weather.

"Hrmph," John snorted.  "That's your age showing."

Pinning Gage with his best glare, Roy pointed at him.  "Watch it, Junior. I'm not that much older than you."

Grinning mischievously, Gage shut his locker.  With his hands on his hips, he looked appraisingly up and down at Roy.  "Yeah, but it ain't the age, it's the miles.  And from what I'm seeing, you got quite a few more miles than me." 

Chuckling at the outraged look on Roy's face, John made his escape.  As the door closed behind him, he heard Roy holler, "What's wrong with the way I look?" 

Johnny chuckled as he thought that this might not be such a bad day after all.  Whistling as he crossed the bay, Gage went into the kitchen and greeted the men of A and C shifts mingling there.

He had poured himself a cup of coffee and taken the first sip of it when his best friend entered the kitchen area calling out greetings.  When Roy made it to the stove, he stared at Johnny to tell him to move out of the way.

Sliding down the counter, John couldn't contain the smile on his face. Picking up the coffee pot, he held it out to his partner.  "Coffee?" he asked innocently. 

Roy held out his cup, but his withering look let Johnny know his earlier comment was not forgotten.  He would get him for that one.

The sound of the klaxon forestalled any further thought on the subject.

STATION 51.  CHILD TRAPPED IN CONSTRUCTION AREA.  14568 CLAYTON PLACE. 14568 CLAYTON PLACE.  TIME OUT 0752.

Climbing into the squad, Roy adjusted the strap under his chin before starting the engine.  Hearing Captain Hank Stanley acknowledge the call and the frequency, he held out one hand for the slip of paper he knew would be passed at him at any second.  Handing the sheet to Johnny, he flipped on the siren and eased the big Dodge truck from the bay.

Child trapped.  Roy hated these types of calls, especially when they didn't know how bad it was.  Anything involving a child got to him.  Most of the time, it was something that could happen to one of his own kids.  Shaking himself, he forced his mind back on his driving.  That kind of thinking was only going to take him someplace he didn't need to be.

"Western Avenue."

Roy acknowledged Johnny's words with a nod.  Clayton was the next light after Western.  A few more miles and they would know.

"Should be on the right there," Gage directed, pointing to the construction zone just ahead.  Scanning the area, John realized that when it was finished, it was going to be an apartment complex.  Right now, it just looked like a bunch of lumber nailed together.

Pulling to a halt, Roy killed the motor and bailed out.  As Johnny pulled their equipment from the squad, Roy joined Hank who was being approached by two men in hard hats.

"Some walls came down on a kid.  Got 'em pinned pretty good," the older of the men gushed, wishing the firefighters would hurry up and get into the building.

Hank nodded to Roy to proceed.  Pointing at the younger man who had met the firefighters, Roy asked, "Can you show me where he is?"

"Sure," the stranger said, hurrying back to the structure with Roy on his heels. 

"Do you know how bad he's hurt?" Roy queried, bounding up the stairs to the third floor.

"Can't say.  We asked him a couple times, but he don't answer.  Can hear him crying, but he won't talk to us,"  the worker said, halting inside of a room and pointing to the pile of rubble in front of them.  Around the room lay boards that the construction workers had pulled off the pile.  The ones remaining appeared to be attached to each other.

Scanning the pile has he drew near it, Roy decided that the frame for a wall had collapsed, causing those around it to fall also.  Uneasily, he glanced at the ceiling hoping it would stay put until they got the boy free.  "How did the wall collapse?" Roy asked pensively, tearing his eyes from the rubble to look briefly at the construction worker.

The man shrugged.  "I was working downstairs and heard a crash.  Me and George came up here to see what happened and we saw all this and heard the kid crying."

Nodding to acknowledge the man's explanation, Roy heard the faint sounds of his partners entering the structure.  "Can you show the rest of the firemen up here so they can help me?"

Not waiting for the worker to amble out of the room, Roy knelt by the pile of beams.

"Son?"  Roy called out, peering between the boards to get a look at the youngster.  Spotting him, he shifted his position a little and called out again.  "Are you okay?"

Pulling another board away, he could see a tear-streaked little face about 15 feet from him. "Hi.  My name's Roy.  I'm with the fire department.  We're gonna get you out of there," he said.  "What's you're name?"

After a few seconds, a muffled voice replied.  "Chris."

"Chris, huh," Roy answered, forcing a lightness to his voice that he wasn't really feeling.  "That's my son's name.  How old are you Chris?" Roy continued, acknowledging the arrival of Johnny, Chet Kelly and Captain Stanley into the room with the gear.

"Eight." 

"Okay, Chris, you hold on, and we'll be there in a minute," Roy replied. Turning a little he looked at Johnny and spoke in a lower voice.  "From what
I can tell from here, he's got a cut on his left temple.  He hasn't moved around much, but I don't know if that's cause he's hurt or if there's just
no room in there."

"How do you want to get him out?"  Hank asked, scanning the pile of rubble appraisingly.

Looking up quickly, Roy pointed to top of the pile.  "If we can get a rope on the top two sections, maybe we can lift them enough that I can pull him out." 

Clapping his hands, Hank nodded. "Might work," he proclaimed, grabbing his handie-talkie.  "Engine 51, H.T. 51.  Send Marco in here."  Pushing the antenna back down, he shoved the small radio into his pocket before accepting a rope from Chet and moving to help him begin to tie off the beams. 

"Rampart, this is Squad 51.  How do you read?"  Johnny asked, jotting down the time on the small pad on the top of the biophone.

"Rampart, we have a small boy, eight years old, trapped under a pile of beams at a construction site," Johnny told them.  "We are still in the process of extricating him, but so far the only sign of injury is a cut on his left temple.  He is not accessible to get vitals yet."

"10-4, 51," Doctor Kelly Brackett acknowledged, jotting down the age and sex of the patient.  "51, as soon as you can, get me some vitals and check his pupils.  We'll stand by."

"10-4, Rampart," Johnny acknowledged, dropping the biophone back into its cradle and getting ready to help anyway he could.  Stepping over his prone partner, he joined Hank on the left side and nodded to Marco Lopez and Chet on the other that he was ready.

"Roy?"  Hank called out.

"Just a minute," Roy threw over his shoulder.  "Chris, listen to me.  These guys are going to lift the boards off of you.  When you feel them raising, I want you to move toward me.  Can you do that?"

"I'm scared," came the shaky reply.

Roy clamped down on the emotions swelling in him.  The youngster had sounded just like his son.  "I know you are," Roy soothed, "but everything's going to be okay.  I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

Something in the timber of Roy's voice caught Johnny's attention.  Glancing at Stanley, he could tell the older man had heard it too.  Both knew that calls involving children ripped at the senior paramedic.  This kid's name being the same as his own son had to be making it worse.  Dropping the line, Johnny stepped to Roy's side and kneeled down, placing a hand on his friend's back to get his attention.

