Serendipity

  Part 4

Chet looked down into his friend’s pale face, and the stricken look there scared him more than anything he’d ever seen. Johnny’s mouth was moving, trying to say something, but no words came out. Blood seeped from the corner of Johnny’s mouth; he had bitten his tongue in the fall, and his cheek was bleeding from a cut he had sustained when he hit the gravel. His face was taut with pain, and he was beginning to shiver almost convulsively. In a tone on the edge of frantic, Chet called, “Hey Marco, man, get me a blanket, will ya?”

Marco’s eyes met Chet’s; the curly-haired fireman’s face was strained with worry and fear. “Got it, Chet.” Marco ran off for the blanket, his own stomach in knots over the ordeal.

Chet looked back down at Johnny, trying to make eye contact. Squeezing his shoulder once he said, “It’s gonna be okay, man,” in the most comforting tone he could muster. “Just hang in there, okay?” Chet hoped Johnny couldn’t hear the shaking in his voice as he tried to cover up the overwhelming fear closing around him. He knew he had to keep his cool, you weren’t supposed to let the patient hear how scared you were because it could send them into a panic and make their condition even worse. It suddenly occurred to Chet how hard that was to do when the person beside you was on the verge of bleeding to death, complicated by the fact that it was a close friend. It made him appreciate more fully what John and Roy and every paramedic went through every day. I should be used to this by now, he tried to tell himself, recalling the time Johnny was bitten by the rattlesnake, and more recently, when he was hit by a car. He’d had to help treat Johnny both times. This seemed different though; there was just so much blood.

Johnny seemed to focus on Chet’s face for a moment, then his eyes closed again as a soft whimper escaped his throat. Chet felt the blood soaking through the bandages, and reached for another. With trembling hands, he placed a fresh bandage over top of the sodden one, nauseated at the thought of the dreadful wound underneath. He thanked God it was dark.

The paramedics from 16’s reached Chet’s side, followed by Marco with the blanket. Chet managed to explain what had happened, although later he wouldn’t remember how he was able to do it so calmly when inside he’d felt like he was about to lose it, and they quickly began getting Johnny’s vitals. Johnny’s blood pressure had dropped from its earlier reading; Chet heard Frank tell Rampart it was 90 over 50. He continued to hold the pressure bandage on John’s wound while the paramedics talked with Doctor Early, relaying the rest of the vitals.

To Chet, the voice over the biophone sounded surreal. ‘16, start two IV’s….large bore….one Ringers, one half-normal saline. Administer five milligrams MS, and keep monitoring vitals. Transport as soon as possible.’ The feeling of wetness through another soaked bandage forced his eyes down, and he saw dark red blood streaming down Johnny’s hip in small rivulets, the bandage he’d placed there a minute ago already saturated. Chet closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on keeping his composure, then asked Marco for another bandage.

By the time the IV’s were started, and a sterile saline dressing topped with a pressure bandage was secured over John’s exit wound, Johnny was not fully conscious anymore. The shock and blood loss were taking its toll on him. His eyes opened and closed randomly, his gaze wandering lazily around him.

Three sets of hands began slowly turning and lifting him, and Johnny felt himself being placed onto a hard, flat surface. The vague cognizance of a backboard underneath him was quashed quickly, when the movement caused a burning agony to spread through his entire lower body with such stunning intensity, that it almost made him pass out. He felt someone’s hand slide into his own as he weakly cried out, then felt a sensation of being lifted and placed on another surface. Blankets were placed over top of him and he felt the tightening of straps against his body. Movement caused dizziness as the gurney he had been placed on lifted. A few moments later, things began fading again, and he found he couldn’t keep his eyes open any more. It was good to be off the hard lumpy gravel, and something was making him feel very fuzzy. He decided to give in to it, and with some of his discomfort now dulled, he slid into a twilight haze, still recognizing however, that someone’s hand was still in his. It felt comforting. He was too out of it to notice when the hand finally slid from his grasp.

The police officer went into cardiac arrest on the way to the hospital. Despite the usual medications Roy administered to keep him alive and the three electrical shocks he received in the ambulance, he was still a flat line by the time he reached Rampart. Roy stood on the rungs of the gurney doing CPR as it sped toward the ER, a combination of sweat and water from being out in the rain dripped down his face. Dr. Brackett called it at eight thirty-four that evening.

Roy stared down at the officer who had just died as they pulled a sheet over his head, then turned and made a hasty departure from the treatment room. Once outside, he leaned backward against the wall, the stress and implications of the evening’s events suddenly descending on him. He looked around; he could tell they hadn’t brought his partner in yet. His head drooped, and he stared at the floor, his hands coming up to rub at his temples. A moment later, he heard the treatment room door opening, and Dixie and Dr. Brackett came out. A woman’s hand touched his arm, and he looked up desolately.

Brackett spoke first. “There was nothing you could do, Roy. He was hemorrhaging too badly.”

Roy shook his head in incomprehension and looked away. “Maybe….maybe if we’d only gotten here sooner….the guy was shooting at us….we had to stop and wait….and now Johnny…” His voice trailed off.

“Roy, I don’t think those extra few minutes would have helped. There was just too much damage.” The sound of footsteps approaching drew their attention, and they saw three police officers heading their way.

Roy’s expression turned to dread. “Oh, God. I’ve got to tell them….he was his partner,” Roy gestured with a nod to the man in front.

Brackett put his hand on Roy’s forearm. “No. I’ll do it,” and he stepped away from them, walking toward the officers, his face set in a grim expression. The words he had just used produced an instant déjà vu for Roy of a time when another police officer had died, and his own partner had said those same words before going to deliver the bad news to the man’s wife. Now that partner was on his way here in an ambulance, his own future possibly in peril.

Roy looked down at Dixie, his eyes conveying fear. He needed no words for her to understand what he was thinking.

“Johnny should be here any minute,” she said softly. “C’mon.” She directed him toward the base station, where Dr. Early stood, having just communicated with the paramedics from 16’s.

“Doc?”

“ETA is one minute.”

Though Dr. Early was a master at keeping a game face, Roy could still detect the telltale look of worry in his eyes, giving away the urgent nature of his partner’s injury. Before he had a chance to ask Johnny’s status, they heard a flurry of activity at the doors at the end of the hall. Johnny had arrived.

Roy rushed to meet the gurney, running alongside it as they wheeled his best friend to the treatment room. The doors opened a second time, and the rest of 51’s A-shift burst through, following them.

The sudden jostling at being maneuvered out of the ambulance brought Johnny out of his haze, and his world abruptly became vividly sharp. Sirens that had melted into a soft hum of background noise during the ambulance ride abruptly ended, replaced by urgent voices all around him, mixing with the squealing wheels of the gurney as it traveled rapidly. Bright light assaulted his eyeballs from behind closed lids as the fixtures overhead flew by with dizzying speed. Johnny tried opening his eyes briefly, only to pull them shut again at the visual assault. The acute pain in his pelvic area made itself known again, nearly taking his breath away. Being moved from the gurney to the examination table was excruciating, and he gripped the sheet on the table with every ounce of strength he had to try to cope with it.

A flurry of activity surrounded Johnny; there seemed to be enough people there to help his partner, maybe too many, Roy thought, as they all jockeyed for a place around the table, each assisting with a separate task. Roy could barely see what was going on; Dr. Early’s head was nearly invisible behind the other nurses and interns as he bent over his patient. Roy caught a glimpse of Johnny’s bloody abdomen as a nurse stepped away after cutting away his clothes, and his stomach knotted at the sight. It looked bad. His mind commanded him to move forward, but his feet seemed cemented to the floor. He began to feel light-headed, and questioned to himself why he was feeling this way, wondering what was holding him back. It’s not like he hadn’t seen blood before, or badly injured people, or even gunshot wounds. He continued to stand stonily still, rooted to his spot, as Doctor Early examined John, simultaneously ordering a barrage of tests.

From where he stood, he heard his partner moaning softly, and it reminded him of the time that Johnny had been hit by the car and he’d stood almost in this same exact spot, and the same exact sounds had emerged from the back of Johnny’s throat. It was almost like it happened yesterday, as his mind flashed back to that scene, so similar to the one happening now – a case where a criminal had caused a life-threatening injury to his partner, his best friend, purposefully. Best friend, Roy thought. I wasn’t much of a friend today. God, I was so awful to Johnny this evening – the whole day for that matter. And for what? Because he tried to help me. What was my problem? God, I wish I could take back what I said, he thought shamefully.

Riddled with guilt, he stared soberly at the table. Two of the nurses moved away, and he could see John clearly now. His face was ashen, turned toward him slightly; he looked conscious, though his eyes were closed. The blood around his mouth and cheek had dried onto his face. Roy’s eyes slid sideways, and the sight of his friend’s hand clutching tightly to the side of the exam table propelled him into action.

Johnny felt a gentle hand on his forearm and pulled his eyes open. Roy’s face swam above him, his blue eyes looking compassionately down at him. Even though he didn’t feel it, Roy produced a reassuring smile for his friend, trying his best not to show his worry. “Hey. You hangin’ in?” he asked, for lack of a better thing to say. Funny, wasn’t that exactly what he’d said the last time?

Through labored breathing, Johnny managed a painful smile that faded quickly. In a low, strained voice, he mumbled, “I feel like….someone planted a bomb….inside me….and….and detonated it.” His eyes closed as he tried to block out the pain that the MS didn’t quite alleviate.

Roy didn’t know what to say. Johnny’s description of what had happened was fairly accurate. He couldn’t imagine what it must feel like.

John’s eyes opened halfway and he quipped, “Chet’s gonna….make fun ‘a me….gettin’ shot in the ass.”

Roy smiled wanly, amazed that his partner was able to lie there and joke when he was so seriously injured, but he was even more amazed that Johnny was even talking to him, as if nothing bad had transpired between them. It was just like Johnny to be so forgiving. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Roy answered back lightly, “but if he does, he’ll have to answer to me.” Roy’s attempt at a joking tone failed as his words came out more forcefully than he’d intended, the smile in those words not reaching his eyes. It came off as a desperate attempt to show Johnny his friendship was still important; Roy’s unnecessary over-protectiveness belied his guilty emotional state.

