RECLAMATION - Part 5

Chapter Twenty-One

John was restless today, which was understandable.  We were talking about what he still struggles with the most, namely his dealings with women.

We've had many discussions about this in the past.  I've explained the current medical theories regarding sexual preference; that homosexuals are born, not made.  But it is difficult for him to trust me on this.  Especially when he remembers with such clarity the times he "played the game," as he puts it, with Reggie and enjoyed it.  He is mistaking physical pleasure with emotional satisfaction, but I have been hard pressed to convince him of that.

I believe he will never be entirely certain of his sexual identity until he has an actual encounter with a woman.  A trial by fire, if you will.  But I can hardly write him a prescription for a night of romance.  He will have to do this on his own.

Perhaps he will finally be able to with Francie. He has a great deal of feeling for the girl.  I can tell that by his body language; the way he relaxes from his constant fidgeting when he's talking about her; telling me something she did or said.  He hasn't said anything about love.  But they have only known each other a short time, and I believe his caution is not entirely due to his ordeal.  I believe he is wary of repeating mistakes he made in the past; mistakes he feels were his fault.

That is another area we've been working hard at; his tendency to blame himself for everything.  He still clings to the notion that he could have done something different, that he should have been able to keep Roy from being shot that night, that he should have been more like the other firemen whom Reggie tortured and killed.

He has built up in his head some idealized image of Reggie's other victims.  That somehow these men were heroic, brave and noble souls who stoically bore Reggie's torture rather than submit to his game of control.  No one will ever know exactly what happened to these other men, or why Reggie chose not to kill John as he did the others.  From what I know of these kind of predators, he probably played the same mind games with them.  I do not believe they had any choice in what they did or didn't do, anymore than John did.  But he still believes that he somehow gave in where others held strong.  That he cooperated rather than fight back.

The fact that fighting back would certainly have resulted in his own death at Reggie's hand never seems to factor into his self-recrimination.  He has made some progress in this regard, more and more so as he has taken successive steps to regain his life.  But he is still not entirely free of moments of doubt.

But something else was on his mind today.  There was something making him uneasy.  And it was more than just his upcoming evening with Francie, which I could tell he was excited about, even though he tried to downplay it.  If I waited for him to bring it out in the open, it might never happen, so I decided to try and help him out.

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about today, John?"

His fingers drummed a little faster on the arm of the chair.  Then he suddenly got up and walked over to stare out my office window.

"I can't get Roy to come in here," he finally stated in an even tone.

So this was about Roy.  He'd been worried about his friend for a while now.

"You can't force him, you know.  He'll come in when he feels ready."

John turned from the window to look at me.  "But that's the trouble.  I don't think he'll ever be ready.  I don't know why he's being so stubborn."

I hid a smile, remembering Roy's concerns about John coming in were along the exact same line.  I must not have been entirely successful, for John returned my smile a little sheepishly.

"I know, I know... but I was in a very bad place."

"You don't think Roy is?"

I could see Johnny was thinking about that, so I went on.

"Roy was Reggie's victim too," I reminded him.  "I think sometimes we all forget that."

"I know," John said.  "I know he nearly died when Reggie shot him."

I nodded my acknowledgment.  "But that wasn't all there was to it.  Roy very nearly went through what you did, John.  Reggie had him in handcuffs and had a gun to his head."

"You don't have to tell me, Doc," John replied.  "That night plays over and over in my head."

"I'm sure it does in Roy's too.  If you hadn't shown up and convinced Reggie to make the trade, it would have been Roy.  Don't you think Roy thinks about that?"

John shrugged, a little out of his depth now.  "Probably.  But I've already told him it wasn't a big deal.  I wasn't trying to be a hero.  I just..."

"But it was a big deal to Roy," I interrupted.  "Put yourself in his place for a moment.  He was probably terrified, wondering what was going to happen to him.  Wondering if he was going to die.  And then you came around the squad and took his place."

John's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what I was telling him.

"You make it sound like he wanted to go."

"No.  But I'm sure he spent the whole time you were gone believing he let you go.  Survivors go through an awful lot of guilt, John.  I'm sure Roy experienced his share."

"More than his share," John agreed.  "Roy does guilt better than anybody I know."

"Maybe not better than anybody," I interjected with a smile.

John chuckled in self-awareness.  "Touche, Doc.  But I'm home now.  Wouldn't that survivor guilt fade away?"

"Not necessarily.  All this is speculation, mind you," I continued.  "Just based off past experiences with other patients, and from what you've told me.  But think about this... You came home.  You survived a horrendous ordeal.  And because you were hurting, you leaned on Roy.  Because he's your friend, he wanted to help.  I know he encouraged you to talk to him about what happened."

John nodded at my statements.  Most of this I knew from when Roy had first approached me about taking John on as a patient.

"What do you think that did to Roy's guilt to hear about what happened... to see you go through all that anguish your first few months at home.  He had to wonder why he let you go in his place."

"But he didn't let me go..."

"I know that.  But think of it from Roy's perspective.  I would imagine he's beating himself up because his best friend suffered  in his place.  And you survived.  That's the key here, John.  I would even bet he sometimes wonders what he would have... if he would have been as strong as you.  If he could have come home.  But he'll never know that.  You took that away from him... the chance to find out what kind of man he was."

John shook his head in disbelief.  "Doc, that's... that's crazy."

"Not crazy," I countered calmly.  "Just human.  But Roy probably can't see that any more than you can.  He's too close to it.  So he feels anger, but he doesn't know who he's angry with or why."

John finally moved away from the window and sank back into the chair.  I could see he was thinking things over.

"Doc... if I could get him in here... if he could talk about this stuff... it would help him, right?"

"Certainly," I agreed.  "Just like you've made progress, John.  Keeping things bottled up inside usually just means trouble down the road.  Sooner or later things blow up in your face."

"Francie thinks... she thinks Roy won't come in because of me.  Because of things he knows that I haven't told you."  He glanced at me to see my reaction.  "Could that be true?"

"It's possible... probably even likely.  I've been a doctor a long time.  I never kid myself that my patients tell me everything."  I gave him an encouraging smile.  "Since Roy is your best friend, I'm sure you've told him things you haven't shared with me.  The question then becomes... can you tell me?  Can you do that for Roy?"

John blew out a long, noisy breath.  His fingers resumed their constant drumming on the arm of the chair.  When he finally began talking he didn't look at me.  He kept his eyes fixed on his lap.  And very hesitantly he told me about Reggie's gallery.  About the part of the game Reggie liked the most, and the souvenirs he kept from it.  And the day John took Roy to the house.  How Roy went in alone and found the evidence his friend so desperately needed to get rid of.  How they never told anyone, not even the police.

"I was afraid, Doc," Johnny finished.  "Afraid people would see.  Afraid they wouldn't let me have Missy.  And I made Roy promise.  He promised he would never tell.  And I know he hasn't... not even Joanne."

I could tell how hard it was for John to tell me these things.  This was something I don't think he'd ever planned to share.  Now, listening to John's story, I gained a new insight into the depth of these men's friendship.  And a new understanding of how much pain one person was willing to endure for another.

John stood up, ready to end our session.  He looked drained.

"I'll let him know," he said.  "I'll call him tomorrow when he's off shift.  I have another call to make today."

* * *

"I don't know what else to tell you, John.  I don't have the manpower to put somebody on surveillance.  If you see anything suspicious or this guy does anything else, let me know."

"Okay, Lieutenant.  Thanks."

He sighed and hung up the phone.  Crockett had been sympathetic, and surprisingly sensitive to how difficult it was for Johnny to talk about the occurrences, but it was just like the paramedic thought it would be.  To the police it was petty vandalism.  Not a priority.  But at least now he could tell Roy he'd made the call.  So far all the guy had cost him was his time and a little paint.  As long as he didn't bother Francie any more, then Johnny could live with it.

He put the vandalism aside to deal with later.  He had other things to keep his mind occupied this evening.  It was Friday and Francie was busy in the kitchen.  Dixie had just left with Missy.  Johnny still wasn't sure about having the baby spend the night, but Dixie had told him to go ahead and plan on it, but if he changed his mind just call before he came.  Before she left though, Johnny had made sure she promised to call him if she had any trouble getting Missy to sleep.

"We'll be fine," she had assured him again, and they drove off.

Now Johnny walked into the kitchen, already smelling something tantalizingly familiar.  Francie was chopping tomatoes on the cutting board, but something was sizzling on the stove.

"What are you making?" he asked, then lifted the lid on the pan.  He inhaled deeply, identifying sausage, onions and garlic.

"Spaghetti," Francie answered as she brought over the board and slid the tomatoes into the pan.

"Oh yeah?"  He sniffed again and then realized what he was smelling.  "That's Stoker's recipe," he exclaimed in surprise.

Francie smiled.  "That's right."

"Where did you learn..."

"Joanne gave me the recipe," Francie answered.

Johnny was positive he saw a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.  He regarded her suspiciously.  "Joanne, huh?  What else did she tell you?"

Francie shrugged and continued to stir the simmering sauce.  "Just that you really like this spaghetti."  But she couldn't hold a straight face very long, and she started laughing.

"Oh, very funny.  Did she happen to tell you I was only trying to help?  I mean, Roy's my partner.  He was coming into the station miserable."

Francie was trying her best to stop laughing, but wasn't having much success.  "Yeah.  She said you were a big help."

Johnny rolled his eyes and tried to appear indignant, but Francie's laughter was contagious, and soon he was chuckling as well.

"Well, I was trying to help," he tried to explain.  "What the heck did I know about married people and their problems?"

"Not much, according to Joanne," Francie told him with a grin.

Johnny snorted.  He knew full well what Joanne had thought of his interference.  "I guess she'll never let me live that down."

"It's just fun to tease," Francie told him.  "She loves you to death, you know."

Johnny flushed.  "Aw... well... she's a great lady."

"She sure is," Francie agreed whole-heartedly.  She stirred her sauce once more, then turned down the heat.  "This has to simmer for a while.  Why don't you go on in the living room."

"You kicking me out of my own kitchen?"

"Tonight it's my kitchen," Francie informed him with an imperious wave of her spoon.

"Okay, okay.  Sheesh!  I know when I'm not wanted."  He started toward the living room, but stopped when Francie called him.

"Hey, Jay... you're always wanted."

He wasn't sure quite how to respond, and he knew he'd blushed, so he made a hasty retreat.