"You want me to do it?" Johnny asked softly.

Glancing backward, Roy locked eyes with the younger man staring soberly at him.  Reading the concern, Roy blew out a breath, releasing some of the tension that had been building in him.  "No, I'm okay,” Roy answered quietly. "Let's just get this over with."

Once he was convinced that Roy really was handling the situation, Johnny stood back up and pulled on his gloves.  He nodded to Hank as he picked up the rope.  On Roy's call, Hank and Johnny started pulling on the top frame. A few second later, Marco and Chet followed suit, lifting the other walls.

Holding his breath, Roy's eyes darted between the small boy and the lumber overhead, watching both for signs of movement.  After what seemed like an eternity, Chris began squirming closer.  Stretching, Roy snagged the youngster and pulled him toward him.  Easing both of them away from the beams, he cradled the small body close and called out to the others that both were clear. 

Standing upright, DeSoto darted for the door, intent on getting Chris as far as possible from the danger.  Going down the stairs, he heard the rapid footfalls of his partner following him.

Breaking into the sunshine, Roy saw Johnny run past him to the squad.  By the time, Roy reached it, there was a blanket on the rough ground.  Easing his precious cargo onto it, Roy threw his hat to the side before leaning over the small boy.  "How you doing Chris?  Bet you're glad to get out of there, huh?"

Smiling at the fervently nodding head he saw in response, Roy began probing the cut on the boy's head.  "This hurt?" he asked, pushing gently on the various parts of his skull.  "No? Good. No sign of fracture," he threw over his shoulder at Johnny, "Pupils are equal and reactive," he added after shining his penlight into both eyes.

Johnny picked up the biophone.  "Rampart, this is Squad 51.  The patient has been extricated," he let them know.  "We've checked his head, and there are no signs of fracture.  Pupils are equal and reactive.  There are no other obvious signs of injury aside from the laceration on his head.  Stand by for vitals."

Laying his hand on the youngster's chest Roy counted his respirations and then took his pulse.  "Respirations are 20 and regular.  Pulse is 100."  He relayed to Johnny.  He grabbed the small blood pressure cuff from the drug box and put it on the boy's arm.  "BP is 90 over 64."

Roy gently pushed on Chris’ abdomen as Johnny passed the information on to Rampart.  "Chris, does your tummy hurt?"  The boy shook his head.  "How about your legs, or your neck, or your back?"  More head shakes.  Roy sat back and finally started to relax.

"Well Chris, it looks like you are going to be just fine."

"Can I go home now?" Chris asked hopefully, trying to get up.

"Oh no, you don't," Johnny said lightly, pressing down on the boy's shoulder.  "I've got to put this bandage on your head and then this guy," he threw a thumb toward Roy, "is going to ride with you to the hospital.  How does that sound?" 

"But I gotta get to school.  My Mom'll be mad if I don't get there," Chris exclaimed fearfully.

"Tell you what,” Johnny said, tearing off the last of the tape he needed. "You tell me where your Mom is and I'll go get her and take her to the hospital, too.  That way, when she finds out you didn't make it to school, Roy here will be there to help you out."

"Really?" Chris asked, astounded by the idea that Roy would help him out of a second jam. 

Grinning, Roy tousled the boy's hair.  "Really.  What do you say?  You going to tell my partner where your Mom is?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the way back to the station, Johnny peered sideways at his partner.  Roy had been really quiet on the trip.  Whereas that wasn't necessarily an unusual event, the small frown on his face was.  Shifting positions, John casually stated, "You know, that little guy sure was lucky.  He could of gotten hurt a lot worse."

Starting at the sound of Johnny's voice, Roy mentally shook himself to force his mind to stop its wanderings and listen to his partner.  When the words finally made sense, he nodded.  "Yeah, he was.  I wasn't sure when I saw that pile if he was even alive."

Silence descended for a few more minutes before Johnny tried again, this time in a little more direct route.  "Must of been hard for you, him being the same age and having the same name." He didn't need to add 'as your son.' He knew Roy would understand.

"Yeah," Roy breathed.  Glancing at Johnny, he forced his voice to lighten before he continued.  "Construction areas are like magnets for kids, especially little boys.  I've told Chris a hundred times to stay away from them, but he just gets that glazed looked in his eyes.  You know, the one where he thinks I'm overreacting or from Mars.  When these types of calls come in, there's a part of me that half expects it to be him."

Half smiling at the idea of Roy being from Mars, Johnny nodded.  He figured that Roy had been thinking that it could be of been his own son caught under that lumber.  It was good that he had acknowledged it out loud.  It seemed that if Roy could talk about it, he could let things go.  Now, if he could just divert him.  "Well, you are an old guy, you know. And we both know old guys don't know much."

"I thought it wasn't the years, it was the miles," Roy retorted dryly, referring to Johnny's early jab.

"Oh, those too," Johnny said, a huge grin escaping as he saw Roy visibly relax. 

"Uh huh," Roy replied dryly, slowing the squad to back it into the station. In less than a minute, he was shutting off the diesel engine.  Getting out of the truck, he nodded to acknowledge his captain who was watching a very delighted Gage come around the front of the truck.

"What's with him?" Hank asked Roy, nodding towards Johnny.

"Oh, he's having a good time today reminding me how old I am," Roy explained, sharing a knowing look with Hank to let him know he wasn't really bugged by the teasing.

"I see,” Stanley said. "So he's younger, stronger, more agile? Is that what's he saying?"

"I think that can be safely said," John retorted, looking from his captain to his partner, his hands resting on his hips.

Clapping his hands together, Hank grinned.  "Good, because that's just what I need.  Mike and Marco are out back hanging hose.  Why don't you go see if they need a hand?"

Wrapping an arm across Roy's shoulders, he turned the senior paramedic toward the kitchen door.  "What do you say Roy. How about us old geezers go get a cup of coffee?"

Peering back over his shoulder at his partner with a huge grin on his face, Roy replied,  "I could use a cup," before he disappeared.

Scowling, John Gage dropped his hands and headed for the back door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picking up the dirty plates from the table, Roy listened to the banter going on around him.  John and Chet had found some minor thing to squabble about. Not to be left out, Marco and Mike where chiming in periodically, adding their two cents and further fueling the fire.  Sometimes, Roy thought they did it intentionally.  Rolling his eyes in answer to Stanley's amused glance, DeSoto headed for the sink.