Johnny didn’t acknowledge Roy’s comment; instead, his eyes moved to one of the ceiling tiles. His body was under too much stress to take on the additional emotional baggage of Roy’s demeanor. Not being able to continue, his eyes shone with a fleeting look of desperation to finish the conversation, then he took a deep breath and exhaled as his eyes slid shut, overcome with the stress and pain he was dealing with.

At that moment, two x-ray technicians rolled the heavy portable machine through the door, and Dr. Early moved away to talk to them. Roy overheard him order a lower spinal series, followed with an IV Pyelogram, stat. Then everyone began leaving the room.

Dixie saw Roy frozen in his spot next to Johnny, and went to usher him out of the room. “C’mon, Roy,” she said gently. “We need to get these x-rays.”

He looked at her glumly, nodding, then patting Johnny’s shoulder, said hesitantly, “Johnny….I’ll be back after they take the pictures.” John opened his eyes briefly to acknowledge Roy, not being able to summon enough energy to do more than that. With shoulders slumped, Roy reluctantly shuffled from the room.

Roy looked stricken when he appeared outside the treatment room; Mike, and Marco immediately surrounded him, anxious for information. Seeing Roy’s state of mind, Captain Stanley held back, then urged his two crew members to give Roy some space. Chet was standing nearby, staring blankly outward with his hands shoved inside his pockets, not saying a word. Giving Roy a moment to compose himself, Hank then spoke to him, his brow furrowed in consternation. “Roy, what do you think? How bad is it?”

Roy shook his head. He didn’t know if he was just subconsciously trying to spare his crewmates the bad news, or maybe he just wanted to deny the truth from himself. All he knew is that what he’d seen was bad, and Johnny’s injury could result in any number of consequences from very serious to totally debilitating. Roy rubbed his chin and mouth with his hand. “We, ah, we can’t be sure yet, Cap. The bullet entered from behind and went through him diagonally, exiting out his lower abdominal region.” Roy pointed to the parts on his body showing the direction the bullet traveled. Realizing that he should be frank with them in order to prepare them for the worst, he added, “There could be a lot of damage. Given the direction the bullet took, it could have destroyed any number of tissues. It could have traveled through the intestines or his urinary system, it could have destroyed muscle tissue, ligaments and blood vessels; it could have shattered his pelvis or even hit his spine.” Roy’s blue eyes shone with fear as they met his Captain’s, and he reached back to massage a growing stiff spot in the back of his neck. “I guess we’ll know more after the x-rays.”

Captain Stanley was silent for a long moment after Roy finished, stoically absorbing the information. His eyes darted away from Roy, and he looked down a moment, his lips tightly pursed together as he ran his hand quickly through his hair. A few seconds later, he looked back at Roy, and with a resigned sigh, he folded his arms against his body and leaned back against the wall. Mike stood stiffly by his Captain’s side, his usual quiet manner seemed to emphasize the foreboding feeling surrounding them. Chet remained board-like, ignoring Marco when he went over to stand next to him.

Twenty minutes later, Roy was still standing out in the emergency room hall with the rest of his crew, waiting for news. He glanced over at Chet.

The Irishman hadn’t moved from his position, except that now he was leaning against the wall. He still hadn’t uttered a word since Roy had exited the ER. Roy looked over at the shell-shocked man, then back at Captain Stanley. “Cap? Is…Chet all right?”

Hank sighed. “Yeah,” he said quietly enough so that Chet wouldn’t hear. “He’s just…a little shaken up by this.” Roy continued to study him, waiting for a further explanation. “He stayed with John the whole time, after you left. I think it got to him, all the blood, and the shooting and everything.” Chet wasn’t the only one that this had gotten to. Roy’s captain was looking rather shaky himself right now, as they all were.

“Yeah,” Roy said somberly. “I know.” Roy glanced around the hallway; his eyes kept returning to the closed door of the treatment room, willing someone to emerge to give them more news. He thought if someone didn’t come out soon, he was going to burst. He leaned in closer, hoping to hear something.

“I still can’t believe it,” Marco said, nearly whispering. He had left Chet’s side and was standing with the others. One hand was deep in his pocket, absently fingering his rosary beads that he kept there.

“None of us can, Marco,” Mike replied. “We’ll just have to hope Johnny’s okay.”

 Roy looked over at Chet again, worry filling him as he took in the Chet’s stony expression; the curly-haired man almost looked like he was in shock. Scrutinizing Chet a moment longer, Roy then walked down the hall a ways to the base station. Reaching for a coffee pot, he poured a fresh cup, added some cream, and headed in Chet’s direction. “Here,” he held the steaming mug out to the Irish fireman.

Chet’s posture hardened, and he took the cup, reaching for it with a hand covered in dried blood – Johnny’s blood. Roy was shocked to see that there was quite a bit of blood not only on Chet’s hands, but on his turnout coat as well; Chet hadn’t washed it off yet. Seeing it was like receiving a harsh slap of reality in the face, reminding Roy of the implications of Johnny’s injury.

 Seemingly oblivious to the blood on his hands, Chet took a sip of the hot liquid. “Thanks,” he muttered, refusing to look at the paramedic. Roy wasn’t Chet’s favorite person right now, after having overheard his scathing words to Johnny just a short while ago. He knew what happened to Johnny certainly wasn’t Roy’s fault, but somehow the way Roy had treated his friend – and it was his friend too, he thought defensively; after all, Roy didn’t have the market on Johnny’s friendship by any means; now seemed to make what happened to Gage even worse.

Roy scrutinized him while he drank the coffee. Chet still looked forlorn, but there was a fierce edge to his expression. Roy reached out and patted him on the back, and felt Chet stiffen at his touch. “Hey; you did good out there tonight, helping Johnny. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.”

Chet remained silent, the only sign he displayed of even hearing Roy’s words was a shift of his eyes downward.

Roy tried again, seeing the turmoil going through his friend. “I know it’s hard, Chet…especially when it’s a friend – ”

That drew a quiet snort from Chet.

“….it’s never easy,” Roy continued, “just remember, Johnny’s strong; he’s got everything going for him. I think he’s got a good chance of pulling through this…”

“You really think so?” Chet said sarcastically, his biting words delivered to the wall across from him, and not Roy.

Roy stared at him, confused at the angry tone in Chet’s voice that seemed to be directed at him. His mind worked at trying to figure out exactly where it was directed, unsure of whether it was just the stress of the situation expressing itself, or if perhaps Chet really was angry at Roy for some reason. Roy had felt awful having to leave the scene and let Chet bear the brunt of Johnny’s care, but he’d had no choice. Surely Chet had understood that. Just the same, Roy only knew too well how frustrating and desperate it felt to be helpless and unable to aid a friend who was in dire need of care. That emotion wasn’t foreign to him at all, especially where Johnny was concerned. It’d happened twice; once when Johnny had been bitten by a snake and Roy had been unable to be there to help him, and then again, when he’d been hit by that car, and there had been no drugs available to give to Johnny. Now it had happened again. Even though he wasn’t sure where Chet’s anger was coming from, he thought he understood it, and tried to answer in a non-confrontational tone. “I think so, Chet. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

Chet only nodded. Abruptly, he turned to Roy and said, “Did you see how bad he was bleeding, Roy? Vince said he got shot with a rifle.” Chet’s voice wavered on the word ‘rifle’, and his eyes shone with blame and indignation.

Roy flinched at Chet’s outburst, taken aback by the accusatory glare he was receiving. He was a bit astonished at the raw emotion coming out of Chet. He supposed that maybe Chet’s feelings for Johnny ran deeper than he realized, but was clueless to the fact that Chet felt some animosity toward him right now.

Roy also reasoned that although Chet and the other guys had certainly seen their share of grisly injuries, usually they never got close enough to them to be too greatly affected. This time had been different. Chet had seen the injury, up close and personal, and on one of his best friends. It had to shake him. “I know, Chet.” What more could he say?

Roy saw Dr. Early approaching with another doctor, an envelope in his hand. “Here comes the Doc.”

As he went through the treatment room door, Joe offered a soft smile and said, “I’ll have some news for you guys in a minute, okay?” He paused briefly, and glancing at Roy, gave a quick sideways nod of his head, indicating that Roy was welcome to follow him in to the treatment room.

His co-workers eyes tracked Roy as he anxiously followed the doctors inside, then stared at the door as it swung shut behind him.

Roy and the other doctor situated themselves aside Joe Early as he pulled the x-rays out of the envelope and snapped them up on the light board. Both doctors studied them a moment; Dixie had stepped in beside him, and the four of them stood looking at the black and white images together. Roy glanced back at his partner; a nurse was busy cleaning the blood off his face while another was taking a new blood pressure reading.

Joe pointed to two spots on the x-ray. “Pelvis is broken, here and here.”

Now the other doctor, a urologist, moved closer, showing Joe a couple of other x-rays. A special dye had been injected intravenously to track the contrast through John’s urinary system, and now they were looking at the results of those films. “See the extravasation?” he pointed at the contrast leaking out into the surrounding tissues. “Looks like the bullet ripped right through the ureteovesicular junction and took a bit of the bladder with it. Could be some damage to the large intestine, but we’ll know more once we open him up.”

Early nodded simply, and turned toward the nurses in the room. “Let’s get him prepped for surgery.”

Roy heard the ‘yes, Doctors’ simultaneously from several nurses, and searched Joe’s face for a more definitive explanation.

Joe stopped briefly and caught Roy’s stare, his own eyes radiating compassion. “You can stay just a minute, Roy, then we’ve got to get him upstairs. I’m sorry, but we don’t have any longer than that.”

The fact that Joe had just conveyed that they needed to get Johnny into surgery immediately instilled a sense of urgency in Roy, and he quickly went to Johnny’s side. “Johnny?” Roy called softly, touching his shoulder.

Gage’s eyelids opened, his eyes focusing on the face above him. In a voice strained with pain and emotion, he choked, “I can’t believe….he shot me, Roy.” The reality of the act of violence against him was just beginning to sink in; the implications of it only exacerbated the difficulty of dealing with the actual injury.

Roy squeezed his shoulder gently. “I know. You’re gonna be okay though. The doc’s gonna fix you right up. They’ll be taking you to surgery in a minute.”