An hour later they were kneeling across from each other at the coffee table.  Francie had decided eating in the kitchen wasn't very romantic, so she'd brought dinner out here.  There was a white cloth on the coffee table, as well as a small, silver candelabra.  The plates were nicer than the ones he had.  In fact, Johnny suspected that Francie had borrowed a lot of the decor from Joanne.

Francie had done a good job with the spaghetti.  Not quite as good as Joanne, but Johnny knew enough by now not to say a word, except to compliment her for all her hard work.  If the truth were known, they could have been eating hot dogs for all Johnny really cared.  What mattered was that she was here and she'd cared enough to make this effort.

They ate in companionable silence, neither feeling the need for talk.  When they'd both eaten their fill, Johnny took the dishes into the kitchen.  They worked together to clean up.  The house didn't have a dishwasher, but cleaning up wasn't too much of a chore.  It didn't take long to have the kitchen back in good order.

After that they wandered to living room.  Johnny put on some music and they sat together on the couch listening.  Johnny wasn't sure exactly when Francie settled up against him, but he knew when he shifted and put his arm around her shoulders and she nestled in closer.  Having her so near; feeling her touching him and his hand moving slowly along her arm, was intoxicating, but it was also making him nervous.

He suddenly felt like a bumbling adolescent on his first date.  He'd forgotten what he was supposed to do; how he was supposed to act; what he was supposed to say.  He finally fell back on the obvious.

"Dinner was great.  Thanks."

Way to go.  That was completely lame.

Francie looked up and smiled.  "You're welcome," she replied.  She cocked her head a moment, listening to what was playing.  "Oh, I love that song.  Come on, Jay.  Let's dance."

She got to her feet, then reached down to grab his hand.  He didn't resist.  Following her lead, they moved to the center of the room.  He hesitated only a moment before he took her in his arms.  They were dancing, after all.  It was okay to do this.

They moved slowly.  Even without a lot of furniture, there wasn't much room to do anything too strenuous.  And it felt nice having her wrapped up in his arms.  Johnny didn't recognize the song, but then he'd been pretty much out of touch regarding pop culture for nearly two years.  But the refrain was nice.  He caught something about "I love you just the way you are."  He smiled, and held Francie a little closer.  It was certainly fitting.

It was even more fitting when she lifted her head that he lean down and find her lips with his.  His first kiss was quick, tentative.  He broke contact, but held her gaze, gauging her reaction.  Her eyes were bright, and he felt her relax in his embrace.  Encouraged, he bent down again, this time deepening the contact.

He couldn't believe this was happening.  His head was spinning and his body was reacting.  Francie was warm and responsive in his arms.

Don't do this to me, Johnny.  How can you do this?  You're mine.  You'll always be mine.

The voice was distant, not like it had been before, but Johnny suddenly pulled back, abruptly breaking off the kiss.

Go away, Reggie.  Don't mess this up.  Let me go.

He closed his eyes, his breath coming in short, gasping pants.  Although he'd had a few anxious moments recently, he hadn't had a full blown panic attack in months.  But he recognized the signs, and the last thing he wanted was to fall apart again in front of Francie.  He'd done this too many times already.

"I... I c-can't..." he stammered, red-faced with humiliation.  "It's... I just can't... I'm sorry."

He would have turned away, but Francie's hold on his arms was strong, and she stopped him before he had a chance to move.

"Jay, listen to me."

Her tone was gentle, and when she took his chin in her hand, he allowed her to pull his face back toward her.

"It's all right.  You don't have to do this.  If you're not ready..."

"It's not that... it's just..."

"Just what?"

Johnny lowered his head, ashamed to tell her, ashamed to even admit it to himself.  But he felt her lift his chin again, obviously determined to have this out with him.

"Look at me, Jay."

And he found himself doing as she asked, finding her sweet dark eyes filled with concern for him.

"Reggie will never be dead as long as you let him control your life."

"But I'm afraid," he whispered before he could help himself, and found the words tumbling out in a rush.  "I'm afraid he'll be here... that when... that even though it's you... that it'll be him."

Johnny at last pulled out of Francie's grasp and moved away, leaning his forehead against the wall.

"I don't want him here," he stated, and then, out of frustration, pounded his fist at the wall, hating the desperation in his voice.

He stood where he was for a moment, his breathing ragged.  Then he slowly turned around, and leaned up against the wall.  His shoulders sagged, his anger gone.

"I want it to be you," he said softly.  "You don't know how badly I want it to be you, but I don't know if I can keep him away."

"Then let him come."  Francie's face took on a defiant look.  "Let the bastard know you don't care what he does and that you're going ahead with your life."  She moved closer and lay a comforting hand on Johnny's arm.  "He won't stay long, once he knows he can't control you."

Johnny regarded her with fearful eyes.  "I don't know if I can take that chance."

I don't know if I'm strong enough.

Francie smiled and took hold of his arms, pulling him gently, but firmly away from the wall.  "I'm willing to take that chance.  I'm willing to share you with Reggie ‛til he gets the hint and takes a permanent hike."  She moved closer and placed his hands on her hips, letting her hands slide back up his arms.  "I'll be right here the whole time.  I won't let anything happen to you, Jay."  Her voice was a mix of compassion and sternness, a tone Johnny knew very well.

"You sound like Roy," he told her with a weak laugh.

Francie smiled and shook her head slightly.  "But I'm not Roy.  And if you let me, I'll show you just how you can tell the difference."

She was close enough now that Johnny could smell the fragrance of her hair, and he automatically let his nose brush against the side of her head, trying to breathe her in.  It had been so long, and he wanted her so very badly, but the fear was still strong, and he didn't know if he could fight it.  With a small moan that was a blend of both arousal and despair, he rested his forehead against her neck, wanting things to proceed, but terrified of what would happen if they did.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but Johnny slowly became aware that Francie was waiting for him to make the first move.  Her hands were still on his arms, but it was more of a supportive gesture than anything else.  She was letting him decide, letting him take the lead.

And his hands began to move.  Almost of their own volition.  They moved, and they found a softness that was so right - so comforting.  He found lips that were so sweet and full.  With dawning realization he accepted what Dr. Evans had tried to tell him so many times.  The game had never been like this.  No matter how good it felt at the time.  It had never made him feel like this.  And he knew why.  This wasn't a game.

He lost track of where they were or what they were doing.  He didn't know when they found the bedroom.  He was lost in a whirlwind of sensation, and he only wanted more.  The only voice he heard in his head was Francie's as she called out his name.  And when he finally reached that sweet ecstasy, it was much more than a physical release.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Francie lay in bed wondering how her life, which had always seemed so bleak, had suddenly become wonderful.  It was early in the morning.  Their night had been full, but for some reason she'd woken up in the pre-dawn and couldn't go back to sleep.

Johnny was sleeping nestled up behind her, his arm thrown across her hip.  He was so close she could feel him breathing, and his nearness filled her with a warmth that spread through her whole being.  Last night had been thrilling, but waking up like this was nearly as satisfying.

Her mind replayed over and over again their lovemaking, and she silently thanked Joanne for her kind advice.  Francie had known the mechanics of sex since she was fairly young.  Growing up where she did, a child saw and heard things that left little to the imagination.  But that was a different thing than experiencing it for yourself.

That first time had been for Johnny.  She wasn't expecting fireworks.  Joanne had told her not to.  But she had been so grateful that Johnny had finally been able to get past his fear of Reggie and let himself live, that nothing else had mattered.  Seeing the joy on his face had more than made up for whatever discomfort she had felt.  She wasn't sure he was even aware of it when it happened, and that was fine by her.  The last thing he needed was to feel any more guilt, especially about something so inevitable.

But the night hadn't ended after that.  Johnny had definitely made up for any lack on his part the first time around.  And while she couldn't swear to the fireworks part, she'd certainly enjoyed herself.  They'd finally fallen asleep, spent, wrapped in each other's arms.

But for some reason, Francie hadn't stayed asleep.  She shifted slowly, careful not to disturb Johnny.  But she wanted to see his face; to see the peacefulness there that so often was missing when he was awake.

She studied his dark lashes, the line of his nose, and the shaggy hair that fell over his forehead.  She reached out a hand and tenderly brushed back a lock of that hair, wondering where they went from here.

She knew this was the first time Johnny had been with anyone since he'd come home.  That this was a big step for him was obvious.  What she wasn't sure of was how he would feel afterward.  She didn't want him thinking he owed her anything.  She didn't want him to feel stuck with her just because she was the first.

She suddenly knew what would be the best thing to do.  As much as she wanted to stay here and feel Johnny beside her, she knew it would be better if she gave him some breathing room.  She carefully moved his hand and then slid out of bed.  Johnny sighed once and his hand came up to the pillow, but he didn't stir any more than that.

Francie quietly got dressed, then went into the living room in search of some paper and a pen.  Room to breathe was one thing, but she didn't want Johnny to think she was bailing out on him.  After a few moments of looking, she found what she was looking for and jotted down a few words of explanation.  She then walked back into the bedroom and placed the paper on her pillow.

Even then it was a moment before she could make herself go.  She resisted the urge to bend down and kiss the sleeping man before her.  But she couldn't risk waking him up.

"See ya, Jay," She whispered.

I love you.

She didn't say those words out loud, but she felt them more strongly than she'd ever felt anything in her life.

* * *

Keith opened his eyes and saw the early morning sun peeking over the horizon.  He yawned, grimaced at the bad taste in his mouth, and realized he'd fallen asleep in his car.  Panicked, he glanced at his watch.  It was just after eight. He was supposed to be at work right this minute.

Damn!  Cap's gonna have my ass.

He sat up and rested his hands on the steering wheel, drumming his fingers restlessly.  He wasn't sure what to do.  He'd still be late, even if he left now.  So he didn't see what difference it made.  He was going to get put on report anyway.  He might as well stay here and finish this.

After the confrontation he'd had with Paulo, he'd gone back to following Gage around.  But that had grown dissatisfying.  He wasn't accomplishing anything.  He wasn't affecting Gage's life at all.  But he was at a point where he didn't know what else to do.  The paramedic always had people around him - his baby, the girl and his friends.

Tonight had started out like all the rest.  But then that older woman drove away with the baby.  It was obvious Gage had planned a night alone with his girl.  And as the hours passed, Keith's mind conjured up a million perverted things they were in there doing.  How could Gage even presume to touch that girl?  It didn't work that way, did it?  You couldn't swing one way and then the other.  And even if he did, he didn't deserve to be in there enjoying himself.