He really was lucky to be working with this group of guys.  Since he had returned from rescuing the little boy named Chris, each of the men had found a few moments to make sure he was okay.  Hank had managed to work it in over a cup of coffee upon his return.  Mike slipped in a direct question while passing Roy air tanks to stow in the squad.  Chet had cornered him in the locker room when Roy had gone in to wash his hands.  Marco approached the subject while helping Roy fix lunch.  And he knew that was why Johnny had teased him on the way back from the hospital.  Yeah, he was lucky.

"I'm right.  Aren't I, Roy?" Johnny insisted, coming up beside his partner and leaning on the counter.  Glancing sideways, Roy smiled knowingly.  John hated loosing an argument.  If Chet was getting the better of him, he would try to drag Roy into it as backup.

Seeing as he had tuned out the dialogue long ago, Roy really could be of no help to the younger man.  Rather than admit that, he leaned closer to Johnny.  "I'm an old guy.  Old guys don't know anything," he said, parodying what Johnny had said to him earlier.

Stunned, Johnny turned an irritated look toward Roy before hearing something from Chet that he 'had' to respond to.  Bounding back across the room pointing his finger frantically to emphasis the point he was going to make, John's response was drowned out by the sound of the klaxon.

SQUAD 51.  APPARENT HEART ATTACK.  6810 LACROSSE.  6810 LACROSSE.  CROSS STREET BAKER.  TIME OUT 1310.

"Squad 51.  KMG 365," Hank intoned, hanging up the microphone and handing Roy the call sheet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking dejectedly out of the Rampart Emergency room doors, Roy and Johnny slowly climbed into their truck and sat.  After a few minutes, Roy looked over and saw the sadness he was feeling reflected on his friend's face.

It had not been a good run.  By the time they had arrived, the victim had flat lined.  Thirty minutes of CPR and medications had proven fruitless. The worse part was that the guy's wife and two daughters had been there the entire time.  Every once in a while, their soft sobs and cries would penetrate the professionalism and renew the paramedics’ determination to pull the man from death.

It was to no avail.

"He was only 31," Johnny intoned softly, his earlier teasing of Roy taking on a whole new meaning.  "Man," he sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. "I hate these kind of runs."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Roy answered, rubbing at an imaginary spot of dirt on the steering wheel.  The fact that the man who had just died was the same age as himself had not been lost on the paramedic.  Still he had to find some way of putting it all in perspective - not only for Gage, but for himself.

"Doc said he must of had a heart defect that no one had found yet," Roy said softly, looking at John to make sure he was listening.  "He said even if we had been there when it happened, the ending would of probably been the same." 

"I know," Johnny replied.  "Doesn't make it any easier though," he added, catching his partner's eye.  "I just wish I knew why, in this day and age, thing like this have to happen."

They locked gazes for a brief moment, Roy broke the contact and reached down to start the engine.  Johnny's comment had brought to mind an old memory. Smiling slightly, he looked at his partner again. "Once I asked my Mom why there had to be rainy days.  She said it was so that we would appreciate the
sunny ones more." 

Roy watched as the unspoken parallel caused a reflective look to pass over Johnny's face.  Seeing him nod his head slowly in response, Roy nodded
toward the dash.  "Better make us available."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The remainder of the afternoon was a subdued affair.  Like other days when they had been unable to save their patient, the paramedics found tasks to keep themselves busy.  This afternoon, it was to wax the squad.  When Johnny suggested it, Roy had been reluctant, once again citing that it would be pointless because it was only going to rain that night.  Johnny had grabbed the older man's arm and pulled him through the open doorway of the bay and pointed to the blue sky.

"Look, there's not a cloud in the sky.  It's not going to rain," Gage insisted, turning around with the his arms extended in the air and head thrown back to emphasis his point.

"It's going to rain. Today," Roy insisted flatly, his hands in his pockets.

"You just don't want to wax the squad," Johnny accused him.

"Okay, fine." Roy relented.  "I don't want to wax the squad.  But that doesn't change the fact that it's going to rain tonight."

"You know what your problem is, Roy?" Johnny asked, leaning closer.  "You," he announced, tapping his finger into Roy's chest, "are a pessimist.  Yep, that's it.  You always expect the worse to happen."

Astounded, Roy spun to follow his younger partner back into the station. "How does knowing it is going to rain make me a pessimist?" he insisted, picking up the rag to wipe the wax off of the truck once it was dry.

The 'discussion' carried on throughout the truck detailing.  Their coworkers would periodically wander through the bay to add their thoughts on the subject, even though no one asked their opinions.

By the time Marco called them to come to dinner, both men were feeling much better and ready to eat.  Unfortunately, they never got the chance.

STATION 51, ENGINE 12, TRUCK 56, STATION 8, BATTALION 3.  TEXTILE MILL FIRE. 1437 NEIGHBOR WAY.  1437 NEIGHBOR WAY.  TIME OUT 1830.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pulling into the large parking lot of the abandoned textile plant, Roy and Johnny scrambled out and began putting on their turnout coats and air masks. Roy studied the smoke billowing through the cracks of the boarded up windows.  This is going to be a hot one.

"Marco, Chet, grab a two and half," Hank commanded.  "John, Roy, you two grab axes and start ventilating the front of that thing."

Grabbing his handie-talkie, Hank pulled up the antenna and clicked on the radio.  "LA, this is Engine 51.  We have an abandoned textile mill, five stories, fully involved.  Send me a second alarm."

Hearing the incoming horn of another fire truck, Hank turned and raised the radio again.  "Engine and Tanker 8, take the south side.  Engine 12, the west." 

Feeling the heat radiating from the windows and doors, the paramedics of Station 51 were careful to duck whenever they vented one of the many openings in the front of the large building.  Several times, this was the only thing that saved them from the flames that shot from the openings and lunged at them.

When they had finished with all the portals they could reach from the ground, the pair jogged back to the squad and threw their axes on the back of it.  They then grabbed the second hose line Mike had already connected to the engine.  Hauling the line to the front, they tapped Hank on the shoulder. 

"Where do you want us?" Roy yelled, his voice muffled from the air mask on his face.

"Head up to the third floor.  If Chet and Marco don't need help, go on up," Hank yelled back, using his thumb to point upward as he spoke.  When he saw their acknowledgement that they understood, Hank yelled into the radio to let his engine crew know help was on the way.  Hurry up, guys he silently coaxed as Johnny and Roy started back toward the building.  This place is only getting hotter, and if we don't cool her off quick, we're going to lose her.

Struggling to pull the heavy line, Gage and DeSoto finally made it to the third floor landing.  Reaching it, they found the crew of 51 being helped out by men from truck 12.  Seeing that one more line wasn't going to do anything more there, Johnny signaled for Roy that they should head up one more flight.  Nodding his agreement, Roy tapped the nearest man on the back and signaled that they were going up.