The trembling in Roy’s hand on his shoulder was unmistakable, adding to his own distress. “I….I heard the Doc….God, Roy….”

Roy now saw the anguish in John’s eyes, and a tight knot formed in his chest. “Hey,” he said with conviction, “you’re gonna be all right.”

Johnny looked up at his friend, his eyes desperate for some kind of reassurance for himself, but saw the naked fear on Roy’s face. Somehow he managed to summon a faint smile, and offered his friend some instead. “I…I know….don’t worry….Doc Early’s….the best….right?”

Roy swallowed a lump in his throat, cognizant of the fact that Johnny was actually trying to make him feel better, and after what he’d said earlier that day…. “Right. He’s the best.”

Johnny grimaced in pain again, then said, “Wouldja….call Heather for me?”

Leaning in a bit closer, Roy frowned worriedly and patted his shoulder, quickly giving his answer in an effort to offer at least a tiny bit of comfort to his friend. “Sure, Johnny. I’ll call her. Right away.”

Out in the hall, Dr. Early and the urologist, Dr. Roger Simms, had just emerged to fill in Captain Stanley and the rest of the crew. They explained what they had seen on the x-rays, and that Johnny would need immediate surgery. With a solemn smile, they promised to take good care of their comrade, then excused themselves to prepare for the surgery. A moment later, the door opened, and Johnny was wheeled through on the gurney, Roy beside him. Chet moved quickly to walk alongside them as they made their way toward the elevator, then looked down at the injured paramedic as the gurney rolled to a stop in front of the elevator doors. Dixie pushed the button, and everyone stood solemnly quiet, waiting for the doors to open. Struggling to find the right words, Chet hesitated almost imperceptibly, then tentatively reached down to touch Gage on the arm. He managed to stammer out, “Johnny?” in a tone far less self-assured than he intended.

Gage looked up and saw the Phantom above him, and despite the pain and medications, was touched by the obvious emotion emanating from Chet. Seeing the mustached fireman was struggling for words, he offered, “Guess…the Phantom’s….gonna have to take….a vacation…for awhile…huh?” A ghost of his usual crooked grin played at the corner of his mouth.

Chet was stunned that Johnny was able to come up with something to fulfill exactly what he’d wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words for, and smiled gratefully. “Just don’t make it too long a vacation, you hear?” Chet added, his hand moving down to grip Johnny’s tightly for a moment.

“I hear ya,” the dark-haired paramedic’s voice was gravelly. The door to the elevator opened, and they pushed Johnny through. The smiles that were pasted on the A-shift crew faded as soon as the doors slid shut, leaving them to stare at one other gravely.

Captain Stanley told Roy he would stand the squad down until they could find a replacement for Johnny, and hopefully, one for Roy too. Normally, Hank would have asked Roy to return to work, but knowing he was really Johnny’s only family, made the decision to let Roy stay at the hospital, feeling strongly that someone should be there for the younger paramedic. Roy asked Hank if he would check through Johnny’s locker to see if he could find a telephone number for Heather, and overhearing the request, Chet stepped in and volunteered for the job. With those things taken care of, and the promise of a phone call as soon as there was any news, the men left to go back to the station, leaving Roy to wait through the surgery.

Roy hoped they would find Heather’s number, because he had no idea how to contact her, other than to stop by her house, or rather, her parent’s house. Roy felt with near one hundred percent certainty that the number would be unlisted, but checked the telephone book anyway, discovering he was correct.

After allowing enough time for the engine to get to the station and for Chet to check through Johnny’s locker, Roy made a call to the station to determine if the number had been found. It hadn’t. Roy was relieved when the Captain informed him that he’d been lucky enough to find replacements for both him and Johnny.

Roy knew Johnny wanted him to call Heather, but he couldn’t leave the hospital at this point to drive to her house; the hour was growing late, and besides, he felt it might be best if he were able to contact her after the surgery, in the hopes of being able to deliver good news. The thought crossed his mind that there was always the possibility that something could happen during the surgery, but given the fact that it looked like they had gotten the bleeding under control, it seemed Johnny’s chances of surviving were good. How high his chances of experiencing a complete recovery however, were unknown at this point. It all depended on how much damage Johnny had sustained. It didn’t sound very good at all. Ruptured bladder, torn ureter, broken pelvis, possible intestinal damage. It was possible that he might suffer serious complications, or long-term effects, possibly to the point of not being able to return to work, or worse, not even be able to live a normal life. Roy didn’t want to think about that.

He decided to head off in the direction of the doctor’s lounge and find some fresh coffee; he knew he was going to have a long wait. He’d gotten halfway down the hall, when he heard an urgent female voice coming from the direction of the base station. Turning in surprise, he recognized the woman as Heather, and headed in her direction. When he reached her side, she was frantically questioning the nurse at the desk about Johnny.

“Heather?”

She startled, not even noticing he had walked up next to her. She turned toward him, wide-eyed, and immediately began peppering him with questions, her voice rapid with alarm. “Roy! My God, what happened to John? I was watching the news and they said a fireman had been shot and then they showed John’s picture and I couldn’t believe it and oh my God he’s not….” her face contorted into an expression of horror.

Roy gently grasped both her upper arms to try to calm her. “Heather, no, he’s not dead. They’ve taken him to surgery – ”

“Surgery!” she exclaimed, appalled.

“Heather,” he said gently. “Look, try to calm down a little, and I’ll explain everything that’s happened, okay?” He could see that she was extremely upset. “C’mon now, take a deep breath….that’s it….” The ER was busy that night, and two paramedics had just whizzed by them with a patient who was in cardiac arrest. It seemed to just unsettle her more. He looked around, then decided it might be best to go somewhere a little quieter. “Let’s go in the doctor’s lounge, and I’ll fill you in, okay?”

“Okay,” she said shakily, then walked alongside him on wobbly legs down the corridor to the lounge.

As soon as they’d entered, she pleaded to know what had happened. Roy got her to sit down, and taking a seat next to her, went over everything that had happened that evening. When he was through, she sat still, in shock and disbelief, her mind in a whirl. She slumped in the chair, and leaning forward, dropped her head into her hands. Roy sat quietly next to her, struggling for something to say or do to comfort her, when he really wished that comfort would come for himself, because he was feeling exactly the same way, but was expected to be the strong one. Not knowing her well made it more difficult; he didn’t have the familiarity of predicting how she would react to things; he really didn’t even know exactly how deeply she felt for Johnny, although right now it seemed apparent that she was quite devastated.

Roy suppressed an emotional sigh and looked upward, then finally reached his arm around Heather and gently squeezed her shoulder. The small gesture was apparently a catalyst for the further release of her emotions, and she leaned heavily in toward Roy, clutching onto him for support. He could feel her shoulders trembling. He held her there, occasionally patting her back, crooning words of reassurance that he wasn’t sure he had the right to give.

Finally, she collected herself and pulled away a bit, wiping at her eyes. Questions came to her as her mind replayed what happened according to Roy’s descriptions. Looking earnestly at him, she asked, “Was he…was he awake…at the scene? Did he know what was going on?”

Roy didn’t want to answer detailed questions about the incident; it only reminded him of the inadequacy of the care he was barely able to give. “Yeah, he knew…I think he knew.”

“Was he…in a lot of pain?” Her eyes looked desperate for reassurance that it wasn’t so.

Roy licked his lips and looked down. “Yeah,” he nodded, “quite a bit;” he looked back up at her and added, “but they were able to give him something for the pain before they took him to the hospital.”

She jerked almost visibly. “They? Weren’t you there? Aren’t you the one who treated him?”

Roy felt like someone had just plunged a dagger into his stomach. He didn’t know how to answer her question without it sounding like he had dropped the ball on his friend’s care. “Yes. I was there.” He explained how he was forced to stay behind the police car until the shooter was down, and then when all was clear, he’d first had to check on their original patient, the fallen police officer. After that, he told her he was by Johnny’s side almost until the paramedics from 16’s arrived, and then the police officer had gone into respiratory arrest. He told her how he was the only paramedic there who was authorized to treat the officer, and so since the man needed immediate help, he’d had to render his care. After that, it had been imperative for him to ride in with the downed officer immediately, since he was critical. And that, he knew, was a bad choice of words, because Johnny had been critical too. He saw it in her face as he tried to explain, feeling like he was digging a deeper and deeper hole for himself. He knew if would be difficult for her to understand how his first priority was to the initial patient, and not to Johnny. Hell, he had a difficult time accepting that himself, but looking back, he knew that it was just one of those impossible situations where no one won; one simply had to do the best they could with the circumstances they had, and follow protocol, despite any emotional attachment.

Her face was a picture of confusion and despair as she tried to understand what had happened. She didn’t want to accuse Roy of anything, but who the hell had been taking care of John while Roy was off with the police officer? “You said you were with John ‘almost’ until the paramedics got there. Well…who was with him after you left?”

“Chet Kelly.”

“Chet. Who’s Chet?”

“He’s uh, one of the firemen who was there; he’s with our engine company. Roy could see her mind working; her mouth was slightly open and her brows were scrunched.

“Is he…a paramedic?”

“No. But he is trained in first aid.” He grasped her arm gently in an effort to assure her that everything that was humanly possible was done for Johnny. His eyes bore into hers as he said, “It was less than a minute between the time I left and 16’s paramedics were there to take care of Johnny.”

She turned her head away. A person could die in one minute. Heather tried hard not to blame Roy, out of respect for John. She knew he was his best friend, and wanted desperately to believe that Roy would have done everything he possibly could have done for John. John was always mentioning Roy; she knew he had the highest respect for him and had gotten the impression that Roy was one of the best paramedics in the field. Looking back at him, their eyes locked, and she saw the anguish in his face, and decided to let it go. Heather was upset, but she still had a logical mind, and her sensibilities told her that there really wasn’t anything else Roy could have done. Biting her lip, she asked, “Were you with him in the emergency room?”

“Yes, I was right there with him….the whole time,” he said with conviction. Well,  not the whole time. They kicked me out for awhile. He had to offer her at least that little bit of consolation, even if it wasn’t entirely true. He also thought of something else. “Heather, just before Johnny went in to surgery, he asked me to call you.”