It's not right.  It's not fair.  Cal didn't deserve this.  Gage has to pay.

These thoughts repeated over and over in his mind, until he felt like they were burned into his brain.  As the night wore on, and his anger burned hotter, Keith's resolve grew.  He would have to do something Gage couldn't ignore.  There had to be no doubt about his message this time.  This time he would take care of Gage for good, and then he could go back to living his life.  If he could only find a time when the girl was gone.  She had no part of this.  This was between him and Gage.

Now it looked like he'd gotten what he wanted.  Her heap of a car was missing from the driveway.  This was the moment Keith had waited for.  Finally Cal was going to be honored in a way that was fitting.

* * *

Johnny lazily opened his eyes.  He was lying flat on his stomach, his head buried in his pillow.  He didn't know what time it was, and he didn't really care.  He blinked a few times, trying to figure out what was different about this morning.  Why did he feel so...

Content?  Is that the word I'm looking for?

Part of the reason struck him with stunned realization.  He hadn't had any nightmares.  He'd actually slept through the night undisturbed.  The rest of it stumbled on the heels of the first one, and he smiled as he stretched and reached out for Francie.  That side of the bed was empty.

He lifted his head.  She was gone.  He could still see the imprint her body had made on the sheets, and his hand smoothed over them, as if he could feel her there. A crackling sound made him sit up and rub at his eyes to rid them of sleep.

There was a note on the pillow.  His guts turned into knots as he slowly unfolded it, almost afraid to read the words.

Jay,

I figured you'd need some space this morning... to sort things out without any pressure.  Like I said before... there are no ties or obligations, unless you want there to be.  Last night was your breakout, Jay.  I'm glad I could be the one who shared it with you.  If you want to call me, you have the number.

Francie

He flopped down on his back and breathed out a relieved sigh.  She hadn't disappeared out of his life.  She'd just gone home.  He snorted at his initial paranoia.  She was right.  A lot had happened last night, and it would be nice to be able to sift through all the things he was feeling right now.  Though his arms ached to hold her again, he understood what she'd done and why.

He dropped the note onto the night stand, then folded his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.  Last night had been incredible.  It was hard to believe now that he'd been so afraid. But he was aware of how close he'd come to not doing what he wanted so much to do - of allowing Reggie's ghost to once more control his life.  If it hadn't been for Francie.

He smiled as her image came to his mind.  Francie playing with Missy.  Francie cooking Stoker's spaghetti and laughing.  Francie in the throes of passion - passion for him.

His smile grew warmer as his thoughts became more tender.  She had offered him a precious gift.  He'd realized it a little late in the process, but if he was honest, he would have to admit he wasn't thinking very straight.  She hadn't said anything, so he hadn't either.  But he'd tried his best to make that up to her.

He sighed again.  If his thought kept going along this line, he'd have to take a cold shower.  He sat up in bed.  He supposed he should get going.  He needed to get ready and pick up Missy so Dixie could go to work.

He glanced at his clock and felt a jolt of panic.  It was after nine.

Damn!  I'm gonna make Dix late.  She's gonna kill me.

He jumped out of bed and grabbed his clothes.  They were pretty wrinkled from lying on the floor all night, and he should really take a shower, but he didn't know if he had the time.  Slipping on his boxers, he dropped the rest of his wrinkled clothes to the floor.  He'd pick them up later when he did the laundry.  He didn't have Dixie's number in here, so he headed down the hall toward the living room.

As he was walking he heard something and he smiled.  Francie must have changed her mind and come back.

"Francie?" he called.  "Is that you?"

He'd reached the living room by now, and his feet stopped moving at the sight that greeted him, and the hair on his neck stood on end.

It was like walking into a nightmare - like some crazy person with a spray paint can had been let loose in his house.  It was the same offensive graffiti that he'd seen on his car and on the garage, but there was more to it this time.

Faggot!  You should have died!

Roy had been right.  This guy was crazy.  He should have been more adamant about the police looking into it.  Johnny swallowed and took a step toward the phone.  He hadn't even realized his hands were shaking until he tried to dial.  But it didn't matter anyway.  There was no dial tone.

Great.  Now what?

He ran a hand through his hair, his rattled nerves making it hard to think.  The only thing going through his head right now was how glad he was that Missy wasn't here and that Francie had gone home already.  His girls were safe.

Okay... okay... first things first.  Go get dressed.  Then go to the police station and file a report.

Having some kind of a plan, even if it wasn't very far reaching, helped steady him.  He turned, meaning to go get his clothes.  But he never made it past the first step.

His first thought upon seeing the man standing in his hallway was that he didn't look like a lunatic.  His second was to wonder what the hell the guy was doing in his house.  Neither of those thoughts came out of his mouth.

"Are you through now?' he asked, amazed at how calm his voice sounded.  He didn't feel very calm.

The man tossed aside the can of paint.  "I guess that depends on you."

"What is it you want?  I don't even know you."

"Not me.  It's not about me."

"Then who?  Tell me what you want from me and then this can all stop."

The man's face contorted, but Johnny couldn't tell if it was from pain or rage.  Maybe it was both.  He didn't supposed it made much difference.

"It can never stop.  Don't you see?  As long as you're alive, it never stops."

Johnny's heart was thudding in his chest, and his throat went dry.  He had to swallow before he could talk.  "Why?.  What makes me so special?"

"You're not special," the man spat out.  "Cal was special.  Cal should have been the one who came home... not you."

A couple of things clicked in Johnny's brain at the same time.  This guy was talking about Cal Bently... one of Reggie's victims.  And if this guy was a friend of Cal's, odds were that he was a fireman.

"You're right," Johnny said as gently as he could.  "Cal should have come home.  Hell, they all should have come home.  None of them deserved to die."

"But you were the one he picked.  You were the only one he didn't kill.  The only one!  Why?"  His voice grew more strident and he took a step toward Johnny.

"I... I don't know."  Johnny held his hands out in a helpless gesture.  "I don't know why."

"Yes you do!" the man shouted.  "You're a fucking pervert, that's why."

With that, the man launched himself across the room.  Johnny didn't even have time to move before the guy slammed into him, taking them both down to the floor.  Unfortunate enough to be on the bottom, the paramedic hit the floor with a jarring thud, knocking the breath out of him.

As he saw the man raise his fist, ready to land a blow, Johnny instinctively brought up his arms to ward it off.  But halfway there, he lowered them again.  There must be some kind of cosmic justice in the world, and it had just caught up with him.  The man was right.  He shouldn't have come home.  There wasn't anything special about him.  He should have died like the others.  He hadn't.  And he couldn't change that.  But perhaps he could make some kind of atonement.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dixie walked through the Emergency Room doors, not sure if she should be happy for Johnny or throttle him.  She was late for work, and though in her position as head nurse, nobody was going to give her a hard time about it, she hated setting a poor example for the younger employees.  She glanced at the big clock on the wall.  It was 10:30.

She shook her head at Johnny's tardiness.  He must have had a great night, considering he had yet to call her or come pick up Missy.  When the nurse had tried Johnny's number all she got was a constant ringing.  She chuckled.  He wouldn't be the first man to unplug the phone to avoid unwanted interruptions.  But then her smile faded a little.  It was hard to imagine that Johnny would cut off any way for her to contact him if there was a problem with the baby.

She turned to regard the little girl in her arms.  They'd had a pretty good time.  Missy had fussed some at bedtime, but nothing Dixie couldn't handle.  She really was a good baby.  Johnny had gotten lucky on that score.  If he had to be a single father, at least he'd gotten a good-natured child.

"Let's go see if we can reach your Daddy," she told Missy as they walked down the hall.  "He can't still be asleep."

"Da-ee," Missy echoed with a grin.

She approached the desk, smiling at the questioning looks she got from the nursing staff.  Very few of these ladies would know Missy without being told who she was.  And some of them had eagerly spread rumors about Johnny when he first came home, so Dixie had no qualms about keeping Missy's last name from them.

"I'm babysitting for a friend," was all Dixie told them as she introduced her little charge, who sat up on the desk and received the nurses' adoration with happy smiles.

And that friend still wasn't answering his phone.  Dixie frowned and hung up.   This wasn't like Johnny at all.  She watched Missy playing with the phone on the desk.  She wasn't going to get much work done this way.  She supposed she could con somebody up in pediatrics to watch her in the playroom for a while, but she was more worried about what might be going on with Johnny.

"Bapa!" Missy suddenly crowed, and held out her arms.  "Bapa!"

Dixie looked up and saw Roy coming down the hall.  He should have been off shift at eight, but his turnouts and tired face told her he'd put in some overtime.  He heard Missy's excited cries, and his face lit up with delight just as Dixie remembered he wasn't supposed to be around the baby yet.

Missy nearly crawled off the desk to get to him.  Dixie reached for her at the same time Roy scooped the little girl up in his arms and held her tight.

"Hey there, angel.  How's my girl?"

Missy didn't seem to mind that her papa was dirty and disheveled.  She kept her arms wrapped around his neck and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek.

Roy's face suddenly fell as he realized what he was doing.  He glanced over at Dixie.  "Is Johnny here?"

Dixie shook her head.  "I was babysitting.  I'm sorry, Roy.  I didn't expect to see you or I wouldn't have let her..."

The paramedic shook his head.  "Don't worry, Dix.  Nothing you can do about it now."  He smoothed Missy's hair, then he gave Dixie a quizzical look.  "Babysitting?  This morning?"

"Last night, actually," she explained, then shook her head.  "But I expected Johnny to come get her this morning.  He knew I had to be at work at ten."

Roy looked puzzled too.  "Have you tried calling?"

"Of course.  But nobody's answering."

"That's odd."  Roy suddenly looked like the proverbial light bulb had gone on over his head as he clued into the possible reason why Dixie had kept the baby overnight.  "He had Francie over."

It wasn't a question.  Dixie thought at first he disapproved, but the sigh he gave was more resigned than irritated.

"It's his life," he murmured softly, then looked up at the nurse.  "If he was gonna be late, he would have called," he stated emphatically.  "Tell ya what...Brad's with the victim we brought in.  After we get the squad back to B Shift, I'll run by Johnny's and see what's keeping him."  He looked at Missy and smiled.  "Will you be okay with her for a while longer?"

"Sure," Dixie assured him.  "We're buddies."  She reached out for Roy to hand her the baby.  He did so, but the nurse could see his reluctance to let her go.