Crawling to the fourth floor because of the heavy smoke, the paramedics inched down the first hallway and turned the corner.  In front of them, they found a catwalk. On one side of the catwalk were doors that led to small rooms.  To the right, there was nothing but open air.  Looking down, the pair saw that the drop to the floor below was at least 40 feet.  At one point, the area below had probably been the main production center.  The bosses could stand up here and scan the entire operation without ever getting on the floor.

Kicking in the first door, the two quickly doused the flames in the former office.  Satisfied they had finished in this room, the duo moved on, kicking in the next door.  Again, they made short work of the fire inside.  Moving to the center of the catwalk, Roy motioned for Johnny to stand to one side while he kicked the door.  Positioning himself, he was just about ready to lash out when the door exploded outward, driving the senior paramedic over the short railing that was the only stop between him and the drop behind him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Instinctively throwing himself back from the blast, Gage felt a searing pain in his arm as he crashed onto the catwalk.  Sitting up, he quickly forgot about the large gash as he realized what had happened.  Diving for the edge of the catwalk, Johnny hoped beyond all hope that his partner had somehow found something to hold on to.  "ROY!!" Johnny screamed, searching through the haze.  When he could not find him, he quickly scrambled to his feet and began running back to the stairs.

Hitting the third landing, he paused only long enough to grab a handie-talkie from Chet.  "Engine 51, H.T. 51.  Cap, Roy's down.  Back side of the building, in the production room," John roared.  Not waiting for an acknowledgement, he shoved the radio back at a stunned Chet and again headed down.  

Panting from fear and exertion, Johnny felt like this was the slowest he had ever moved in his life.  He wasn't sure he was ever going to make it to the first floor. 

Running into Hank when he did finally reach the lower level, John raced ahead of his superior toward the back of the building.  Tearing through the final doorway, Johnny stopped dead in his tracks and peered frantically around the large warehouse.  Panic started to rise in his chest when he couldn't find Roy.  Just when he was beginning to think he was looking in the wrong room, he caught sight of a leg extending from a crumpled pile of cardboard boxes.  

The sound of Hank's arrival spurred the younger man back into action. Sliding to a halt in the middle of the room, John began throwing boxes out of the way.  Uncovering Roy's chest and head, he could see his friend was lying on his left side, propped up by the air tank still on his back. Frantically yanking off his glove, John laid his fingers on Roy's neck.  It took a few seconds, but he finally found it.  A pulse.

"He's alive," John yelled.

Blowing out a loud breath, Hank tried to figure out what had happened.  "I thought both of you were upstairs," he said, as he continued to move debris out of the way. 

Looking up, John pinned his captain with his eyes.  "We were."

Stunned, Captain Stanley looked up and realized fully what had happened. "Jesus," he whispered, traveling the distance with his eyes.  Shaking himself, he clicked on his handie-talkie.  "L.A., this is Engine 51.  I have a Code I at this location.  Please respond an ambulance and another squad."

"10-4, 51."

Easing the mask from Roy's face, John pulled his own mask off to test Roy's. Realizing the regulator on his partner's tank had broken as a result of the fall, John shrugged off his tank and connected it to Roy's mask.  The lingering smoke would be nothing more than a nuisance to him, but to Roy, it could be fatal. 

Having finished this, John began running his hands down Roy's limbs checking for breaks.  He was almost done when he heard the arrival of several other firemen.  Shooting a glance back towards, John called out, "Chet you wanna help Cap move this stuff away from here while I hold his head?"

Nodding, Chet grabbed one end of a large box under Roy while Hank grabbed the other.  They had just started to pull when they were stopped by a groan
emanating from the man lying on top of it.

"Roy?" John asked anxiously, scrambling to peer into the paramedic's face while holding up his hand to halt Hank and Chet's activities.  "Roy?  Can you hear me?" 

Twitching muscles confirmed that Roy was slowly regaining consciousness. Gently patting Roy's face, John continued.  "Roy, if you can hear me, open your eyes." When no reaction resulted, John hardened his voice.  "Open your eyes, Roy." 

Pain-shrouded blue eyes slowly appeared.  "I've got you.  You're going to be all right," Johnny assured his friend as Roy focused on him.  Johnny motioned for Chet to take over holding Roy's head, while he moved to Roy's side.  Taking both of Roy's hands, he looked back at his friend. "Roy, if you can feel my hands, squeeze them."

Holding his breath, John anxiously looked from Roy's face to his hand, willing him to squeeze the fingers in his grip.  "Roy, squeeze my hands," John encouraged again.  A smile lit up his face when Roy's hands tightened on his.  "Good," John said, glancing up at the men anxiously watching the assessment and nodding to let them know Roy had done as he had asked.

"Now push against my hands," John instructed, moving to Roy's feet and putting his palms against the soles of Roy's boots.  When Roy flexed his ankles, Johnny again smiled.  "No obvious sign of spinal injury," he said softly, relief evident in his voice.

Pulling his penlight from his hip, Johnny flicked it into Roy's eyes.  "The light bother you?" he asked, noticing how Roy flinched each time the small light crossed his pupils.  "Concussion," Johnny murmured, gently probing Roy's head. 

"Roy, can you take a deep breath for me?" Johnny asked, unbuckling his partner's turnout coat and moving his hands to Roy's chest.  As he felt the rise beneath his hands, he watched Roy's face for pain.  "That hurt?" he asked.  A mumble gave John his answer.  "You probably cracked a couple of ribs, but there's equal chest rise.  That's good."

Another low murmur came from the injured man.  Pushing the air mask aside, John leaned down so he could put his ear next to Roy's mouth.  "What else hurts?" he asked, repeating part of the mumbled words he had just heard.

Watching anxiously, Captain Stanley unconsciously leaned forward trying to hear what Roy was saying.  Although he couldn't make out the words, he could tell from the look on John's face that it was serious.

"What's going on?" Hank asked tightly as he saw Johnny gingerly begin feeling under Roy's lower back.

Sitting back up, John blew out a loud breath as he rubbed the blood on his hand on his pants.  "He's got a metal rod jammed into his back, about here," he said, motioning to his own lower back above the kidney.  "I don't know how far it's in, but he's bleeding pretty heavy."

Rubbing his forehead, John continued.  "We can't pull him off of there without risking him bleeding to death. I'm going to have to treat him here. Can someone get the equipment and the biophone?"

"I got it, Cap," Chet offered, hurrying off.

"What else do you need?" Hank asked anxiously.

"Just keep that fire away," responded Johnny, sneaking a glance at the burning rooms over their heads.

Hank nodded, slipping back into command mode.  "Engine 12, this is 51.  I need a line down here for coverage."