Her face turned up toward him. “He did? Did he….did he say anything else?”

“No. Just wanted to make sure I called you.”

“Oh.” Her face fell, and she looked down into her hands. At least it was some comfort to know that he’d thought of her. “How long do you think the surgery will take?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head, remembering the last time he’d sat waiting for Johnny to get through surgery. That night, it’d been nearly four hours; with these injuries, there was no telling. “I really don’t know, Heather. But I’d say at least several hours.”

It was what she expected him to say. She got up from her chair and began to pace around the room. Several minutes went by. Frustration and fear finally gave way to anger. Out of the blue, she blurted out, “What were you doing in a neighborhood like that? That’s not anywhere near your station, is it?”

Roy continued to sit in his chair stiffly, his hands clasped between his knees. “No. It’s not. It’s normally 16’s territory, but they were unavailable at the time, so we responded to the call.”

She turned away, and he heard her mumble, “….nothing but a bunch of dirty, low-class drug-dealing criminals in that neighborhood.”

“Heather, the police officer that was shot was working undercover, trying to arrest a drug dealer. They’ve been trying to clean up that neighborhood by working to get the pushers locked up.” Roy didn’t mention the fact that even if it had been the drug dealer that had been injured, they still would have responded to the call, and would have had to treat him.

Tired of pacing, she sat back down next to him. Desolately looking down into her lap, she asked, “How is the police officer? Was he hurt badly?”

The knots that were in his stomach before tightened a notch, and it took him a moment to answer. “Yes,” he said softly. “He…he didn’t make it.”

Her mouth dropped open, incredulous. Her wide-eyed face lifted to his, and he saw the implications reflected in her eyes. “Oh my God. You mean John was hurt…for nothing?” And not only that, what she didn’t verbalize but was on the tip of her tongue was that Roy had left John’s side to attend to a police officer that had died anyway. The thought that Johnny’s injuries might have been exacerbated by having to wait longer for care almost made her feel faint. Her hands went up to cradle the sides of her face.

Roy closed his eyes, searching for the right thing to say. He looked back at her. “Heather, every situation we’re in carries a risk, some more than others. Johnny, as well as every other firefighter, is aware of that risk when they choose this career.”

Heather glanced at Roy in distress; that piece of information didn’t comfort her one bit. “I wish…his job wasn’t so dangerous. I never realized what kind of situations a fireman can get into.” She looked imploringly at Roy. “You know, John doesn’t even need to work any more. He’s got plenty of money. I don’t understand why he should needlessly put himself in danger all the time – ”

Little red warning flags waved in Roy’s mind at that comment, and he suddenly felt a twinge defensive. It sounded like she was saying that Johnny’s job – that any fireman’s job – was nothing more than a paycheck. For Johnny’s sake, he wanted to make her understand that it was much more than that.

“Heather,” he tried diplomatically, “you know, Johnny’s very…passionate about his job; it’s one of the things that make him so good at what he does. And believe me, he’s one of the best.” He thought maybe if Heather knew what an asset Johnny was, how good he was, maybe she wouldn’t be so quick to suggest that Johnny just throw everything he’s worked for down the drain. Then, more to himself than anything Roy added, “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who enjoys what he’s doing more than Johnny. I think…he thrives on it.”

“Is his job so important that it’s worth losing his life over?”

Roy didn’t know how to answer that. Well, he knew; the answer was no, but it wasn’t without stipulations. No, it wasn’t worth losing your life over, but how many other lives were saved because of what you were doing? How could you weigh the two? He gave her the answer she sought anyway. “No,” he answered quietly, pausing a moment before continuing. He wanted to find some way to reassure her. “But, Johnny’s about as careful as any firefighter I’ve ever seen. He doesn’t take unnecessary chances; he’s a professional at what he does. He’s always willing to give a hundred and ten percent of himself to what he’s doing, which, I guess, could make him a little more vulnerable to injury.”

“Are you implying that…he…puts himself in danger in order to help others more than he should?”

Oops. Bad choice of words. Now Roy had to backpedal to get himself out. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

 Heather didn’t quite understand what Roy was getting at. It sounded like Roy was insinuating that John was vulnerable to injury because he was so enthusiastic about his job. Didn’t John do his job like all the other firefighters? If he did, then why would he be more susceptible to serious injury? “But John’s getting shot tonight had nothing to do what how ‘passionate’ he is about his job. You and others were at risk too. It just happened that John got shot. It could have been any of you.” She looked imploringly at him, desperate to know if what she was thinking could be true.

It was time to nip this in the bud. This wasn’t a conversation appropriate for him to discuss with her. Johnny would have to do that. “That’s right. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And there’s nothing more to it than that.”

Heather was quiet a moment, absorbing this information. She turned back to Roy, her face an expression of resigned incomprehension. “How can your wife stand it? How can she stand to know you’re out there risking your life and that you might not come home….”

Roy looked up at Heather, her words suggesting a better way to make things clearer. “Heather, I admit, it takes a special woman to be a fireman’s wife, just like it takes a special woman to be a policeman’s wife. It can be a dangerous job at times, but the people who marry us understand that, and understand how much we love our jobs. Joanne understands – she might not like it all the time, but I guess she puts up with it,” he said with a small smile. “I guess all I can say is, what we do is very rewarding, Heather. Having the opportunity to save a life…well, it’s like nothing else you can imagine. It makes the risks we take worth it. Tonight’s situation….well, it’s rare that something like this ever happens.”

“But it did,” she said bitterly. 

“Yeah. It did, unfortunately,” he said softly. He got up and walked across the room toward the coffee pot. Pouring himself a cup, he asked, “How about a cup of coffee?”

She looked at him wearily.

“It could be awhile.”

“All right. Black, please.”

He poured a second cup, then brought it to her. Roy sighed; the earlier mention of his wife made him realize that he should call Joanne and let her know what had happened. He looked at his watch, debating whether he should call this late. She might already be in bed. Calling her would only worry her, and the worry would probably keep her awake. She probably wouldn’t be able to sleep until she knew if Johnny was okay, for she loved him too. He had grown in her heart over the years and felt like the brother she never had. As much as he wanted and needed to talk to his wife right now, he decided against it, not being able to find any sense in putting her through what he was going through at the moment. Instead, he took a seat and sipped his coffee, the emotional exhaustion from the evening beginning to creep into his bones. He and Heather spent the next hour in near silence, quietly waiting.

Heather had been standing at the window, staring blankly out in the darkness for a long time, when Roy glanced over at her and saw tears glistening in her eyes. It struck him then how deeply this woman really did seem to care for his partner. It occurred to him that in all the other times his friend had been injured, this was the first time that Johnny had had someone else close, other than himself, sharing in the waiting and worrying. Of course, the other guys at the station cared too, and were concerned for his welfare, especially Chet; and John had lots of friends, but no one else really as close as they were as partners had ever been there for him.

Now, as he observed her surreptitiously, and saw the tears she was trying hard not to let fall, he wondered if he had judged her wrong. So many times over the last few months he’d thought that this woman just wanted Johnny as a boy toy, a pretty ornament to have around, so to speak, or someone she could order around and mold into whoever she wanted. Maybe he’d characterized her too quickly. After all, he really hadn’t gotten to know her well at all. He’d met her a total of three times now, not counting tonight. Once, when Johnny introduced them on the boat months ago, and twice recently, when he and Joanne had joined them as a foursome for dinner.

The first time was just after Christmas; Roy had finally managed to convince Johnny to bring her by one morning after work for coffee and breakfast so that Joanne could meet her, and so that they could both better get to know this woman who had so quickly entwined herself into Johnny’s life. That morning they had made future plans to get together.

The second time had been New Year’s Eve, when the four had attended a party at one of Heather’s friend’s homes. Roy had originally invited her and John to join them for a nice dinner and quiet New Year’s Eve celebration at their home, but then Johnny said Heather had already made plans for them, and invited the DeSotos to come along. Hesitant to go to a party at someone’s house they didn’t know, Johnny managed to talk them into it, and so they arranged for a babysitter and joined them. The DeSotos quickly got a taste of how the other side lived that night, and saw the type of lifestyle that Heather Banks had grown used to. The party had been elaborate; set in a huge Beverly Hills home. The food had been lavish, the music loud, the champagne expensive, and the people rich. Not knowing anyone, neither Roy nor Joanne had a very good time. Roy remembered they had barely been able to spend any time with Johnny and Heather; it seemed she’d had the dark-haired paramedic on an invisible leash most of the evening, parading him around the room while introducing him to hoards of her friends he’d never met, tying him up in conversations about the latest gossip and the most lucrative investments.

The thing that had struck both DeSotos at the time was that Johnny didn’t seem to look out of place. They had watched him that evening, and oddly enough, Johnny didn’t seem to feel the least bit uncomfortable. He had come dressed impeccably; Joanne commented secretly to Roy that she had never seen his hair looking so perfect; he looked more like a Hollywood leading man than a fireman paramedic. Upon further introspection, the DeSoto’s mused that everyone there that night looked perfect; the room seemed to be full of only ‘beautiful’ people.

Johnny didn’t seem to notice. For when he was with Heather, it was obvious his eyes saw only her. She had looked stunning that night in a simple black cocktail dress, and Johnny had had trouble keeping his eyes off her. He blindly worked the room with her, gliding from couple to couple, laughing, saying all the right things, as if he’d been sent to some sort of charm school. And Heather seemed to be basking in his perceived perfection. That’s what bothered Roy more than anything, and Joanne noticed it too. Johnny seemed to be a different person from the one they knew and loved when he was with her. The weird thing was, they didn’t think that Johnny even realized it.

Roy thought back now to his wife’s opinion of Heather. He’d asked her what she’d thought when they finally returned home that night, courtesy of the limousine that Heather had arranged to transport them, now that she’d had two opportunities to meet the woman. Joanne’s reaction had been very much like what Roy was feeling now. She couldn’t find anything wrong with Heather. She seemed like a nice person, charming, witty, beautiful, and pleasantly polite. And it was obvious that she was nuts about Johnny. But then, Joanne had made the observation that it still seemed peculiar to her that Johnny would feel so comfortable with her. Not that Johnny wasn’t nice, charming, and witty himself; it was just that their backgrounds were so starkly different, and up until now, so were their tastes, that Joanne just couldn’t see them as a good match. Johnny was unpretentious and down to earth; Heather was cultured and sophisticated. She just didn’t understand how things would ever work between them, but the chemistry was obviously there. “Oh well,” she’d said at the time. “I guess it’s true that sometimes opposites do attract. Johnny certainly could do a lot worse.”