"Bapa," Missy protested.  But Roy kissed her forehead and gave her a big smile.

"Papa has to go bye-bye now.  You be a good girl for Dixie."

The baby's face screwed up like she was going to cry, but she didn't.

"Bapa, go bye-bye," she snuffled and rested her head against Dixie's shoulder.

Dixie saw Roy wipe hastily at his eyes as he turned and walked toward Treatment Room 2.  Brad Martin emerged as he arrived, and the two paramedics continued down the hallway.  It wasn't until they left that she felt the wetness on her own cheeks.

* * *

Anaheim, California

Paulo kept himself busy polishing the engine.  He should have been done twenty minutes ago, but he'd stretched out the job in order to stay within hearing range of Cap's office.  Not that it would have mattered.  He probably could still hear Cap yelling if he was out hanging hose.

Keith had showed up more than two hours late, stumbling over excuses that held little water.  It would have been bad enough if it had been the first time.  But over the last few months arriving late for shift had become the norm for the usually punctual firefighter.  In all that time, however, it had never been this bad, and Cap had never had to call in a last minute replacement.

That replacement had just been sent home, but Cap had been chewing on Keith for the last fifteen minutes.  The only good thing was that they hadn't had any calls.  If Keith had missed a run, he would have been sent home for a few days suspension without pay.

He couldn't hear everything Captain Brinkhoff was saying.  But he caught a phrase now and then.  Keith was a veteran firefighter... a good man.  He didn't understand what was happening.  There wasn't any excuse for his behavior.

Their captain hadn't come up with anything that Paulo hadn't been thinking for months now.  But the difference was, Paulo knew the answers.  He knew what was bothering his friend.  He just didn't have any solutions.

"You think he's gonna come out of there alive?"

Paulo glanced down from the running board and saw Jasper standing there, looking a little shell-shocked.  He'd probably never witnessed a full scale dressing down before.

The engineer shrugged.  "Cap's chewing hard, but he'll spit him back out eventually.

Jasper regarded the office door.  He didn't seen entirely convinced.  But just then the door jerked open and Keith walked out.  He didn't say a word to his two co-workers.  He merely stalked toward the dorm.  The slamming of the office door made both men jump.

"Damn," Jasper breathed.

Paulo gave the spot he'd been polishing one last flourish, then jumped down from the rig.  "I'll go talk to him."  He gave the younger man a pointed look.  "Alone."

Jasper held up his hand as if to say he had no intention of encountering Keith at this moment.

Good, Paulo thought.  He'll stay out of my way.

He found the dorm empty, but he could hear water running in the bathroom, so he pushed open the door and found his friend standing in front of the sink, running water over his hands.  Things had been strained between them since that day at the beach, so he decided he'd better take things slowly.

"Hey, amigo," he ventured.

Keith whirled, his hands hanging from his side dripping water.  His face was pale, but not repentant.

"What?" he practically snarled.

"I just thought I'd make sure you were okay."  He smiled, to try and keep it light.  "Cap has sharp teeth."

For some reason Keith suddenly pulled his hand back behind his back, in an almost guilty gesture, but not before Paulo had noticed the redness of his knuckles.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"I'm fine," Keith stated firmly.  He glanced at his arm, the shrugged.  "Just a scrape.  No big deal."

"Here... lemme take a look."  He stepped up to the sink and reached for Keith's hand.

His friend hesitated, and Paulo thought for a moment that he wasn't going to cooperate.  But he finally held his hand out for the engineer's inspection.

"See?  Just a scrape."

But this was more than a scrape.  Paulo had seen enough fist fights in his youth.  He'd been in plenty himself.  He knew knuckles busted up by teeth when he saw them.  And the number one way to get them was connecting with somebody else's mouth.

He stuck his friend's hand under the water, thinking furiously.  Keith had been in a fight.  But he wasn't in a very receptive mood.  Paulo knew he would regard any concerned questions as an inquisition.

"They don't look too bad," he observed.  "Maybe see a doc after we get off."

"Yeah... yeah I'll do that."  Keith pulled his hand back and massaged it with his other one.  He didn't meet Paulo's eyes.  Instead, he turned aside and left the bathroom.

* * *

Los Angeles, California

Roy pulled up in front of Johnny's house, more than a little concerned.  He'd tried calling when he got back to the station, but had no luck.  He forced himself to take a shower, then he called Dixie to make sure she hadn't heard anything.  With no good news from that end, he got in his car and headed over.

The house looked quiet from the outside.  There was no car in the driveway, so if Francie had spent the night, she wasn't here now.  He walked up to the front door and rang the bell.  When no one answered, he knocked loudly.

"Johnny?" he called.  "You home?"

Still no one opened the door.  Roy strode down the long driveway and tested the garage door.  It wasn't locked and opened easily, revealing the Rover sitting in its spot.  That should mean Johnny was home.

Unless he and Francie went somewhere together in her car.

His mouth twisted in uncertainty and he closed the garage door.  He wasn't sure what to do next. He'd already had to apologize to Johnny for butting into his business.  He'd hate to stick his nose in only to find nothing was wrong.  But things didn't feel right.  Johnny wouldn't take off without checking on Missy.  He just wouldn't.

Roy found himself back at the front door, knocking again.

"Johnny!"

His gut instinct was not to give up and go away, so he reached down and tried the knob.  It was unlocked.  Hoping he wasn't walking into anything Johnny would kill him for, he opened the door and stepped inside.

"Johnny?"

He walked through the short entryway and stepped into the living room, then stopped.

Oh, shit!

The sight of the spray painted words on the wall sent his heart racing.

"Johnny?  Are you here?"

He moved farther inside.  The couch was shoved back and the coffee table was broken.  He stepped over the splintered table and reached to pick up the phone.  There was no dial tone.  He set it down and then strode down the hall to the bedroom.

The door was open so he stepped inside the room.  There was no graffiti here that Roy could see.  The bed was unmade, but that didn't mean anything.

"Johnny?" Roy called, not expecting any answer.

But he did hear something.  As he started to head down the hall, he heard a soft groan.  He moved back into the room.  The groan came again - from the other side of the bed.  Roy rushed around and found Johnny, bruised and bloody, lying on his side on the floor.

"Johnny!"

He took a moment to shove the bed aside to give himself more room.  Then he knelt beside his partner, wincing at Johnny's battered face.  He was bleeding from his nose and his mouth.  His lip was split and his left eye was swollen and discolored.  It appeared he'd been beaten; probably as he'd just gotten up since all he was wearing was a pair of boxer shorts.  Because of that, Roy could see bruising already starting on the injured man's torso.

"Johnny... can you hear me?"  He worked hard at keeping his voice calm and soothing, slipping automatically into paramedic mode.

"Mmm.... wha?"  Johnny stirred slightly.  He tried to lift his head, but Roy reached down to keep him from doing so.

"Stay still, Johnny."

"Rrr...Roy?  S'at you?"

"Yeah.  I'm here.  Take it easy.  Where are you hurting?"  He began a quick examination, wanting to be sure Johnny didn't have any head or neck injuries.

"Mmmmm.... My... my face... my face hur's."

"Any place in particular?"

Roy heard a soft snort before Johnny answered, "My... my 'ole... damn face."

"I can understand why," Roy agreed with a smile for Johnny's state of mind.  If he could make jokes, he was probably okay. "You look like you ran into the back of the engine."

"Tha's wha' I feel like."

Roy could hear the trouble Johnny was having with his speech.  But he wasn't too concerned it was neurological.  Given his mouth and other facial injuries, it was to be expected.

By now Roy had ruled out any need for neck or spinal precautions, though he did find a pretty big gash in Johnny's scalp.  It had bled quite a bit, judging by the sticky mess in his partner's dark hair, but it had mostly stopped by now.  Johnny would probably need a few stitches before the day was over, but that would be the least of his worries.

"What happened?" Roy asked.  He was palpating Johnny's sides and abdomen, noting the flinch he elicited when he probed near the left ribs.

"That's pretty sore, huh?"

"Yeah."

Johnny shifted and made an attempt to sit up.  Roy's first impulse was to stop him, but the younger man seemed determined, so Roy helped him to lean against the bedroom wall.  He sat there, holding his side, and trying not to take deep breaths.

"He... he wa' here," he gasped out.  "In... in the liv'n room."

"Yeah, I saw that," Roy remarked.  He'd gotten a wet wash rag from the bathroom and was dabbing at some of the blood on Johnny's face.

"I calle'," the younger man stated in an aggrieved tone.  "Like you wan'ed.  I tol' Cro'ett.  He sai'... He sai' too busy... no' enough guys."  He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.  "Guess... guess tha's wha' they call irony."

Roy shook his head.  "Guess so.  Bet they'll feel pretty stupid."  He looked around.  "Is the phone in here working?"

"Dunno.  Tha's wha' I was tryin' to do.  I... I din' make it tha' far."

"Did you pass out?"

Johnny started to shake his head, but stopped at the obvious discomfort that movement caused.  "I don' thin' so.  Jus'... jus' go' dizzy... couldn' stan' up."

"Are you dizzy now?"

"No'... no' too bad."

"You've got a nasty looking cut on your head.  Did you fall?"

Johnny took a moment to answer.  "Maybe... don' 'member ev'rythin'."

"Okay. Don't worry about it.  Let me go check the phone.

Roy crawled across the bed to the night stand and picked up the phone.  While he tried to get a dial tone, his eyes fell across the paper lying there.  Before he caught himself, he'd read it, then felt embarrassed that he'd intruded upon something very personal.  He almost left it there, but then realized that the police would be going over the house with a fine tooth comb.  They didn't need to know Johnny's private business.  He picked it up and pocketed it to give to his friend later.

"This phone's out too," he announced as he hung up and returned to Johnny's side.  "Guess I could go to the neighbor's and call for a squad from there."

"No."  Johnny reached out and took hold of Roy's arm.  "No squa', okay?"

"Johnny.... I'd feel better if you..."

"Bu' I woul'n't.  No sirens.  I'll go wi' you, bu'... no gran' entrance."

Roy sighed, but there wasn't much else to do.  It would take longer to argue his stubborn partner into going to Rampart in an ambulance than to just take him there himself.

"All right, you win.  But we'll take your car.  There's more room.  Here, lemme get you some pants.  Can't have you parading around in your underwear."

He started to get up, but felt Johnny's hand restraining him.  He caught his friend's eye and saw a pleading look there.

"A shir'.  Please, Roy.  A shir' too."