"10-4, Cap," came Marco's reply a moment later.

"Cap, can you help me with this?" Johnny requested as he cut the straps of Roy's tank.  "We need to ease this off of him real careful so we don't hit that rod or let him roll over on his back."

Hank nodded as he knelt down next to Roy.  He slowly eased the tank away from Roy as Johnny held the injured paramedic by the shoulders so he wouldn't roll and be impaled further.  Roy softly moaned in protest.  Johnny ran his hand across Roy's shoulder and felt the deformity on the left side. He moved his hand down to Roy's arm to hold him.

"Sorry, buddy, but I need to see exactly what we've got back here," Johnny explained as he stabilized the rod with one hand, while still supporting Roy with the other.

"Johnny, I've got the biophone and trauma box," Chet told him, breathlessly running up with the equipment.  "You need anything else?"

"Can you raise Rampart while I get his vitals?" Johnny requested as he grabbed some trauma dressings and tape from the box to stabilize the rod.

"I've got it, Kelly," Hank told him as he spotted Marco approaching with a hose.  "Help Lopez with that line."

Tightening the antenna into place, Cap turned on the phone and snatched up the handset.  "Rampart, this is Squad 51.  How do you read?"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Diverting his progression down the hall upon seeing the blinking red light above the room with the base stations in it, Dr. Kelly Brackett entered the room and hit the send button on the box.  "Unit calling in, this is Rampart, please repeat."

"Rampart, this is Squad 51," Hank repeated.  "We have an injured firefighter at a warehouse fire.  He fell approximately 40 feet and was impaled on a metal rod in his lower back, on his left side.  Victim is semiconscious, pale, and diaphoretic. Standby for vitals."

Wincing at the thought of falling 40 feet, Brackett finished his notes and acknowledged the transmission.  "10-4, 51."

"Rampart, BP is 80 over 46.  Pulse is 130.  Respirations are 35," Johnny relayed, taking the receiver from Hank.  "Pupils are sluggish but equal. The intrusion is in the lower left quadrant, extending approximately 6 inches from the patient's back.  There is profuse bleeding."

"10-4, 51.  Does the patient have any other injuries?" Brackett asked.

"That's affirmative, Rampart.  Patient appears to have a dislocated left shoulder, a fractured left radius and left tib fib, broken ribs on the left side, a laceration on his forehead with a probable concussion, and numerous contusions," Johnny answered.  "He landed on his air bottle, but there does not appear to be any sign of spinal injury.  Movement is positive in all four extremities."

Shaking his head, Kelly noted all the injuries and jabbed the send button. "51, start two IVs with Ringers Lactate. Run both of them wide open. Stabilize the impaled object before moving him.  Also, stabilize the neck and spine as best as you can.  Do you have an ETA?"

"10-4, Rampart.  Two large bore IVs running wide open, and stabilization of the impaled object and the patient's neck and spine," Johnny repeated back, grabbing the IV Hank had already set up for him.  "We don't have an ETA, Rampart.  The object that impaled the patient is attached to the floor."

"51, is there enough room between the patient and the floor to cut the rod?" Brackett asked. 

"Negative, Rampart."

"10-4, 51.  You'll have to raise him up then to cut it," Brackett relayed, not liking the idea but knowing it was the only way.  "Try to keep him as straight as possible.  Monitor the vitals constantly and be prepared to control the bleeding."

"10-4, Rampart," Johnny answered reluctantly.  "Cap, we're going to need a saw in here."

Hank nodded and clicked on his H.T.  "Engine 51, this is H.T. 51.  Can you have someone bring us a saw?"

Johnny heard Mike reply "10-4" as he was expertly starting the first IV on Roy.  He checked the flow of the line, but hesitated before sticking his partner again.  The agitated movement of Roy's head compelled the young man to look into his friend's face and move the oxygen mask.  "Roy?  What’s wrong?" 

"Cold.  Hurt," Roy mumbled, a shiver running through him.

Looking back, Johnny spotted several of his partners waiting for the slightest request so that they could help in some small way.  "Somebody get me a blanket."

Turning back to Roy, John tried to comfort his friend.  "Let me get these IVs started and then I'll talk to Rampart about getting you something for the pain. Okay?"

Roy only moaned in response.  Johnny quickly started the second IV and double-checked the flow of both IVs before snatching up the biophone.

"The ambulance is outside waiting," proclaimed the firefighter who had gone for the blanket as he handed it to Johnny.  Johnny nodded to acknowledge the announcement as he draped the cover over Roy.  "Rampart, this is Squad 51," he intoned.

"This is Rampart, go ahead 51," Brackett replied.

"Rampart, patient is in extreme pain.  Request permission to administer 5 milligrams MS IV."

"Negative 51," Brackett snapped, surprised that Johnny would make such a request.  "Not with that BP and a possible head injury.  Do you have the patient free yet?"

Closing his eyes in despair that he was not going to be allowed to ease Roy's pain, Johnny sighed, "Negative, Rampart.  Will be a few minutes."

Dropping the phone, Johnny leaned over Roy.  "Roy, how you doing?  Warmer?" he asked softly, pulling the blanket closer.

"Hurt,” Roy murmured again, his blue eyes having trouble focusing on Johnny's face.  When they finally did, he tried to move his arm to grab a hold of him. 

"Hey, hey, don't do that," Johnny chided, pushing the arm back down and checking the needle placement.  "You'll blow your IV."

"Johnny,” Roy slurred, pain and shock making his mouth and brain work against each other.  "Tell Joanne... kids... sorry... love 'em...."

"You'll tell them yourself," John interrupted.  "You're going to be fine," he insisted, gripping Roy's cheek to keep his head from turning.  "Look at me.  Roy, look at me.  You are going to be fine," Gage stressed, injecting his most soothing tone into the words.  "I'm not going to let anything happen to you." 

Hearing the words echo in his own ears, Johnny winced.  He had said those same things a hundred times.  Most of the time, they were true.  Sometimes, however, no matter what he tried or did, other forces conspired against him and the patient would slip away.  Silently, John Gage prayed that this would not be one of those times.

Johnny watched as Roy slowly lost his battle with consciousness.  For a brief moment, panic descended on Johnny.  Desperately, he sought out a pulse.  Finding it, his body slumped in relief as he dropped his head and shut his eyes, relishing the feel of the faint thumping on his fingers.

"Johnny?" 

Hank's tense question brought Gage's head snapping up.  Clearing his throat, he forced the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him out of the way one more time.  "He's unconscious," Johnny reported, pulling his hand away reluctantly.  "We've got to get him out of here."

Standing up, ready to do whatever was necessary, Hank looked questioningly at his man. "Any suggestions on how we do that?"