She herself felt a slight unexplainable tinge of discomfort around Heather, though Heather was skilled at making Joanne feel not only important, but beautiful, complimenting her on her hair and clothes, even though Joanne knew they weren’t the caliber of what she would wear herself. The night of the party, Joanne had absently mentioned to Heather that she didn’t really have the ‘right’ coat to wear out for the evening, when they’d come to pick her up. In a gesture of outright unselfishness, Heather had insisted the driver go back to her house, where she invited Joanne in and offered one of her many beautiful wraps to wear for the evening. Just before they left the house, Heather’s face lit up, and she excitedly told Joanne that she had a necklace that would look ‘absolutely stunning’ with her dress, and would match her eyes, and so ran upstairs to get it. She returned with a sparkling diamond and sapphire pendant, which she proceeded to clasp around a very stunned Joanne Desoto’s neck. “Just return it later,” she’d said nonchalantly.

Later on, after a lot of analysis, Joanne speculated that Heather possessed an uncanny ability to elevate others in a psychological way. Simply put, she had a knack for making others feel good about themselves in her presence. And that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing – unless she was using her talent for self-motivated reasons. After watching Johnny interact with her the entire evening, Joanne wondered if maybe Heather was manipulating Johnny in such a subtle way that even he didn’t notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe Roy’s fears about sudden wealth changing Johnny were coming true. Joanne decided to keep that observation to herself.

Hours later, the sudden click of the door swinging open broke the long silence in the room, and Roy’s eyes snapped open. Guiltily, he realized that he’d fallen asleep, and quickly lifted his head up off the back of the couch. Dr. Early had just entered the room, his blue scrubs dark with sweat, and Roy looked at the clock. It was nearly three-thirty in the morning. Heather had rushed to the doctor’s side. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with concern. Joe looked very tired, but he still managed to paste a small smile on his face.

Roy got up and pulled out a chair at the table for the doctor. “Doc? Want to sit down?”

“Thanks, Roy,” he said gratefully, and took a seat.

Roy pulled out a chair for Heather, and gestured for her to sit down, then he took a seat himself, introducing Heather to the doctor as he did so.

Heather was beside herself to anticipation. “Doctor, how’s John?”

Dr. Early traded his gaze between the two of them as he explained the situation. “The surgery went reasonably well. We didn’t really find any surprises, which is what we were hoping for. As the x-rays indicated, John’s bladder was ruptured, and the left ureter was torn.  Dr. Simms was able to reattach the two ends of the ureter again without making it too short, so the ureteroplasty was not as difficult as we had feared it might be. He placed a stent within the ureter to make sure the kidney can drain while the repair heals; he'll remove it in a few weeks, barring any complications. He also repaired the tear in the bladder, and inserted a suprapubic catheter in John's lower abdomen to serve as a bypass for his urine and keep his bladder empty while those repairs heal.” 

“How long will that take?” Heather asked.

“Somewhere between four and six weeks, and then we’ll do another IV Pyelogram to check for any extravasation. If that’s all clear, both the tube and the stent will be removed.”

“What if it’s not?” Heather asked worriedly.

“Then we’d probably have to go back in and treat it surgically.”

Heather closed her eyes with a groan.

“Miss Banks,” Dr. Early smiled, his blue eyes conveying compassion. “Dr. Simms and I both feel the chances of that happening are very small.”

Heather only nodded solemnly; Roy remained silent, leaning forward in his seat while chewing his lower lip, waiting for the doctor to finish.

Dr. Early continued. “We performed an internal fixation using plates and screws to repair the pelvic bone, which was broken in two spots. There was also some damage to the gluteus maximus muscle and surrounding soft tissues, which we also repaired. John’s going to need physical therapy later to get that muscle tissue back to normal. Fortunately, the point of entry of the bullet was small, so it shouldn’t leave much of a scar. Also on the positive side, we found very little intestinal damage, which saved John from needing a colostomy. We were able to repair the small amount of damage there was to those areas. The main concern right now is infection, mainly from the bullet. Johnny will be on antibiotics for a while to keep that possibility low. Unfortunately, John’s bladder was fairly full when it ruptured, and the contamination by the spilled urine into the abdominal cavity could pose a threat, as well as act as an irritant to the surrounding tissues. It could impair healing, or cause a break down of tissues that are normally healthy. We irrigated the area well during the surgery, so we’re hoping that won’t happen.”

Dr. Early paused, looking from Heather to Roy. “Do you have any questions?”

Roy looked over at Heather, whose emotions looked like they were growing increasingly fragile. “I have a question,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Yes?”

“Doctor,” she didn’t quite know how to phrase it. “Was there any damage to John’s…..reproductive…..organs?”

Her inquiry didn’t faze Joe Early, but Roy had trouble not showing his astonishment at her question. Was she really asking what he thought she was asking? He couldn’t believe it. She’s concerned whether or not he’s still gonna be able to get it up?!!! Johnny almost dies, and she wants to make sure he’s still gonna be able to have sex.  He was so shocked, he didn’t know how to react.

Heather, sensing by the expression on Roy’s face that her question had come out all wrong, rephrased it. “I mean….will John….still be able to have children?”

Roy sighed silently in relief, now understanding the real nature of her question. He was now embarrassed at how he had misinterpreted her inquiry, and averted his eyes from her. The significance of the question suddenly slammed into him as he realized what she meant, and that was whether or not the two of them would be able to have children together some day. Was this relationship really that serious? He wondered.

Dr. Early smiled at her, putting her mind at ease. “Yes. I’m certain he will. Fortunately, none of the reproductive organs were damaged.”

Inwardly, Roy cringed, thinking to himself how much more awful it would have been if that had happened. If that had been the case, Roy speculated that Johnny would possibly not have wanted to survive.

Heather seemed satisfied with his answer, and relaxed slightly. “Is….that all?” she asked solemnly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Yes. And it’s enough,” he answered, his smile fading. He looked at them both. “I should warn you, this is not going to be an easy recovery for John. He’s going to be a guest here for at least a month. He’ll have several more months of physical therapy before he’s able to return to a normal life or work. He’s going to need a lot of support and understanding during that time. We all know how difficult and stressful a long hospital stay can be, especially for a certain paramedic.” Dr. Early smiled at them once again. “I’m certain that between the two of you and all the friends that Johnny has, he’ll receive all of the help he needs.”

Roy smiled warmly at his friend. “He will, Doc. You can count on it.”

Heather nodded in agreement. “Doctor, can we see him?”

Wearily, Dr. Early stood up, leaning his palms on the table to do so. Roy could tell by his expression that he didn’t think it was a good idea at this time. “Well, Johnny’ll be in recovery for another hour or so. Then, we’ll be taking him up to ICU for a short period.” He considered the question a moment, then added, “I suppose it would be possible for a short visit; just a minute or two each. If you’d like to go on up to the ICU, you can wait up there in the waiting room until they bring Johnny up.”

“Right, Doc,” Roy responded.

Joe turned to leave. “Good-night,” he said.

“Good-night, and Doc….thanks,” Roy said sincerely.

“You bet, Roy.” He turned again and left.

“C’mon,” Roy said. “I’ll show you where the ICU is.”

It was now nearly five a.m., and they still hadn’t brought Johnny up yet. Both Heather and Roy were exhausted, having been awake nearly all night. Roy could barely keep his eyes open, much less remain on his feet without feeling like he was going to fall over. But he wanted to see his partner before he left; the guilt of his comments earlier in the day were still gnawing at him. He was determined that somehow, when Johnny was well enough to listen, he would apologize.

Except for the quiet droning and beeping of various life-saving machines, the ICU was eerily quiet. Lights were dim at this time of day, and the attending nurses padded about silently on rubber-soled shoes. The stillness was finally broken when the elevator opened, and the gurney carrying Johnny was wheeled through the double doors. Roy and Heather both stood up simultaneously to catch a glimpse of him as they pushed him toward his cubicle.

His face looked pale and drawn, making the bruise that had formed around the cut on his cheek stand out prominently. His body looked frighteningly limp as he passed by them. They were about to follow him into the room, when a nurse stopped Heather, laying a gentle hand on her arm. She glanced briefly up at Roy and smiled. “Hey, Roy,” she said softly, then turned to Heather. “We’ll get him settled in bed, then you can come in for a minute.”

Roy knew the nurse; her name was Abigail. She’d taken care of Johnny the last time he was here. “Thanks, Abby,” he answered.

Roy and Heather watched from outside, peering through the doorway, as the sheet was pulled off Johnny, and they gently slid him from the gurney to the bed, expertly arranging and untangling the tubing from the IV’s and the abdominal catheter that was snaking out from underneath his hospital gown. Johnny was groggy but awake, and moaned when they moved him. They situated him slightly on his side, propping him with pillows underneath him to take the weight off the damaged tissue. Then they heard Johnny talking; his words were soft and undiscernibly slurred, but urgent; his hand weakly reached outward as if trying to grasp something. It landed on Abigail’s skirt, grabbing hold, and they saw her turn swiftly and reach for the emesis basin, snatching it up and positioning it under his face in one fluid motion. Abigail blocked their view as she bent over him, cradling his head in her hand, while another nurse supported his shoulders on the other side. The sounds they heard next were sickening, as Johnny dry-heaved into the basin, his cries of pain in between bouts causing both their stomachs to tighten. They could see his legs stiffen as they came up off the bed each time, and his fingers were clenched tightly now around the fabric of Abigail’s skirt.