Roy nodded, knowing how important it would be for Johnny to have his back covered, at least while they were walking the halls at Rampart.  Once in the treatment room, away from curious stares, it wouldn't matter so much.

He went to the dresser and found a pair of sweat pants.  Then he decided a button down shirt would be easier to put on than anything he had to pull over Johnny's head.  He moved to the closet and pulled out the first one he found.

With a lot of effort and a great deal of groaning on Johnny's part, Roy got his partner dressed.  He didn't bother buttoning the shirt.  It was just going to come off again in the exam room.  Right now he had to worry about getting Johnny to the Rover with as little jostling as possible.

That wasn't as bad as Roy had first feared, though getting Johnny up on his feet wasn't easy.  He held onto his side and grunted his protest at the movement.  But once upright, his legs seemed fairly steady.  Roy took Johnny's arm over his shoulder for support, and they walked slowly down the hall.

The paramedic wished his friend didn't have to see his ruined living room, but there was no way around it.  Johnny eyes took in the damage, lingering on the hateful words painted on the walls.

"Don't worry," Roy assured him.  "A little paint, and you'll never know it was there."

Johnny made a noise that Roy could have sworn was a short laugh.  He gave his friend a curious look.

"Ya wanna let me in on the joke?"

Johnny shot Roy a glance, then returned his gaze to the wall.  "I's jus... for the firs' time ... firs' time in a long time... I know I'm no' ... I'm no' wha' this guy thin's I am."

Roy's eyes fixed on the words as well, but his mind was on the note Francie left, and it at last became clear to him that what was happening between Johnny and this girl wasn't just casual.  What had passed between them last night was more than just a one night stand.  And for Johnny it had been a turning point.  Even though he'd apologized before, for the first time Roy felt true remorse for the things he'd said and done - and felt.

But he remained silent.  Now wasn't exactly the time for clearing his conscience.  He needed to get Johnny to Rampart.  And he needed to call the police.  This wacko was still out there somewhere.

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Looks like everything is negative," Dr. Brackett reported.  He was standing by the lighted panel where a row of x-rays were displayed.  "You were pretty lucky."

From where he lay on the exam table, Johnny didn't feel very lucky.  He hurt nearly everywhere.  And every breath he took felt like a knife slicing through him.

"You sure they're no' broken?"

Brackett gave him a wry smile as he came over to stand next to the table.  "Yes, I'm sure.  They're going to hurt for a while.  You've got some pretty deep bruising there.  But it could have been a lot worse.  He could have broken your jaw... cracked your ribs, knocked out some teeth.  You still need to have a dentist check your mouth.  But like I said... you were lucky."

Johnny resisted the urge to sigh, knowing that action would probably send him through the roof.  Instead he pondered Brackett's words.

Lucky.  Hardly the word he would have described himself as a year ago - or even a few months ago.  But maybe he was.  He definitely felt lucky that Missy hadn't been in the house when his attacker showed up.  Or Francie either.  Maybe if they had been, he'd feel differently right now.

But he kept thinking about the fireman in his house.  And he was convinced more than ever that it had been a fireman who'd attacked him - a fireman who'd lost his best friend to Reggie.  And it wasn't just him.  A lot of people had lost loved ones to Reggie.  They were friends, fathers, brothers, husbands, sons.  Those men had families, people who cared.  People who were changed forever when they died.

And here he was.  Lucky John Gage.  He hadn't died.  For whatever reason, a psychopathic killer had taken a liking to him and spared him the fate of the others.

For a long time Johnny had blamed himself.  Had thought it was because he wasn't strong enough to put up a fight.  That he'd given in and played Reggie's games.  He'd convinced himself that those other men had somehow been better than he was.  But he knew that wasn't true.  He'd seen the pictures.  For the first time he was able to be honest with himself and admit that they'd all played Reggie's game.  None of them had decided anything.  Reggie made sure of that.  Everything had been in Reggie's control.  Nobody had a choice.  The minute Reggie had singled them out they'd lost the right to choose.

And this guy.  His friend was tortured and killed.  Maybe it was his best friend.  Maybe his only friend.  There was no way to know.  But Johnny wondered what he would have done.  If he'd never come around the squad that night.  If Roy had disappeared, only to be found later dead.  And not just dead.  What would it have been like to have to read a coroner's report listing the horrors your friend had been subjected to in the last hours of his life?  What would Johnny have done if he'd read this about Roy?  And what had Roy gone through the eighteen months Johnny was missing and they didn't know what had happened to him?

He wasn't sure he'd ever really appreciated that.  Not even with the things Dr. Evans had talked about.  The psychologist had said Roy was a victim, but Johnny hadn't understood that until now.  Yes, Roy had been shot, but he was a victim long before Reggie pulled the trigger, and long after he'd recovered from his wounds.  They were all victims.

"Johnny?"  He glanced up to see Brackett regarding him with some concern.  "You okay?"

"Yeah.  Jus' thin'ing."

The doctor put his hand on Johnny's shoulder for moment.  "That's understandable.  We're going to admit you... just for tonight," he explained when he saw the argument brewing in the paramedic's eyes.  "For observation.  We'll get you settled in a room.  I can hold the police off until then, but I know they want to talk to you.  You take it easy.  I'll order some pain meds for you now that we know you don't have a concussion."

He felt a comforting pressure on his shoulder, then Brackett moved his hand and walked to the door.  As he left, Roy came in and the two exchanged greetings.

"He looks good, all things considered," was the doctor's parting remark.

Roy smiled at Brackett's news, then came over to Johnny's side.

"That's good to hear, huh?"

Johnny nodded, but didn't say anything.

"I called Crockett," Roy went on.  "They had a team out at the house.  He'll want to come talk to you when you feel up to it."

"Tha's fine."  He really wasn't looking forward to talking to the cops, but he knew it couldn't be avoided.  "Can' tell 'im mush."

"I'm sure anything at all will help."  Roy stuck his hand into his pocket, and was quiet a moment.  Then he looked at Johnny, his face serious.  "I... I called Francie to let her know what happened.  I figured you'd want her to hear this from a friend.  She's on her way."

"Than's, Roy," Johnny said.  Though he hated to think of Francie seeing him this way, Roy was right.  Better to hear it from someone she knew than to read it in the paper.  Then it struck him what Roy was really telling him.  "A frien'?"

A tentative smile played at Roy's mouth.  Then he nodded.  "Yeah... a friend."

If his face hadn't hurt so damn much, Johnny would have grinned from ear to ear.

* * *

Roy walked down the hall toward Johnny's room, his mind going over the disturbing conversation he'd just had with Dr. Brackett.  Johnny was doing fine physically, the doctor had assured him.  But he was concerned about another issue.

"It's strange, Roy.  All the injuries Johnny sustained are in keeping with getting in a fight with someone, but it's what I didn't find that's odd."

"What do you mean?"

Brackett's mouth twisted thoughtfully.  "Defensive wounds.  Johnny has contusions on his face, his upper body, his abdomen... but nothing on his arms.  Not one mark on his hands."

Roy took a moment to figure out what exactly the physician was trying to tell him.  His eyes widened when it dawned on him.  "You mean Johnny didn't fight back?"

Brackett nodded. "But not just that.  Roy... if I had to speculate... I'd say he didn't even defend himself."

So now Roy was on his way to see his friend and to find out how much of that was true.  And why Johnny would let some crazy man beat the shit out of him and not even lift a finger to protect himself.

He walked through the open door and saw his friend lying propped up in bed.  His face was a mess, and his upper torso was wrapped in tight bandages.  Roy knew from experience how much it helped to have your ribs taped up.  Brackett had said Johnny's scalp laceration required twelve stitches to close it, and though Johnny didn't remember, Crockett said they found blood and hair on pieces of the broken coffee table.  They were going on the assumption that during the fight, Johnny fell or was pushed and hit the table with his head.

Francie was sitting next to Johnny, a cup of ice chips in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other.  Both of them glanced up when they heard Roy come in.  Johnny lifted his hand in greeting, and Francie gave Roy a timid smile.

"How ya doing?" Roy asked as he walked up the other side of the bed.

Johnny waggled his hand to indicate he'd been better, saving himself the pain of trying to talk.

"Dixie took Missy home.  She says not to worry.  She can keep her as long as you need her to."

"Tha's nice of her.  I wish... wish she din' have to.  She nee's to be home."

"She'll be okay, Johnny.  And you don't want to be at your house right now anyway.  It's a mess."

Johnny sighed softly, and grimaced at the pain it caused.  Roy knew it must be hard to have his new home in such a state.

"Hey... don't worry," he hastened to assure his friend.  "As soon as the police are outta there, we've got half the fire department ready to man the clean up crew."  He smiled.  "It'll be good as new."

Roy pulled up a chair and sat down.  "Johnny... I need to talk to you about something."

The injured paramedic's brows lifted questioningly.  Francie started to get up, but Roy waved her back down.

"No.  Stay... please.  You're part of Johnny's life.  You have a right to be here."

Roy saw the girl exchange a quick glance with Johnny.  He gave her a slight nod, and she looked up to flash Roy a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Roy."  She sat back down and set the cup of ice on the side table.

Roy sat and gathered his thoughts for a moment, knowing this wasn't going to be easy.  Finally, he took a deep breath and plowed ahead.

"Johnny...  Brackett thinks...  He says he doesn't think you tried to fight this guy."

Johnny suddenly wouldn't meet Roy's eyes.  His focused on his hands that had begun to fidget with the sheet.

"Is that true?" Roy persisted.

The younger man just shrugged.  "I dunno.  I guess."

"But why?  Was he a big guy?  Maybe you didn't think you could take him?"

Another shrug, and Francie moved to lay her hand on top of Johnny's.  He shot her a glance, but didn't look at Roy.  The older man was almost afraid to ask his next question.  He felt he already knew the answer.

"Brackett says it looks like you didn't even defend yourself."

There was no answer to this either.  Roy wasn't expecting one.  But now he was growing angry at his friend's behavior.

"Why would you do that, Johnny?  Why would you let this guy hurt you like that?"

His tone must have reflected in his words, for Johnny finally looked up, his own eyes flashing.

"Maybe I deserved it," he stated hotly.

Now it was Roy whose brows lifted in surprise.  He heard a soft sound from Francie and knew he wasn't the only one caught off guard by Johnny's answer.

"Deserved it?" Roy repeated incredulously.  "What did you ever do to deserve this?"  He waved at the hospital bed.