Sitting back and looking again at Roy's predicament, John rubbed his forehead as he forced his mind to come up with an idea.  Suddenly his head snapped up.  "What if we use these boxes as a stretcher, use them to lift him up and as a buffer from the saw," he suggested to Hank.  "We don't need much room, only a couple of inches."

Glancing around Roy to verify that the boxes overlapped enough to support him, Hank nodded in agreement.  "Might work."

Mike suddenly appeared at Hank's side, the saw in his hand.  "Who's on the pumps?" Hank barked.  "We still have lines in here."

"The Cap off of 12s," Mike answered quickly.  "He told me I was needed more inside."

"He was right," Hank muttered.   "Okay, here's the deal.  We have to cut through that rod underneath DeSoto.  The problem is, the other half is in Roy, so we have to be real careful."

"You want me to do it?" Mike questioned anxiously.

"You're the best one with the saw, Michael," Hank assured him.  "The rest of us will lift him while you're cutting."  Mike nodded, but his reluctance was
apparent. 

Turning his eyes back to Gage, Hank continued.  "John, you monitor his vital and I'll let you know if he starts bleeding more than he already is."

John shifted his position so that he could check Roy without impeding the men trying to lift him.  It was the best he could do under the circumstances.  Placing his hand back on Roy's neck, he found the faint, thready pulse before catching Hank's eye and nodding once to let him know he was ready. 

Glancing around at the men waiting to help Roy, part of Gage's mind was struck by the variety of stations represented there.  Roy had touched so many lives, and the men around him at this moment only proved that.  Looking at their faces, he knew that they had helped each of them over the years. Some had been trapped, some hurt - all in need. And he and Roy had been there.  Now these same men were here in their time of need.

'Why does there have to be rainy days?  So we appreciate the sunny ones more.'

Roy's words echoed again in Johnny's head as the men gently elevated their comrade.  All conscious thoughts were driven from his mind as he focused on the faint sporadic thumping under his fingers.  Unconsciously, he listened to the sound of the saw blade grating on the metal bar, waiting for the clatter of it hitting the floor to mark the severing of the metal's hold on his friend.

It took less than a minute for Roy to be freed.  John darted around Roy as Hank, Chet, Marco, and Mike all appeared at their fallen friend's side. "Okay, ease him onto the stretcher," Johnny instructed.  "Watch his arm," he cautioned, diving for the IVs to make sure they had not been jarred loose. "Easy, easy... Marco, grab a blanket and roll it up.  Chet, help me roll him a little so he's not laying on his bad side...Okay, slip that blanket in here...good." 

Satisfied with Roy's positioning, Johnny shoved the stethoscope back into his ears and pumped up the BP cup.  After reading the gauge, he listened briefly to Roy's chest before taking another pulse.  Finishing this up, he bent to look for the first time at Roy's back.  Cutting away his shirt, Johnny drew a shaky breath before snatching up the biophone.

"Rampart, Squad 51.  Victim is freed.  BP is 60 by palpation, pulse is thready.  Lungs are still clear.  There is a large contusion on the lower left quadrant anterior to the impalement.  The area is rigid."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kelly Brackett shook his head, not liking the news he was hearing.  Pushing the call button, he leaned forward.  "10-4, 51.  Get him in here as fast as you can." 

Coming out of the base station room, Dr. Brackett caught Dixie McCall coming down the hallway.  "Dix, 51's bringing in an injured firefighter.  I want X-Ray down here right away, and we're going to need an operating room on standby."

"You got it," Dixie announced, heading for the desk to make the arrangements. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scrambling out of the ambulance while juggling two IVs, Johnny rushed beside the gurney through the double doors of Rampart General Hospital's Emergency
Room.  He had come through those same doors a thousand times.  Still, when it was someone you knew on the gurney, it felt like the first time.  You weren't sure where to go or what was going to happen.

"How's he doing?" Dixie asked, coming to halt beside Johnny.  Glancing at John, she saw how pale and serious he was.  Her eyes were drawn to the doors opening behind the young paramedic, wanting to see if his partner was as worried about this firefighter as Gage appeared to be.  Instead of DeSoto, a somber Marco Lopez entered.  Her mind racing, she knew instinctively who was on the stretcher.  Drawing in a deep breath to brace herself, her eyes darted to the face under the oxygen mask.  "Roy?" she asked, shock and disbelief in her voice.

Raising her head and turning slightly to locate Brackett, she saw him approaching down the hallway.  "Let's get Roy into three," she pronounced to those standing around her, slipping back behind the professional mask to distance herself from the fact that she was going to have to work on a friend.

Opening the treatment room door, she stepped aside to let the others pass. Snagging onto Brackett's arm as he followed the gurney into the room, Dixie stopped him.  "It's Roy," she said quietly.

Brushing past Dixie, Brackett rushed into the room.  Having to wait a minute while they finished settling the patient, he stepped in at the first moment and began assessing Roy's lower back.  "Vitals?" he snapped.

"BP is 50 by palpation, pulse is 120 and thready, respiration is 17 and shallow," Carol called out, removing the stethoscope from her ears.

"Hang two units of blood and tell OR we're on our way up," Kelly ordered, moving his examination to Roy's head.  Looking up at the X-ray technician standing in the corner, he added, "I want lumbar, pelvis, hip, shoulder, arm, and leg, and a full skull series, stat. Bring them up to the OR."

Catching sight of a very pale John Gage standing to one side watching and listening to every nuance going on around him, Kel called out softly, "Dix." When the head nurse looked at him, he tipped his head towards the soot and dirt covered paramedic.

Nodding to acknowledge Brackett, Dixie stepped around the examination table and moved to Johnny's side.  "Come on," she said softly.  "Let's go get you cleaned up."   She pulled gently on his arm.

Sucking in a sharp breath, John instinctively pulled his arm away from Dixie. 

"Johnny? Are you hurt?" Dixie asked, reaching again for his arm, this time to assess it.  Peering at it, she could see a large rip in the turnout gear.

Frowning, John looked down at his arm, trying to remember why it would hurt. "Uh, the explosion," he said in explanation, his attention again diverted back to the events in the room.  "It's nothing," he added offhandedly.

"Why don't we let Mike or Joe be the judge of that?" Dixie said sternly, turning John toward the door.  When he balked and looked back at the table, she added softly,  "You've done all you can for him."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Watching as Dr. Joe Early finished taping the gauze bandage to his arm, Johnny winced when Joe accidentally pushed on the six inch long gash. "Sorry," Joe said, catching sight of the movement.  Standing back, he laid down the tape  and scissors.  "You'll need to keep a close eye on that," he said.  "Any redness, or if the soreness doesn't go away in a few days, you get back in here."