Heather let out a small cry of dismay, her hand coming up to her mouth, and Roy decided she had seen enough. Putting his arm around her, he gently turned her away, saying, “Let’s wait over here. C’mon.” Reluctantly, she followed, and he urged her into a chair, noticing the fresh tears in her eyes. Seeing Johnny that way wasn’t a fun sight to witness, and now he wished he would have tried to talk Heather out of coming to see him directly after surgery. He should have known it would be like this; heaven knew he was all too familiar with Johnny’s usual post-surgical reactions. But he needed to see Johnny too, and there was no avoiding bringing Heather along if he, himself were going.

Another ten minutes went by, and finally Abigail came out to talk to them.

“How is he?” Roy asked quietly.

Abigail smiled. “Well, he looks pretty rough right now, but actually, for Johnny, he’s doing pretty well. He’s only had two bouts of vomiting since surgery; a new world record for him,” she grinned, trying to downplay things. “I think the doc’s finally found something that works a little better on the post-op nausea for him.” She shrugged and said wanly, “I guess practice makes perfect, eh?” Roy understood all too well what she meant, but Heather’s brow scrunched up in confusion. “You can go in now, but just for a minute.”

“Thanks, Abby,” Roy said, and looked over at Heather.

She now looked as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go in or not, after what she had just seen. Her eyes were still shiny with tears as she sat with her hands clenched in her lap.

“Heather, do you want to go in first?” Roy asked.

Declining Roy’s offer, she answered, “I’ll…I’ll wait ‘till you’re done, okay?” She smiled a bit sheepishly. “I….just want to get myself together for a minute, if you don’t mind.” She began dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, looking at herself in a small compact mirror.

“Sure, Heather, I understand. I’ll just be a minute, then you can go in,” he said kindly. She only nodded.

Heather watched as Roy approached the doorway to the ICU room Johnny was in; her curiosity about their relationship overriding pulling herself together for the moment. After she saw Roy enter, she felt compelled to follow, and got up from her chair, stopping just outside the doorway and peering in unnoticed.

Roy walked slowly through the doorway to Johnny’s cubicle, and saw that he was now settled in the bed under a fresh blanket. He was half on his side at a slight incline, and a nasal canula was supplying him with oxygen. A cool wet cloth had been laid across his forehead and on his upper chest; his hospital gown was untied and hung loosely around his shoulders. Two bags of IV fluids dripped slowly into his arm. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be breathing shallowly.

Roy stood next to the bed, looking down at him. He shook his head. Thank God you didn’t bleed out tonight. I was so worried your femoral artery might have been nicked. I never would have forgiven myself if…

A soft groan from below brought Roy from his thoughts. Johnny’s eyes opened halfway and met his gaze.

“Hey, partner,” Roy said softly.

Johnny swallowed, his throat painfully dry, and took in a breath. His abdomen was throbbing mercilessly from the pressure of his earlier bout with vomiting. “Hey,” he croaked. 

“We’ve gotta quit meeting this way.”

John closed his eyes and wearily shook his head. “Got tha right.” He opened his eyes again. “Roy….how’s….how’s the cop?”

Roy looked down to the edge of the bed and chewed on his lip. He didn’t want to tell John that he’d died; now wasn’t the time. His hesitation was enough answer for Johnny though.

Johnny let out a sound of choked anguish, and turned his head away; his fist came down weakly on the mattress. “Aw, shid….he’s dead….idn’t ‘e?” His mouth was so dry it was hard to annunciate the words correctly.

Damn. “Johnny, we’ll talk about it later. Right now, you just concentrate on getting better, okay?”

“Yeah….sure….” he closed his eyes again with a grimace.

Heather hadn’t been able to hear well enough to know what they were talking about, but had witnessed the exchange between John and Roy that had obviously upset John. Abby, noticing Heather watching from the doorway, saw her brows furrowed together in concern, and approached her. She’d seen the interaction also. Putting her hand on her shoulder, Abby gently offered, “Roy’s probably just broke the news to John about the police officer that died in the shooting. I think that’s probably what upset him; Johnny always takes it hard when they lose a patient.” Heather stared at Abby a long moment, then nodded solemnly, slowly returning to her chair.

Roy licked his lips, struggling for something to say. “Johnny? Heather’s here.”

He opened his eyes again, a little wider. “She….is?”

“Yeah. She wants to see you.”

“Uhhh,” he groaned, “Don’ wan’ her ‘t see me like this.”

I don’t’ blame you, partner. Nobody should see anybody they love like this. “Hey, you don’t look that bad,” he said lightly, “I’ve seen ya a lot worse.”

Johnny squinted up at him from the corner of his eye. “Tha’s a….a consolation.”

Roy smiled, then his face grew serious. “Johnny, I don’t think she’ll mind. She’s been waitin’ all night. She’s really worried about you.”

Johnny stared up at Roy. “She….she is?”

Roy thought he detected just a slight bit of insecurity in the uncertain tone of his friend’s voice. It surprised him at first, then it saddened him a bit to think that Johnny could even consider that his girlfriend might not care enough about him to be worried. It only drove home the fact that Johnny wasn’t always as self-assured about relationships as he’d like people to believe. Every once in awhile that sense of insecurity that Johnny tried to hide would reveal itself as blatantly as the nose on his face, although Johnny would never have admitted it.

“Of course she is,” Roy said, sounding a little more fierce than he had intended. He glanced toward the doorway, knowing Heather was out there waiting, but not wanting to leave just yet. Even though he was exhausted, he felt the need to stay there with Johnny, almost like he would be abandoning him if he walked out. The fatigue and pain evident on Johnny’s face convinced him that his partner would be better off asleep, so he summoned as comforting a smile as he could and announced his departure. “Johnny, I’m gonna go and let her have a minute with you, then we’ll both have to leave, or they’re gonna kick us out. You take care, and I’ll see you tomorrow – or, I mean, I’ll see you this afternoon, okay?”

“’Kay.” Beyond the point of being able to or even wanting to carry on any more small talk, Johnny wasn’t sure he really wanted to see her. Not only was he exhausted, but he felt sick and in pain. Thinking about the cop that died had just brought him down another notch, and he knew it would be hard to hide all this from Heather. He didn’t think he had the energy to disguise his physical and emotional anguish, but knew he was going to have to try for her sake. He closed his eyes to rest while he waited for his girlfriend.

Roy gazed down at him a moment longer. He sensed a reluctance on Johnny’s part to see Heather, realizing then that having to see her was going to be an emotional hurdle for him to jump over. Roy hesitated another second, then turned to leave. There was nothing he could do about it. Hopefully, she would make her visit brief. Heather had seemed to have composed herself, and stood up when she saw Roy come out. “You can go in now,” he said softly.

Wordlessly, she took a deep breath and walked in the room. Roy moved aside to allow her to enter, then watched surreptitiously, his conscience eased by the fact that he was merely watching out for his friend. He saw her approach the bed slowly, walking around it to stand near Johnny’s head, then very timidly reached for his hand, taking it in her own. Johnny opened his eyes and made a valiant attempt to smile for her. That’s when her tears began to fall again, and Roy saw John weakly raise the back of his fingers to her face to brush away her tears. She secured his hand in hers, taking it away from her cheek, and pressed her lips to his palm tenderly. Roy was touched by her obvious display of emotion toward Johnny, and averted his gaze, feeling like an intruder in their private moment with each other. Once again it hit him that this relationship that his best friend was in just might turn out to be ‘the one’, and for some unexplainable reason, it scared him.

Roy was lost in thought when Heather appeared in front of him, her face solemn. She had only stayed a few minutes, deciding to leave when Johnny’s eyes had slid shut, and she knew he was asleep. After a soft kiss to his forehead that he never felt, she departed with a mixture of emotions swirling around inside of her. Her eyes looked red and heavy, and he took a step toward her, so that the two could walk out together. Neither said anything as they strode toward the exit doors side by side.

Roy turned the key in the lock to his home. It was nearly six a.m., and just a hint of light was beginning to peek out above the dark gray horizon, calling attention to the ominous black rain clouds that were still hanging so low in the sky. He glanced back one last time to see the red taillights of Heather’s Mercedes disappear around the corner.

She had given him a ride home since he had no means of transportation and would have been stranded at the hospital. Except for one question, Heather had remained quiet during the drive home. Then, halfway there, she had turned to him and asked, “Roy, what did that nurse mean when she said, ‘for Johnny, he’s doing pretty well’? She said something to the effect that his two bouts with….vomiting were a ‘new world record for him’.” Heather had a good memory, and recalled further what Abigail had said. “Then she said something like, ‘I guess practice makes perfect,’ as if…John was a frequent patient or something. What did she mean by that?”           

Roy thought a moment. Apparently, Johnny hadn’t told Heather about his other hospital stays. If that was the case, he wasn’t sure how much to reveal, given the fact that Heather still seemed to be in shock over what had happened tonight. How much should he tell her about his partner’s unlucky propensity for life-threatening mishaps? He didn’t want to upset her further by filling her in on Johnny’s unfortunate track record of accidents, but he didn’t want her to think he was keeping anything from her either. Now, caught off guard, he was a little surprised that Johnny hadn’t mentioned these things to her yet. After all, it appeared that their relationship was fairly serious; one would think the subject would have come up.

Sighing, Roy struggled with a way to explain, not really wanting to relive all the times Johnny had almost died, for it forced him to think about the fact that some day the job may end up killing the young, vibrant man he called his best friend. “Uh, well, Heather, you see, Johnny doesn’t react well to anesthesia. Usually he gets pretty sick when he wakes up. I think she was just saying that the doctor had found some anti-nausea medication that seems to work well on Johnny.”

Heather sensed a tinge of regret and sadness in Roy’s voice, and almost felt guilty for pressing him. But she wanted to know the truth. “It sounds like things like this have happened quite a few times before.”

He felt she was backing him into a corner. “Well, I….I didn’t mean to make it sound that way.”

Roy was hiding something. “Roy…just how many times has it been? Do things like this happen often to John?” Her voice rose ever so slightly as she glanced sideways at him.

Roy felt like he was being put on the spot now. What do I tell her? I don’t know how much Johnny wants her to know.  He sighed inwardly. “Well, he did have an accident last year. He was hit by a car.”

Heather gasped, jerking the wheel slightly. “What?! How? Who hit him? What happened?”