"I came 'ome," was Johnny's answer.  His voice had grown quiet - quiet and flat.  "I came 'ome."

Roy didn't know how to respond to that.  He thought Johnny had gotten past any of his self-doubt about who he was and the fact that he'd survived.  But now this guy seemed to have dredged it all up again.  Who was this man, and how could he affect Johnny like this?  This spoke of more than just a crazed homophobe out to rid the world of someone he thought of as perverted.

Roy watched Johnny's face, hard to read with all the bruises, but still the John Gage he'd known and worked with for years.  The John Gage who was usually an open book.  The fact that Roy couldn't tell what his friend was thinking right now told him Johnny was hiding something from him.

And then, with sudden realization, Roy felt like he'd been extremely dense.

"You know who this guy is."

Johnny didn't try to deny it.  But he did finally speak.

"No' who... bu' why.  I know why."

"Then you need to tell Crockett," Roy insisted, knowing before Johnny shook his head that he was going to get resistance.  "Johnny..."  He leaned forward his hands resting on the side of the bed.  "Whatever the reason... whether you think it's valid or not.... this man attacked you.  He needs help.  What if he'd killed you?"

Roy could see immediately that was the wrong way to handle things.  If Johnny thought he deserved this brutal beating, he might not feel any differently about his own death.  But there were others he cared about.  Other ways to make him see this wasn't just about him.

"Johnny, what about Missy?  What if Missy had been home?"  He nodded across the bed.  "And Francie too.  What if he'd come a few minutes earlier?  What if she'd still been there?  Hell, he knows where she lives.  What makes you sure he won't go after her?"

Johnny didn't say anything for some time.  When he did, it was with that same, even tone.  "He on'y wan's me, Roy.  On'y me."

"Johnny..."  Roy heard the timbre of his voice increasing, but the hand on his arm stopped him.  He looked up to see Francie standing beside him.  She tilted her head toward the door, then moved away.  Roy glanced back at his stubborn friend and reluctantly followed.

Francie led him out into the hallway, out of Johnny's hearing range.  Then she stopped and faced Roy, her expression determined.

"Roy... you can't push him about this."

"But you can't agree with him?  This guy's crossed the line now.  He's dangerous."

Francie nodded, her brown eyes full of emotion.  "I know that.  And I'm scared for Johnny.  But I'm more scared for what you'll do to him if you try and force him to tell you."

Roy opened his mouth to argue, but couldn't find any words.  She was right. Somehow this girl who'd only known Johnny for a few months, had a better grasp on what made him tick than Roy did.

And I've known him for years.  I'm supposed to be his best friend, he berated himself.

He let go a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.  "Okay.  Okay.  I'll let it go.  Maybe he'll change his mind after he thinks about it for a while."

Francie gave him a cocky grin.  "Don't hold your breath," she advised with a chuckle.  She suddenly reached up and gave Roy a peck on the cheek.  "Thanks," she told him, then quickly disappeared into Johnny's room.

Roy leaned up against the wall in the hallway for quite some time.

* * *

Anaheim, California

Paulo woke up a little bleary eyed.  The baby had been awake four times during the night, and while his wife was the one who got up with little Marissa, he'd still been jarred out of sleep each time.  He didn't resent it.  As a father six times now, he was used to these first few months of no sleep.  But it didn't make him any less tired in the mornings.

He yawned widely as he made himself a cup of instant coffee.  Elena didn't drink it while she was nursing, so there was no sense making a full pot.  He took his cup over to the table and sat down to read the paper.  This was his quiet time - a chance to think for a while before the kids got up.

He took a sip of the hot liquid as he scanned the paper.  He usually gave the front page a once over, then moved on to more local events.  Sports he saved for the end, when he could devote all his time to the day's box scores.

He scanned the stories.  Some were interesting, some weren't.  He took another sip of coffee, then nearly spit it back out.  He sat up straight and read each word intently.

John Gage had been attacked in his home.  Attacked and beaten by an unknown male.  The story made much of the fact that this man had survived being held hostage by a serial killer, only to be victimized in his own home in our so-called safe community.

Paulo shoved the paper aside and groaned into his hands.

Keith... Keith, my amigo... what have you done?  Dios Mio, what have you done?

Paulo felt sick to his stomach.  Could he have stopped this from happening?  Should he have said something earlier?  He had convinced himself that his friend would work through this obsession.  Keith has hurting about Cal.  But he would get through it.  Now it seemed that wasn't the case.  Paulo had to do something.  He had to tell someone.

But who would he tell?  He couldn't turn Keith in.  He couldn't be the one.  Keith would never forgive him.  It would be a betrayal.  But his friend would never agree to turn himself in.  He would never agree to seek the help he needed.

Paulo sat at the table trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.

* * *

Los Angeles, California

Roy held Johnny's shirt as he slipped his arms into it, then stepped aside and let his friend finish the job.  Johnny was being released today.  His jaw was still swollen and his rib cage tender.  He was sporting an array of colorful bruises, but there was no reason to keep him in the hospital.  Roy would have felt better knowing his friend was someplace where someone could keep an eye on him, but Johnny had been adamant.  He needed to get Missy back on their routine.  And everyone knew how much the younger paramedic hated being in the hospital.

He wasn't going home though.  The police had finished their work there, but it was still a mess.  It would take a couple of days to get it painted and put back to rights.  Until then, Johnny and Missy were going to stay with Francie at her place.

That didn't make Roy feel much better.  Besides the fact that Francie's neighborhood wasn't the best to begin with, this creep knew where she lived.  But Johnny was aware of that.  And Roy didn't want to get in a fight with him about it.  Francie had been right.  Johnny's ability to make a choice and stick by it was only now returning to what it had been before Reggie.  He didn't need Roy badgering him about those decisions.

"You got everything?"

Johnny gave Roy a wry look.  "I din' 'za'tly bring anythin' with me."

Roy laughed.  "No.  I guess not."  He glanced around the room, but there wasn't anything else that belonged to Johnny.  "And you got your after care instructions, right?"  He couldn't miss the eye roll from his partner, but he figured he was entitled to a little hovering.

Johnny eased himself into one of the chairs.  They had to wait for Francie to bring Missy in.  And Dixie had asked them to wait for her to come in and say goodbye.

"I hope I don' scare her to death," Johnny said.

"You won't," Roy assured him.  "She'll just be happy to see you."

The door pushed open and Roy looked up, expecting to see Francie and Missy, or even Dixie.  But instead, a stocky Hispanic man stood in the doorway, his face hesitant, and when he took in Johnny's bruised face, he actually looked pained.

Roy stepped forward and offered the man a wary smile.  "I think you have the wrong room," he said cautiously.

The man glanced up at the number on the door, then back at the two men he was facing.

"No.  I'm looking for John Gage's room.  Is this it?"

Roy's first reaction was to step in front of Johnny.  Then he faced the man determinedly.

"Who wants to know?"

"Roy... Roy... "

Johnny was tugging on the back of his shirt, and Roy turned to see his friend shaking his head.  The paramedic relaxed and turned back to the stranger.

"I'm sorry," he said, not bothering to explain his actions.

But the man didn't seem offended by them, or even surprised.  "No problem.  I understand."  He glanced at them both and shuffled his feet, obviously uncomfortable with being here.

"Wha' ca' I do for you?" Johnny asked quietly.

When the man looked up again, Roy saw anguish on his face.  "My name is Paulo... Paulo Sanchez.  I'm an engineer... with Anaheim City Fire."

He fell silent, and Roy exchanged a look with Johnny.  His friend shrugged.  He didn't know what this was about either.

"Nice to meet you," Roy offered.

Paulo gave them a weak smile.  "Gracias.  But... I'm not sure you'll think it's nice when I tell you."

"Tell us what?" Roy asked.

"I work out of Station 9... in Anaheim Hills.  Cal... Cal Bentley was my friend.  He... he was killed."  He nodded in Johnny's direction.  "Before you were... before you..."

"I know," Johnny acknowledged softly.  "I 'member."

Paulo face had grown stricken.  "Cal was a good man... a good friend."  He took a deep breath and seemed to be gearing himself up.  When he started talking it was as if once he started, he couldn't stop.

"I have another friend.  He's a good man too, but... he can't help himself now.  He can't stop himself.  I'm sorry for what he did to you.  I should have said something... done something.  But I don't know how.  I need to help him, but I can't be the one.  It can't be me."

Roy's eyes narrowed, his anger pushing everything else the man was saying to the background.

"You knew your friend was following Johnny?  You knew he was doing this?"

"Roy... 'ta'e it easy," Johnny soothed.

Roy whirled to face his friend.  "Don't you hear what he's saying?  He knows who did this to you.  He knew it all along."

"I heard him," Johnny stated, and the very calmness in his voice cooled Roy's anger to where he could control it.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep a lid on his emotions.

"Wha' can we do?" Johnny asked.

Paulo lifted his hands, as if asking for their help.  "It can't be me.  He would never forgive me.  But a stranger... if you recognized him and turned him in.  He is not a bad man.  He needs help."

Roy looked at Johnny, hoping the plea from this distraught man would do what Roy hadn't been able to.  After a long moment, Johnny closed his eyes and nodded.

Paulo let go a relieved breath.  "Gracias.  His name is Keith Mattson."  He reached into his pocket and handed Roy a piece of paper.  "That is his address."  He looked at Johnny again.  "Lo siento.  I can never say I'm sorry enough."  With that, he turned and walked out the door.

Roy stared after him until he heard Johnny clear his throat in a way that told Roy he was trying not to cry.  He turned.  Johnny was just running his hand over his face and rubbing at his uninjured eye.

"You okay?" Roy asked, his own voice husky.

Johnny nodded.  "Yeah."  He glanced up and caught Roy's eye.  "Maybe... maybe he'll ge' the righ' help."

"Hopefully," Roy agreed.

"Reggie hur' him.  Reggie hur' everybo'y."  Johnny paused for a brief moment and Roy knew waht was coming before he said it.  "Reggie hur' you, too, Roy."

Roy tore his gaze away from his partner's, and shuffled over to stare out the window.  He knew what Johnny wanted him to do.  But he couldn't do it.  Why didn't Johnny understand that?"

"Roy..."

There was something in Johnny's voice that turned Roy from the window.

"I's okay, Roy.  I tol' him.  I tol' Dr. Evans."

Roy felt his blood turn to ice.  Somehow he knew what Johnny was going to say, but his mind was afraid to go there.