Nodding slowly, John eased himself from the table.  "Thanks, Doc," he murmured.  Turning towards the door, he paused only long enough to pick up his turnout coat.  "I'm going to go check on Roy," he explained, nodding his head toward the door.

"They've just taken him to surgery," Dixie said, overhearing the comment as she entered the room.  Coming closer to John, she patted his upper arm. "Kel said the metal rod penetrated his kidney, but he won't know how bad it is until he gets in there.  It could be a couple hours before we know anything," she said softly.  Slipping her hand into her pocket, she removed several items and held them out to the firefighter.  "I thought you'd better keep these," she murmured, handing over Roy's badge, name tag, wallet, and scissors kit. 

Numbly, John nodded while accepting the items.  Roy's personal effects.

"Is Joanne in the waiting area?" Joe asked, rubbing the palm of his hand in a nervous gesture.  He liked Roy a lot and knew that a kidney injury could be life threatening.

Shaking her head, Dix was about to tell him they hadn't been able to reach her yet when John interrupted.

"She and the kids went to San Diego this morning to spend a couple days with her sister," Johnny said, still staring at the metal in his hand and remembering that Roy had mentioned his family's trip earlier in the day. "He always carries the number in his wallet."

"Why don't we go try her there," Dix said, encouraging John to go with her. "We can use the staff lounge."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Setting the receiver back in its cradle, Johnny eased back into a chair at the table and sighed heavily.  "Still no answer."

"Maybe they went to a movie or something," Dixie offered.  "I gave the number to Marco before he headed back and he said they would keep trying, too."  Johnny didn't seem to hear her as he fidgeted anxiously in his chair. "Look.  You can't do anything more here.  Why don't you go home and try to get some rest.  I'll call you the minute there is any news," Dixie said softly, squeezing the arm of her friend, careful to avoid the large bandage on it. 

John Gage looked up, the weight of his fear and worry reflected in his eyes. Forcing a half smile, he sighed and nodded.  "I know.  I just need a minute."  

Smiling tightly, Dixie squeezed John's arm again before rising.  "I'll call you.  Promise."  Stopping at the door, she turned back.  "Would you get the light on your way out?"

Nodding at her, John watch the door to the Rampart break room slowly close before he looked back at the half full cup in his hand.  It's probably cold by now, John thought lifting it to his lips anyway.  Grimacing at the bitterness of the cold coffee, he rose and dumped the remaining contents down the drain.  Absentmindedly rinsing the mug, he set it to the side to dry. 

Turning, he leaned against the counter, lost as to what he was exactly looking for.  Spotting a blue uniform jacket on the couch, he moved across the room and picked it up.  The glint of the overhead light reflecting off the metal badge on the cushion froze the dark haired man's movements.  With an effort, Gage forced is hand to pick up the badge and nameplate.  Dropping the coat, John ran his fingers over the letters on the narrow strip of metal.

Roy DeSoto.  Los Angeles Firefighter/Paramedic.

Blinking back tears, John swallowed several times trying to dislodge the lump in his throat restricting his air.  Dropping his arms helplessly, he gripped the cold metal until the edges cut into his hand.  At least it gave him something else to concentrate on.

Movement on the windows drew his attention.  Water was trickling down the outside of them.  It's raining, he thought.  You were right, Roy.  Shaking his head, he remembered Roy's earlier comment that it would be raining before the day ended.  John had scoffed at him, pointing to the clear blue sky and making some smart-ass comment.

Picking up the coat again, John turned to leave the small room.  He should go.  Really he should.  His mind was coaxing him, knowing it was the right thing to do.  Stopping beside the door, his hand moved on its own volition and shut off the light.  As his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, John Gage quietly turned and moved back to the window.  Leaning his forehead on the cool glass, he looked out at the night-lights twinkling in the moisture and traced the path of the water on the window with his finger.

He was tired.  It had been a hard day.  He really should go home.

In fact, there were a million things he 'should' do.  He should check in with the guys at the station.  He should try to reach Joanne in San Diego again.  He should go take a shower.

Trouble was... there was only one thing he could do.

Wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Watching as the squad backed into the bay, Hank moved towards it as Marco exited the vehicle.  "Any news?"

"He's in surgery.  Doctor Brackett said that the rod went into his kidney. Can still go either way," Marco reported somberly, acknowledging the other men who had come out of the kitchen to also hear the news.

"Kidney," Hank repeated, shaking his head in concern.  "That's rough.  How long before we know?"

"Couple hours," Lopez said, starting toward the  kitchen area.  "Oh, Cap, John remembered Roy saying that Joanne went to her sister's house this morning.  Here's the number."

Accepting the slip of paper, Hank looked at the numbers in dread.  He really didn't want to have to be the one to tell her.  Still, he owed Roy that much.  "I better see if I can get a hold of her."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying in the darkness staring at the ceiling above his bed, Mike Stoker knew he wasn't the only one wide awake.  The restless shuffling and pillow punching permeating the sleeping quarters told him that. What he wouldn't give for a run right now.  It didn't have to be anything big.  Hell, a trash fire would do.  At least it would give everyone something else to do for a little while. 

Holding his arm in front of his face, Mike could just make out the position of the hands on the dial in the dim light.  Twelve thirty in the morning. Almost three hours since they had learned Roy was going into surgery. Shouldn’t we know something by now?

The shrill ring of the telephone brought Mike upright.  Before he could cross the short distance to the desk, Captain Stanley had pounced on the receiver. 

"Station 51, Captain Stanley speaking," Hank announced, switching on the light and jotting down the time on his log sheet out of habit.  Covering the mouthpiece he threw over his shoulder, "Doctor Bracket" before removing his hand and saying "How's Roy doing?"

After a few seconds, Hank murmured, "I see."  Another pause in the conversation brought a surprised exclamation from the Captain. "John?  No, he hasn't come back here."  Turning, he again covered the mouthpiece and caught Mike's eye.  "Go see of Gage's truck is still out there," he said, tossing his head toward the back of the station.   Speaking back into the receiver, he said, "Joanne's plane is landing in about an hour.  Could he have gone to pick her up from the airport?"

Coming back into the room, Stoker shook his head.  "It's still there, Cap."

Nodding, Stanley relayed the information to Rampart.  "Okay, yeah if he shows up, I'll have him call you.  Thanks for calling, Doc.  Keep us posted." 

Blowing out a loud breath as he put down the telephone, Hank turned to face the men waiting behind him.  Before he could say anything however, Chet could no longer contain himself.

"So, how's Roy?" 

"He made it through surgery.  Brackett said the rod pierced the top of the kidney.  Now, we wait to see if it starts working again or if they will have to go in and remove it."

"What about the rest of him?" Marco asked.