Roy stared straight ahead through the windshield, his gaze transferred unseeing and frozen to the past; the taillights of the car in front of them became the taillights of the car that had just run Johnny over, and he flinched as he recalled that moment. “We…were called out to a bar to treat a woman; it was late. When we came out, some guy hit Johnny with his car as he was walking around the side of the squad.”

Heather’s mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide as her head jerked in Roy’s direction. “Oh my God. Was it deliberate?”

Roy closed his eyes and sighed in exhaustion, dropping his head slightly. “I don’t know. I don’t think so; I think he was probably drunk. But the guy took off; I guess he was scared.”

            Heather didn’t notice her fingers automatically grip the steering wheel fiercely. “And so, what happened to John?”

            “Well, he was injured pretty badly.” Roy tried to sound matter-of-fact, but there was nothing matter-of-fact about it. Even after nearly a year, it still bothered him to talk about it. Roy’s fingers tightened on the armrest of the door, and he fixed his gaze on the dashboard. “He had a broken tibia and fibula – both in his right leg, and internal bleeding. He ended up having to have a spleenectomy. He was off work for a while, but he recovered fully.” Almost, he didn’t add. As he described it, Roy could picture the whole thing in his mind like it was yesterday. It was something he would never forget – just like tonight. The sickening thud of that car hitting Johnny, and the fateful blast from the gun that shot his best friend tonight were two sounds that would be ingrained in his memory forever.

            Heather saw Roy tense and pulled her eyes back to the road, quickly hitting the brakes, almost not noticing that the car in front of her had stopped at a light. So that’s what that scar on his abdomen is from, she realized to herself. “He had his spleen removed?”

            Roy nodded.

            “What…what does your spleen do?”

            “It works with the immune system, filtering out bacteria and germs.”

“Does that mean…he could get sick easier?  I mean, could it affect his recovery from this gunshot wound?”

“I suppose that’s possible. I’m sure the doctors are doing their best to not let that happen.”

Heather was quiet for a few moments, then asked, “What happened to the animal that hit him?”

            “They caught him.”

            “Thank God for that. I certainly hope they locked him up and threw away the key.” She glanced over at Roy when he gave no answer, and saw him gazing solemnly out the window. “They did put him in jail, didn’t they?”

            Roy glanced briefly at her, wishing they could change the conversation. This was the last thing he wanted to think about after what had just happened tonight. “Um, I’m not sure where he is now, but it’s not jail.”

Heather was incredulous. “What? Why not?”

“Well, after Johnny got out of the hospital, he had to go testify against him; so did I, and some of the other guys since we were witnesses, but his lawyer got him off and he just had to pay a fine. He also got his license suspended.”

            Heather’s mouth dropped open. “That’s awful!” she exclaimed. “John should have sued him!”

            Roy shook his head. “I don’t think that thought would ever have occurred to Johnny, Heather. I mean, money wasn’t going to undo what was done.”

            Heather was outraged. “But that man should have been punished! Why in the world would John not sue him?”

            Roy sighed. “The guy had a wife and kids. Maybe Johnny felt he would be punishing them if he sued the guy. Besides, I think he wanted to just put it all behind him; I think the whole thing was pretty hard on him.” Roy brought his elbow up to the door frame and rested his chin against his knuckles as he remembered the courtroom scene; how his friend had been made to sit in the witness stand and describe what he saw when the car came at him, and how it had felt. Until that moment, no one had really known what it had been like for Johnny, only for themselves. Johnny had had difficulty describing it, stumbling on his words awkwardly when pressed to give details by the prosecutor. And then he had been forced to listen as each of his friends described what they saw when the car hit him, how his body had flown up in the air, only to land brutally on the oily pavement. It had been painful to watch him relive it, and to hear Johnny’s descriptions, and to watch him as well as listen while the rest of the crew gave the gory details of his collision with the car, all the while Johnny’s face had been frozen in a kind of stunned downward stare at his shoes.

Doctor Early had been subpoenaed to testify as well, and they’d all had to hear him describe the list of injuries Johnny had incurred, and how, because his spleen had been removed, that he would most likely be plagued by viruses and be susceptible to illnesses for the rest of his life. Joe Early had also described how the breaks in Johnny’s leg could cause intermittent pain or the early onset of arthritis. Those three things threatened not only Johnny’s future well being, but also threatened to jeopardize his career. Johnny had tried hard to be relaxed and nonchalant about it, but Roy could see the turmoil inside him, boiling just below the surface. He hadn’t been able to hide the glazed and traumatized expression in those dark brown eyes. The realization that this one event could affect him for the rest of his life finally hit home that day, and although Johnny tried valiantly not to show it, it was obvious from the distressed expression on his face just how much it did bother him.

Roy remembered how he had offered to take Johnny out for a beer to unwind that afternoon after the sentencing, which they’d all felt had been extremely unjust, considering the trauma Johnny had been through. Thinking afterward that if he could get his friend to open up and talk about it, it might do some good, so Roy had driven Johnny to a local tavern to ‘talk’. Johnny had no trouble downing the alcohol, but spent his time drinking instead of talking, and then proceeded to get thoroughly intoxicated, gulping the beers down so quickly that Roy had a hard time stopping him. He’d finally managed to drag Johnny out of the bar two hours later, stumbling, and then Johnny had passed out in Roy’s car. He’d had to carry his younger partner into his apartment where he ended up putting his unconscious friend to bed at eight o’clock.

Roy had spent the night with him that night, and Johnny had awoken with a miserable hangover. He had apologized profusely to Roy, but never said a word about the outcome of the trial, that day, or anytime afterward. Some of what the doctor had predicted did come true. Occasionally Johnny’s leg did ache, especially during damp or cold weather, but usually aspirin took care of the pain. And in the past year, Johnny did indeed have much more difficulty fighting off colds and other illnesses. It seemed like any time anyone near him was sick, John seemed destined to contract the illness. He never complained, however, instead, seemed to accept his fate and take it in stride. Sometimes he stayed at home when he got sick; other times he made himself come into work anyway, worried about using up his sick leave. It seemed to just be a fact of life that he needed to accept; dwelling on it didn’t do a bit of good.

            Roy broke away from his thoughts when he realized that Heather had stopped talking. She seemed deep in thought when he finally glanced over at her behind the wheel; her hands had remained glued to the exact spot they’d been before on the steering wheel. Instead, she spent the rest of the drive in silence, her only other words were ‘good-bye’ when she let Roy out in his driveway.

Opening the door, Roy stepped inside with a sigh, tossing his keys on coffee table, after relocking the front door. Exhausted, he sat down for a moment, rubbing his eyes, the horrible events of the evening replaying over again in his mind. He shook his head at the memory of the blast of the gunshot that had taken Johnny down, cringing at the vision of his friend lying on the gravel, bleeding, his face contorted in pain. How could this have happened again, so soon after that last time, he wondered. The thought that it could have easily have been him crept into his consciousness; a thought he quickly swept away, not wanting to think about the implications of the ‘what-ifs’.

Wearily, he climbed the steps, not wanting to have to explain things to Joanne, but at the same time yearning so badly to be in the safe comfort of her arms. He reached their room, and quietly turned the doorknob. Silently undressing, he slid into bed, immediately feeling the soft touch of his wife’s warm hand on his back. Turning, he saw her wide, worried eyes boring into him.

She knew something bad had happened; it was evident on her face even in the shadows of the dawn. The mere fact that Roy was home at this early hour told her something was dreadfully wrong. “What’s happened?” she whispered urgently.

His eyes looked sad as he took in her beautiful face. Not knowing how to start, he hesitated, knowing he had to tell her, but desperately not wanting to. “Did you watch the news last night?” he whispered back.

“No. I got back late from the PTA meeting. I helped Chris with his homework, then I had to help Jenny with her bath and get the kids to bed. I was tired, so I went to bed early.” She took in the haunted look on his face and became even more disconcerted. There would only be one probable reason for her husband returning from work before dawn; it had happened only one other time, less than a year ago, and now her stomach tensed in fear at the inevitable bad news. “Roy, what’s happened? Tell me it’s not Johnny again,” she said desperately.

He took in a deep breath, and began. “We were on a run last night. A policeman was shot; he was working undercover trying to arrest a drug dealer. He…didn’t make it.”

“Oh, Roy. I’m sorry.” She looked at her husband, knowing there was more, knowing he was probably leaving out the gory details for her sake.

“We were on our way out with him, ready to take him to the hospital. He was still alive. The drug dealer…started….shooting at us.”

Joanne gasped, horrified that someone would shoot at her husband, and then knew.

Roy closed his eyes, bringing his hand to his forehead, rubbing at the space between his eyes. “Johnny….he shot Johnny.”

She abruptly propped herself up on her elbow, putting her hand to her mouth. “Dear God,” she exclaimed softly. She waited, terrified now to hear more. “Is he….” She couldn’t finish.

“I was at the hospital all night while he was in surgery.” Roy reached up to rub her arm, knowing how scared she was. “He made it through surgery; I talked to him for a minute before I left.”

Joanne relaxed slightly. “Where was he shot? How bad is it?”

Roy crawled the rest of the way under the covers and lay back, sliding his arm behind his wife’s neck, coaxing her head onto his chest. Then he told her the whole messy story.

Joanne remained quiet, and held on to her husband a little tighter, silently thanking God he had come home unscathed. She pictured the scene in her mind and could barely suppress a shudder when she realized how close her husband had come to dying that night. It was bad enough that Johnny had been hit, and she could tell how worried her husband was about him. She didn’t need to say the words that she was thinking about how she was feeling; he knew, and loved her all the more for not saying them, knowing how extremely difficult it was for her to hold back her own fears about him, keeping them to herself for his sake. She’d learned long ago to hide her worries about her husband’s job; it was just something a fireman’s wife had to learn to live with, same as a cop’s. She’d made the decision to marry him, knowing how dangerous his job was, and took the whole package. Now she didn’t have the right to urge him to quit doing something that was a huge part of who he was; instead, she had committed herself to a life of living with the uncertainty of a future with the man she loved, always having to live on the edge, wondering if he would be there the next day. But the strain was worth it; she couldn’t imagine being married to anyone else.