"I tol' Dr. Evans abou' the pi'shures.  You can tal' to him now.  You can tell him."

Roy's legs were suddenly weak.  He stumbled to the bed and sank down to the side.  He'd heard the words, knew what they meant, knew what it must have cost Johnny to tell the doctor.  He closed his eyes and felt tears stinging behind the lids.  And he suddenly felt like a drowning victim who'd just been thrown a life line.

Chapter Twenty-Five

October, 1978

Johnny opened his eyes, feeling something tickling his nose.  He smiled when he saw it was Francie's hair.  She was lying with her head on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, and he could feel her even breathing.

It had been almost two weeks since he'd been attacked, and he was mostly recovered.  His left eye still had a faint green and yellow ring under it, but his ribs were fine and his jaw had healed.  His dentist had been amazed that he hadn't lost any of his teeth, something for which Johnny was extremely grateful.

He and Missy had spent two nights at Francie's, but with the help of his friends, his house had been restored and they came home to the smell of fresh paint.  Missy didn't seem any worse for the disruption in her transition routine, and Johnny had finally decided the hell with the experts and invited the DeSotos over for a housewarming dinner.  Joanne had been hesitant, until they walked in the door and Missy had run into her arms, calling for Mama Jo.  Their reunion had been joyous, and when the time came to say goodbye, Missy had given Joanne a big hug and waved bye-bye without so much as a tear.

Johnny ran his hand down Francie's back.  She had been at his side through everything, and was here more than her own place anymore.  Johnny couldn't even imagine life without her, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Hmmm," Francie purred sleepily and moved even closer into Johnny's arm.  "Is it morning already?"

"I think so," Johnny told her with a chuckle.  "'Course, we wouldn't be so tired if you didn't keep me up all night."

He heard her indignant snort, and she lifted her head.  "Me?" she laughed.  "Whose Mr. Insatiable?"

She reached over and tickled him, making him flinch and then laugh.  He grabbed her up, then rolled them over, so he was looking down at her.

"You don't even want to start that," he warned her with a grin.  "You know I always win."

"That's 'cause you cheat," Francie told him, then pulled his head down and kissed him.

He started to laugh, but it died in his throat as the kiss deepened and became more ardent, and Johnny forgot about anything else but the beautiful body beneath him.  His hands moved over her shoulders and up her neck, then brushed through her hair, as his body and hers responded together.

"Talk about cheating," Johnny accused breathlessly, after their passion had been quenched.  He lay on his side and propped his head on his left hand, his right idly caressing her soft breasts.

Francie smiled and stretched, reminding Johnny of a cat.  She reached up and kissed him once more, then sat up and grabbed her shirt.  Johnny reached for her, meaning to pull her back down, but she resisted.

"Missy'll be awake soon," she reminded him.

"But not yet," he argued.  "And I wanna ask you something."

Francie regarded him suspiciously, but let herself be pulled back down beside him.  Johnny gazed at her for a long moment, not saying anything.

"What is it?" Francie finally asked.

"I want you to move in with us... with me and Missy."

Francie stared at him, speechless.  He'd obviously caught her off guard.  "But... Jay..."

He put a finger over her mouth to forestall her arguments.  "Just listen.  You're here all the time.  It doesn't make sense to keep paying rent on your apartment.  And I'd feel better if you weren't there alone."

Francie moved his finger.  "Jay... keeping me safe isn't a reason to ask me to live with you."

"Well, that's not the only reason," Johnny told her, feeling a little flustered.  He'd thought she'd say yes right away.  He gave her a shy smile, realizing how absurd it was to feel self-conscious around her since they were lying here in bed together, naked.  "Francie... I want you with me... all the time.  If it's a matter of space, there's the other bedroom.  You can have it... if you don't want to live in here with me."

She leaned forward, gazing at him intently.  "And what if I want to live in this room.... with you?"

Johnny wasn't sure how to read her.  "I would love for you to live in here with me," he said softly.  Then something clicked in his brain, and he suddenly knew what else she needed to hear from him.  "I love you," he told her, knowing he'd never meant anything so much in his life.  He reached out and touched her face.  "I love you, Francie," he whispered.

There were tears in her eyes as she moved into his arms.  He held her tenderly, until they both heard Missy calling for Daddy.

The mood broken, Francie sat up and swiped at her eyes.  "You go get her... I'll start breakfast."

"Sounds good to me," Johnny agreed.  His stomach seconded that and they both laughed.  As Francie left the bedroom, Johnny called after her.  "You never gave me an answer."

She leaned back in the doorway.  "What do you think?" she answered with a wink, then rushed off to the kitchen.

Johnny grinned and went to go get the baby.

Breakfast had never had such a happy tone.  Living alone, Johnny had mostly eaten in a rush, trying to avoid traffic on his way to work.  Cold cereal at home, then coffee at the station had been his routine.  Living at the DeSotos' had been different.  Joanne normally made sure the family had a balanced breakfast.  Johnny had eaten his meals gratefully, and he'd been made more than welcome in Roy's home, but he always knew he was a guest.

When he'd moved in here, and was taking care of Missy alone, breakfast had been a challenge to make sure the baby ate.  His meal was usually an afterthought.

Now, with Francie here most mornings, things were different.  Though Francie wasn't the same caliber of cook that Joanne was, Johnny soon learned it wasn't a matter of what you ate, as much as who you ate with.  With two of them here, they usually worked together to get the meal ready and take care of Missy.

This morning though was more than normally bright.  Johnny figured it was because his life finally felt right.  The pieces of his life had come back together.  All he had left to do was to start back to work next week.  He sighed as he finished off his pancakes and pushed his plate away.

"Thanks for breakfast," he told Francie, as he reached over to encourage Missy to put her bite in her mouth and not rub it around her plate.

"Sorry they were burned a little," Francie answered with an embarrassed laugh.

"They weren't bad," Johnny assured her.  "Just a little bit on the edges."

Francie got up and took her plate to the sink.  She came back for Johnny's and kissed his cheek.  "That's for being nice enough to lie," she told him.

"Hey... I wasn't lying," he began to protest, but the ringing of the doorbell interrupted him.  He scooted back his chair and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel that was lying on the table.  "I'll go see who it is," he said.  But he swooped in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly for a quick hug.  "I wasn't lying," he whispered, then let go and moved to answer the door.  Francie's laughter rang in his ears all the way there.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'," he muttered as the bell rang again before he could get there.

He didn't know who would be dropping by this early in the morning.  He opened the door, prepared to greet whomever was there.  But his words stuck in his throat, and his heart nearly stopped beating.

"Hi, Johnny."

It took him a long moment before he was able to gather his wits enough to formulate anything coherent to say.  When he finally did, he stumbled awkwardly over his words.

"Kathy?  Uh... hi.  What... what are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"What?  Oh... yeah, come in."  He held the door open and stepped aside so she could enter.

She hadn't changed much.  Her hair was cut a little shorter than he remembered.  But she was still as beautiful as the last time he'd seen her.  She stood in the living room, her eyes taking in the sparse decor, and Johnny thought he saw a hint of disdain in her eyes.  Had he been so blinded by her looks that he never noticed this in her before?  He couldn't be sure.

"What... um... how did you find me?"

"The judge gave me your address.  He said it would be okay if I came and visited Melissa."

"Oh.  Yeah.  Okay."

He blasted his own stupidity.  There'd been so many other things going on that he'd conveniently pushed Missy's custody issues to the back of his mind.  He'd practically forgotten that she wasn't legally his yet.  He did a quick mental count.  The six months the court had ordered was nearly up.  Leave it to Kathy to wait until the last minute.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Can I see her?"

"Oh... right.. Sure.  I'll go get her.  We were just... that is she was just eating breakfast."

Feeling dumber than ever, Johnny walked into the kitchen.  Francie was in the middle of washing Missy up.  She looked up when Johnny came in, and the look on his face must have frightened her.  She straightened up, still holding the washrag in her hand.

"What's wrong?"

Johnny walked over to the high chair.  With the ease of practice, he removed the tray and picked his daughter up in his arms.

"Kathy's here," he told Francie in a low tone.

Francie's brown eyes widened in alarm.  "But it's been so long," she breathed. "She wouldn't..."

Johnny shook his head.  "I have no idea what she's gonna do."

He steeled himself against the feeling of dread that was building up inside of him.  It would be too cruel to have come this far in building a new life for himself, only to have someone out of his past step in and knock everything out from under him.  He held Missy close and returned to the living room.

He watched Kathy's eyes grow soft with wonder as she saw her baby for the first time since she was six months old.  Roy had said they'd sent pictures, but that they'd lost contact with Kathy after a few months.  And as far as Missy was concerned, this woman was a stranger.

"She's beautiful," Kathy said breathlessly.  She reached out her hands.  "Is it okay?  Can I hold her?"

The last thing Johnny wanted to do was to hand his baby over to this woman, but he knew if he didn't let her, it would cause problems later.  He reluctantly held out his arms and let Kathy take her.

"Hi, Missy," she said with a smile.  "How are you?"

Missy regarded this person who was holding her with apprehension.

"Does she talk?" Kathy asked.

Johnny somehow restrained himself from rolling his eyes.  "Of course, she talks.  She's eighteen months old."

In fact, Missy's speech had blossomed in the last month.  Johnny swore sometimes she learned a new word everyday.  And her pronunciations were getting better too, though she still insisted on calling Roy Bapa. He stepped up closer.

"Can you say "hi" to this lady, sweetpea?"

"This lady?" Kathy asked, her voice raising a little with indignation.

Johnny didn't want to make her mad., even though he didn't think Kathy had any right to the title of mother.  He forced himself to answer calmly.

"She's still making the transition from Joanne being her mother," he explained.  "I didn't want to confuse her any more than she already is."

That placated Kathy, and she smiled at Missy again.  But the toddler had apparently reached her limit with being held by somebody she didn't know.  She leaned out of Kathy's arms, reaching for Johnny.

"Daddy," she called, and he took her back.

"She doesn't know you," he explained by way of an apology, but Kathy waved it aside.

"I know."  She tore her gaze away from Missy and looked at Johnny.  "How are you?  I mean.. I read about you in the papers... and I was wondering..."

"I'm sure you were," Johnny stated, not able to hide his sarcasm.  He put Missy down, and she moved over to her toy chest and busied herself with her stuffed bunny.  He gave Kathy a probing look.  "Is that why you're here?  To make sure I'm not some kind of weirdo now?"