"Dislocated shoulder and broken forearm and leg," Cap answered.  "The good news is that there is no spinal damage like John thought and although his hip is severely bruised, it wasn't broken."

"Man," Kelly whispered, imagining how much down time it was going to take for DeSoto to mend.  Gage is going to have to break in a new partner for awhile.  "What about Gage?" he asked, reminded of the odd conversation he had just overheard.

"Nobody can find him," Cap said.

"What do you mean nobody can find him?" Chet challenged.  "John wouldn't leave that hospital unless he knew Roy was going to be all right."

"That may be, but no one has seen him.  He doesn't even know that Roy is out of surgery," Hank reiterated standing up.   "So, if he shows up here, make sure he knows and tell him to call Doctor Brackett.  Until then, let's try to get some sleep or we won't be worth a damn if a call comes in."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I can't for the life of me think of where Johnny could have gone," Dixie stated as she walked with Brackett toward the break room.  "When I left him in the break room he said that he just needed a minute and then he was going home to get cleaned up and try Joanne again."

"It is strange, that's for sure," Kel agreed, sidestepping to let a gurney pass.  "How was he acting?"

Frowning, Dixie concentrated on the encounter.  "A little out of it perhaps, but nothing outlandish.  I just figured he was in shock from everything that had happened.  You know how close he and Roy are."

"Yeah, I do," Kel replied softly, pushing open the break room door for  Dix. "That's what concerns me."   Putting two cups of coffee on the table, Kel eased into the chair opposite of the head nurse and tried to deflect her thoughts.  "I'm sure John will show up soon.  So, what else has happened tonight while I was in surgery?"

Taking a sip of her coffee, a half smile crept onto Dixie's face at the obvious diversion.  "Not much," she said.  "A guy who managed to glue himself to the kitchen sink he was fixing, a little tyke with an asthma attack, and 16 brought in a couple of people from a traffic accident.  Both had minor injuries.  Joe was able to handle everything without any problems. Isn't that the way it is though?  When you want a busy night to keep from thinking about something, nothing happens."

Grinning, Kel nodded. "And when you're dead on your feet, they come in so fast you have to double up people in the treatment rooms."

"Speaking of treatment rooms, I'd better go make sure someone finished cleaning up three," Dixie said, standing up.   "By then, Joanne should be here." 

Finishing his coffee, Kel stood up.  "And I'd better go see how our star patient is doing.  I'd hate for anything to go wrong now for him."

"Me, too.  I'll see you later."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Assessing that everything was still quiet as she made her way down the Emergency area hallway, Dixie pushed the door open to treatment room three. Taking a few steps into the room, she stopped and propped her hands on her hips at the sight before her.

"John Gage, do you know half of Los Angeles is looking for you?"

Jumping guiltily, Johnny straightened from his slumped position on the stool next to the treatment table.  When the identity of the speaker penetrated his mind, he jumped up.  "How's Roy?" he asked tensely.

All thoughts of chewing the young paramedic out vanished from Dixie's mind. She could not bear to do so as long as the worry was so evident on him. "He's fine," she said warmly.  "He's in ICU.  Kel is really optimistic that the kidney will be okay."

For the first time in hours, John Gage felt like he could release the breath he had been holding.  Doing so, his shoulders dropped as the tension flowed from his body, leaving it weak.  Rubbing his face as fatigue coursed through him, he finally looked again at the head nurse.  "I wasn't sure he was going to make it this time," he confessed hoarsely.   "He was barely alive when I left him here," John whispered, laying his hand on the table beside him.

Dixie mentally kicked herself for not thinking of looking in here earlier. It made perfect sense that John would come back to the last place he had seen his friend. 

"I thought you were going home to get cleaned up?" she asked evenly.

Sheepishly, John glanced down at his dirty uniform.  "I was, but... well...," he stuttered, trying to find some way to say that he couldn't leave without knowing one way or the other about Roy.

"I know," she said saving him from any further explanation.  "Well, come on. Let's at least get some of the dirt off your face before Joanne gets here. One look at you and she'll die of fright."

"Joanne," John exclaimed, suddenly agitated.  "I didn't call Joanne."

"Relax," Dixie said, raising her hands.  "Captain Stanley reached her and explained everything.  She should be here any minute now, and you both can go up and see Roy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eight weeks later...

Coming into the station, Johnny stuck his head into the kitchen area before heading back to the locker room.  "Morning Cap.  He here yet?" he asked, scanning the room and nodding a greeting to his co-workers

"Haven't seen him," Captain Stanley replied, smiling at the excitement shining on Gage's face.  Truth be told, everyone had a certain aura about them today.  This was the day DeSoto was to come back to work and the station would be 'right' again.

"Thanks," John answered, heading over to the locker to store his gear.  He had worn his uniform in so he didn't have to change his clothes.  Pausing outside of the locker room entry, he watched Roy through the small window. Momentarily, the image of his friend in the intensive care unit flashed through his mind.  Shaking his head, Johnny banished the memory of the many tubes and machines hooked to the ashen, unmoving form.

Stilling his features, John pushed the door open.  "Morning," he said nonchalantly as he came into the room.  Opening his locker, he shrugged off his coat and grabbed a hanger.

"Morning yourself," Roy replied, pausing in his dressing to watch his partner.  After a few moments of silence, Roy retorted, "I come back after two months off, and all I get is a 'morning.'"

Glancing sideways, Johnny acted surprise.  "Oh?  Were you gone?"

"Ha, ha," Roy replied, shrugging on his shirt.  "You know, you might be able to get Cap to send you up to 72 for the rest of your career."

"72?" Johnny queried, confusion on his face.  "72 is a one-man station in the middle of nowhere."

"Exactly." 

"Ha, ha yourself," Johnny said, a fake smile of amusement on his face. "You know...," he began, pointing at Roy even as part of him realized how much he had missed the camaraderie the two shared.  Whatever the younger paramedic was going to say was stopped by the sound of the klaxon echoing off the walls.

"STATION 51, TRAFFIC ACCIDENT WITH INJURIES.  129TH AND SYCAMORE.  129TH AND SYCAMORE.  TIME OUT, 0756."

Slamming his locker shut, Roy paused at the doorway.  "You ready?" he queried, looking back at the man watching him.

Johnny nodded, and Roy hurried out.

Watching Roy hustle to answer his first call since the fire that had nearly killed him, Johnny relished the moment.  'Why does there have to be rainy days?  So we appreciate the sunny ones more.'

Johnny shut his own locker and headed out.  Pushing open the door, he watched the familiar form of his partner jog out of sight around the big engine.  A smile lingered on Johnny's face as he murmured, "More ready than you know, my friend," before following him across the bay.

The End.

August, 2001