"Johnny... that's not fair.  I just want to know Missy's okay.  That you two are doing all right together."

"We're doing fine," he stated, his face flushed with emotion.  "I've done everything the judge asked.  We've got this house... I'm going back to work next week.  Everything is great."

He saw Kathy's eyes flicker past him, and he turned to see Francie standing timidly in the kitchen doorway, unsure whether to come in and be introduced, or dash down the hall to hide in the bedroom.  Johnny's first thought was to blast the timing of her entrance.  He wondered what Kathy must be thinking.  Would she approve of Francie, or decide the girl wasn't fit to be around Missy.  But then Johnny saw Francie's uncertainty, saw it for what it really meant.  She wasn't sure how she measured up to Missy's mother - to a woman Johnny had cared for in the past.

And he suddenly didn't care what Kathy thought.  He wasn't embarrassed by Francie, or by his feelings for her.  He had a right to a life, and Kathy was the last person on earth in a position to pass judgment.

He opened his arm in a beckoning gesture.  Francie smiled and came over.  Johnny didn't stop at having her stand there.  He wanted to make it clear to Kathy that they were together.  He put his arm around Francie's shoulders and pulled her close beside him.

"Kathy, this is Francie Miller.  Francie... this is Kathy Palmer.  Um... Missy's mom."

The two women exchanged strained greetings.  After that, there was a tense silence in the room, broken only by Missy's happy babbling.

Finally, Kathy spoke up.  "Johnny... could we talk for a minute... outside maybe?"

So she was off balance as well.  For some reason that made Johnny feel better about the whole situation.  He squeezed Francie's hand, then followed Kathy outside.

They stood silently on the porch for a minute.  Kathy was the first to speak.

"She's a little on the young side."

Johnny felt a flush of anger, but he fought to keep it in check.

"And that's important because?"

Kathy shrugged.  "I guess it's not."  She fidgeted with a rather large ring on her finger.  "Look... Johnny... I didn't come here to mess anything up for you.  Really, I didn't.  I was just... curious, I guess."

"About what?"

"About the baby.  What she was like.  How big she was now."  She looked at him for a moment, then dropped her gaze.  "And about us... you and me.  I mean... we had a baby together.  I just wondered..."

"We didn't really have the baby together," Johnny reminded her.

"That wasn't my fault," Kathy protested weakly.

"It wasn't mine either," Johnny stated sadly.

Kathy's shoulders sagged.  "I know.  I just thought maybe... you and me..."  She shrugged.  "I guess not though."  She looked past him into the house.  "It looks like you've got a nice life now."

Johnny nodded.  "I do.  More than I could have ever hoped for."

Kathy's smile was genuine, if a little sad for what might have been.  "Then I'm happy for you.  I'll go see the judge tomorrow and sign the papers."

Johnny let go his breath and felt like he'd been holding it the whole time Kathy was here.  "Thank you."  He took her by the shoulders and kissed her cheek.  "Thank you so much."

Kathy gave him another small smile, then turned and walked down the path to the curb.  Johnny saw her get into a shiny black BMW and drive away.  It looked like she'd gotten what she wanted out of life.  He turned to look at the house and saw Francie standing in the doorway, holding Missy on her hip.  He smiled widely.  So had he.

* * *

Johnny pulled into the parking lot behind Station 51 and turned off the Rover's engine.  He sat for a moment, just thinking.  He could see the familiar cars: Roy's Porsche was here already, Stoker's pickup, Kelly's beat up van.  Johnny smiled.  So much had changed, yet some things never did.

He took a deep breath and opened the door of the Rover, reaching back to grab his supply of newly cleaned uniforms.  Draping them over his shoulder by the hangers, he walked toward the open bay.  His stomach was fluttering with nervous butterflies.  It wasn't that he was afraid to come to work.  But for some reason he felt like a probie all over again.

This was his last big step.  Keith Mattson was getting professional help.  Crockett had nearly blown a gasket when Johnny refused to press charges.  But he'd stuck to his guns.  Having the poor guy serve jail time wouldn't serve any purpose.  Keith had checked in to a live-in treatment center that Dr. Evans had recommended, and the psychologist was hopeful for his eventual recovery.

Roy was also now undergoing counseling from Dr. Evans.  It hadn't been easy for him to walk into the office that first visit, but after just a couple weeks, Johnny could already see a difference in his friend.  Roy was more relaxed, less edgy.  And he was laughing again.  And to top everything off, he and Joanne had just announced they were expecting a new arrival.  Roy had made sure Johnny knew they weren't trying to replace Missy.  Johnny understood.  And he was completely thrilled for his friends.

Johnny smiled to himself.  It had been two years now.  Two years since that awful night when he'd walked around the squad and found Roy being held at gunpoint.  Two years since he'd scrambled frantically for a way to save his best friend from a mad man.  Two years since Johnny had descended into hell.

But he'd come back.  And thanks to a lot of help from a lot of people, he'd come back all the way.  Now he just had one more door to walk through.

He stepped into the bay.  The rigs were parked in their usual spots.  He bypassed Big Red and walked over to the squad.  As he walked around the truck, he ran his hand along the sides.  It was solid under his hand, no longer part of his nightmares, and no longer an elusive dream.

He'd reached the driver's side door, and his fingers traced over the handle, trying to feel where the bullets had been.

"They're gone."

Johnny glanced up and saw Roy standing beside the compartment doors.  He was smiling knowingly.

"I checked on my first day back."

Johnny chuckled.  "Guess there's nothing visible left, huh?"

Roy walked up to stand beside Johnny.  He held out his hand so that his wrist was next to Johnny's.

"I wouldn't say nothing."

Johnny glanced at the set of matching scars.  Roy was right.  They would always carry their own personal reminders.

Roy slapped Johnny on the shoulder, shifting gears away from the painful memories.  "Come on into the Day Room.  Cap brought donuts and Chet's gonna hog 'em all if you don't get in there."

"Lemme get changed first," Johnny said.

"Okay, but hurry.  I can't hold Kelly off forever."

Johnny laughed and headed for the locker room. He hung up his uniforms and quickly changed.  Then he pulled out the poster he'd found in one of the boxes Roy had packed.  He unrolled it and tacked it up on the inside of the wooden door.  He smiled and gave Smokey a tap before he closed the door.  As he walked across the bay he began to whistle.

When he reached to door to the Day Room, he pushed it open.

"There better be a jelly-filled left, Kelly, or..."

He was suddenly drenched from head to toe.  With water dripping from his hair, he glanced up to see the carefully placed bucket above the door.  He could hear laughter and saw all his shift-mates, including Roy sitting around the table with big grins on their faces.

As he stood there soaked, Chet came over with a towel in one hand and a donut in the other.  He tossed Johnny the towel, then put an arm around the soaked paramedic.

"Welcome back, John," he said with a huge smile.  Then he handed over the biggest jelly donut Johnny had ever seen.

"Gee, thanks a lot, Chet," Johnny chuckled.

He took the towel and wiped his face.  Then he studied the donut in his hand.  He took a big bite, looking at the red jelly that oozed out of the middle of the pastry.   Then, with great care, he took the donut and smeared it across Kelly's face.

"It's good to be back, Chet."  And Johnny walked to the table and sat down, giggling the entire way.

Epilogue

Los Angeles, California

May, 1980

People in my profession don't always see happy endings.  My patients have gone through so much pain and anguish that even the smallest step forward is celebrated as a victory.  But the majority of times those little leaps are as much as I can realistically expect from them.  It can be depressing if I let it weigh on me.  Usually I tell myself I'm doing the best I can to help and go on from there.  But once in a while there are exceptions - a personality strong enough to overcome incredible tragedy and come out stronger in the end.

John Gage was one of my most wonderful exceptions.

I'm standing here today watching him.  Not as his doctor, but as a friend, and a guest at his wedding.  It is a small affair, held in Roy DeSoto's back yard.  The place is packed with firemen in dress uniforms, children in suits and chiffon and patent leather shoes, women whose carefully styled hair has given up the ghost in the afternoon breeze.

The ceremony itself was performed under a white whicker archway, either rented or borrowed for the day.  John stood tall and proud in his uniform, with Roy beside him as best man.  It would have been hard to imagine this scene two years ago when I first met Roy - a man desperate to find help for his tortured friend.

Both men had come so far.  Much farther than I would have credited them.  But I believe this is due in large part to their deep-rooted friendship - their love for each other - that neither would give up on the other or let the other give up on himself.

They aren't really my patients anymore, though they both stop by occasionally if they're at Rampart and have some free time.  We usually just chat, but I am confident they would both let me know if they were having any problems.  They've both confided in me that they are studying for their captains exams.  I wish them all the best.

It was heartwarming to watch the ceremony.  To see three year old Missy walk down the grassy aisle with her basket of flowers.  In her long white dress and the daisies woven into her dark hair, she looked like an angel.  That she didn't scatter any flowers the whole way down, and when she reached the end simply tipped her basket over and dumped them at the preacher's feet, only added to moment.

And then there was Francie.  Walked down the aisle by Captain Stanley, she was positively beaming.  She wears her hair a little more mainstream these days.  There is no more pink.  I imagine the need to assert herself in that way faded with maturity, the security of John's love, and perhaps a little encouragement from Joanne DeSoto.

Joanne stood in as Matron of Honor, though her youngest, one year old Matthew, insisted on clinging to her leg through the entire thing, despite the whispered entreaties of his older brother and sister.

John and Francie's vows were short and simple.  Neither of them were outwardly religious.  They didn't need the trappings of church rituals.  The preacher said what the state required him to say.  Then John and Francie said a few words to each other.  And then they kissed.

I suppose I'm getting sentimental in my old age.  But I have to admit I shed a few tears.  I know a great many marriages start out with all the hopes in the world, only to fail over time.  But I have a good feeling about these two.  I can see it in the way they look at each other, in the way they parent Missy together, and especially in the way they kissed today - in front of all their friends and for all the world to see.  They love each other deeply.  And I'm happy for them.

I can close my file now on John Gage.  He doesn't need my services any longer.

The End

This was a long time coming.  Thanks to all of you who kept asking me about a sequel to Lost & Found.  It kept making my muse uncomfortable.  LOL And thank you for being patient enough to wait four years for it.  I hope you enjoy it.

And many, many thanks go out to Kenda and Audrey, for reading and proofing and supporting and cheering and hand holding, and everything else it took to get this finished.

And, as always, thanks to Audrey for giving it a home. :>

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