It was something Heather was going to have to learn to deal with if she and Johnny ended up together. Or maybe not, if this injury prevented him from returning to work. Neither she nor Roy wanted to think in those terms, knowing the job was what defined Johnny, and that losing it would probably destroy a large part of who he was.

Roy finally fell asleep; somehow the telling of the story unloaded part of the burden of it, allowing Joanne to carry some of it upon her shoulders. She slipped out of bed at seven o’clock to get the kids ready for school, leaving her husband to rest.

Roy didn’t awaken until nearly two o’clock. He bolted out of bed when he had glanced at the bedside clock and realized how late it was. He was showered, dressed, and downstairs in ten minutes, anxious to see how Johnny was.

He was slightly irritated with his wife for letting him sleep so late, but tempered himself based on the fact that she had been there for him that morning as he’d unloaded the information on her, and she had been his rock, as usual, being only supportive to him, and nonjudgmental.

She had a sandwich already made for him, having heard the shower minutes before, and now set the plate on the table along with a glass of milk. She knew he would be leaving in just a few minutes. “Hank Stanley called while you were asleep.”

“He did? What did he say?”

“He just wanted you to know that he stopped by to see John this morning, and that he was doing okay.”

“He was? Did he say anything else?”

“No, just that Johnny was resting. I guess he was pretty incoherent from the pain medication when he was there.”

“Oh,” Roy said around a mouthful of sandwich. He stuffed the last bite into his mouth and stood up, walking to the sink with the glass of milk in his hand. He put the glass to his lips and gulped a mouthful down before he had even finished chewing up his sandwich.

Joanne laughed to herself behind his back. I think Johnny’s eating habits have rubbed off on him, she mused.

He was swallowing the last bite when he kissed her on the cheek and headed for the door.

“Tell Johnny we’re all thinking about him, okay honey?”

“I will.”

“And you tell him we’ll be in to see him soon.”

“I will. He might not want too many visitors just yet, you know?”

“I know. Bye, honey.”

Roy waved and went out the door, closing it hastily behind him, which caused the lace curtains to fly upward before slowly fluttering down to their previous position.

Roy strode into the ICU area only to discover that they had moved Johnny to a regular room around noon that day. At least that was a good sign. He took the elevator to the third floor, nervously willing the doors to open when they stubbornly remained shut until the car stopped moving completely.

He headed down the corridor and around the corner to Johnny’s room, slowing down when he got to the door. Peeking in, he knocked gently, and saw Heather sitting in the chair by the bed, her hand wrapped around Johnny’s. She looked up at him; her face was tired and solemn looking.

He took a few steps into the room, and saw that Johnny was sleeping. He didn’t look much different than he had earlier that morning. His complexion was still pasty; even in slumber his face appeared strained with lines of pain. “How is he?” Roy whispered as he neared the bed.

Heather stood up quickly, putting her finger to her lips to indicate quiet, and gently slid her hand away from Johnny’s. She moved around the bed toward Roy, motioning him to follow her out into the hall. Roy followed with a puzzled look on his face.

Standing just outside the door, he commented, “I see they moved him out of ICU. That’s good news.”

Heather turned her head away, and he saw unshed tears in her eyes.

Roy crinkled his brows in worry. “Heather, what’s wrong? Johnny….has something happened?”

She looked up at him looking very distressed. “No, there’s nothing….the doctor says he’s doing well.”

“What is it, then?” he dipped his head to try to look into her face, which she had averted again.

“Oh, Roy. I can hardly stand it. He’s just…in so much pain. Every time he’s awake, I can see it’s just killing him. He was hurting so bad earlier I thought….he had tears in his eyes. I just don’t know what to do. I’ve asked the nurses to give him something stronger, but they keep telling me they can only give him so much, and….and….” she looked into his eyes, “maybe you could talk to them. You know these people here. Can’t you tell them to do something more for John?”

Roy sighed. For one thing, he suspected she was overreacting. He knew the first few days after surgery were always rough – for anyone. He was certain that his partner probably was experiencing a great deal of discomfort, especially after what he had been through – just like the last time he was in for surgery. But he also knew that the Rampart staff was amongst the best anywhere, and that they were most certainly doing everything they could to make his partner feel comfortable. The fact was that, as much as neither one of them liked it, Johnny was going to have a rough time for the next several days, or more likely for the next several weeks, until he began to heal. Dr. Early had said it wasn’t going to be an easy recovery, and Roy knew that what he would need most was for those who loved him to just be by his side and help him deal with it. Johnny didn’t need a crying female hovering over him, and when he started feeling better, Roy suspected Johnny would milk Heather’s attention for everything it was worth then. However, right now Heather needed to be strong for John, or it was going to hinder his recovery.

Part of the problem was that Roy felt it was likely that Heather had never had to deal with anyone she knew experiencing this kind of an injury before. And it wasn’t just the injury, it was also the psychological impact it had on the victim as well. That alone could play a large part in a person’s recovery. In a way, it was a relief that the gunman had died when he’d fallen from the roof. At least that way, Johnny wouldn’t have to go through the stress of the courtroom testimony like before.

Roy tried to explain all this to Heather as he stood out in the hall with her, hoping what he was saying would sink in, knowing deep down his words weren’t just for her. At last, he did finally agree to speak with Dr. Early, if nothing else, just to ease her mind a bit. That seemed to alleviate at least some of Heather’s concerns.

They were just ready to go back into the room when they heard Johnny moaning. Heather rushed back to his side, with Roy following close behind. She hovered over him, gingerly brushing his hair off his forehead with her fingers as she peered down into his face.

John’s eyes opened slightly, then closed as a soft groan escaped his throat. Though still in a foggy haze from the pain-killers, his lower abdomen still throbbed acutely; it felt like someone was inside him with an egg beater, scrambling his insides mercilessly. He tried readjusting his position to try to take the pressure off, which only made things worse, and he cried out weakly.

Heather scooped up his hand in hers, and she squeezed it, crooning to him that she was there, and that everything was going to be okay. He murmured her name once, then with a sigh, seemed to drop off again, his hand growing limp in her grasp.

It was a hard thing for Roy to witness, even harder to just stand there and not be able to do anything. Johnny didn’t even know he was present; Heather was his world right now, and she would be the one to comfort him. Not him this time, as it had been in the past. So, he stepped back, feeling unneeded and unwanted by the friend that, with the exception of his wife, he used to be closer to than anyone. For he knew that if Johnny was fully awake, there was every chance that he wouldn’t be welcome in the room with him, after the venomous words he had spoken to him only the day before.

Heather looked over at Roy with a ‘See, I told you so,’ look on her face, her expression imploring him to do what she had asked.

Quietly, he said, “I’ll go see if I can find Dr. Early,” and turned to leave.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hank Stanley poked his head around the corner, spotting DeSoto. “Roy, could you come into my office a moment, please?” the Cap asked pleasantly.

Roy detoured from his path to the day room and walked into his captain’s office. Another man was standing near the corner, a nervous smile pulling slightly at the corners of his mouth. Roy turned to face the stranger. At five foot nine, he was several inches shorter than Roy, and had about twenty pounds over him. Though borderline in meeting the weight requirements for a firefighter, the man had passed all the tests required, and had a good solid background behind him, boasting an eleven-year resume with several fire departments around Nevada. He was only two years older than Roy, but he’d already lost a lot more hair than his temporary partner, and was nearly bald on top save for the few wisps of hair.

“Roy, I’d like you to meet your partner while Gage is out.” His hand gestured to the other man, who stepped forward. “Roy DeSoto, meet Wesley Adams.”

Roy nodded amicably at the man, and held out his hand. The other man grasped it and gave him a rather weak shake, but his face broke out into a friendly smile. “Good to meet you, Roy,” he said enthusiastically.

“Likewise,” Roy returned the smile.

“Wesley just moved to the LA area from Nevada. The Chief thought that since Gage is going to be out a while that this would be a good place for Wesley to work to get acquainted with the area.”

Roy nodded again, glancing at Wesley. He seemed like a friendly guy, at least, that was his initial impression of him.

“I’ve already given Wesley the tour of the station; Roy, why don’t you show him the squad and go over things there.” He turned to Adams. “Oh, and Roy will show you where to put your things.” Hank held his hand out once again and Wesley took it. “Good to have you aboard. I think you’ll like working with this crew.”

“I’m sure I will, Sir.”

“Cap. Call me Cap, all right?”

“Yes, si – , ah, Cap.”

Roy turned to leave. “C’mon,” he gestured, “I’ll show you the squad.”

“Sure, Roy.”

Roy spent the morning showing Wesley how he and Johnny had arranged the items in the squad, explaining how they had come up with a system that seemed to work very well for them. He found Adams to be an attentive audience, listening carefully to everything Roy told him. It was a refreshing change from last year when he’d had to work with Craig Brice, the ‘walking rulebook’, in John’s absence. Back then, Brice had insisted that everything be run his way.

After Roy was sure that Wesley had absorbed everything regarding the squad, Roy took him into the dorm and showed him where the lockers were.

“Why don’t you take this one next to Johnny’s, Wesley? No one’s using it at the moment.”

Obliging, Wesley went to open the locker, but opened Johnny’s instead by mistake. He had pulled the door open before Roy was able to tell him he had the wrong locker. Wesley saw the Smokey the Bear poster and the photographs that were taped up around it. There was one of Heather; Gage liked that one because she looked very sexy in it, standing in her bikini by his boat, but the rest were of Roy’s kids, and one of John and Roy together standing next to the old engine they had restored together.

“Oh. That’s Gage’s locker,” Roy said. I meant this one,” he pointed, “next to Johnny’s.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Wes went to close the door, but first examined the pictures. “That Gage?” he gestured to the dark-haired man in one of the pictures.

“Yeah,” Roy answered.

“Wife and kids, I take it?” he asked nonchalantly, pointing to the pictures. A small pang of jealousy swept over him upon seeing the gorgeous woman John was obviously married to. Then his eyes fell upon the photo of John and Roy together, each with one arm around the other, both with a happy smile on their face, and the small pang of jealousy suddenly felt more like a sharp knife. He shook the irrational reaction off quickly, not liking the feeling that had become so familiar to him over the last few years of his life, that feeling of insecurity which he often had difficulty controlling.

“Uh, no. Johnny’s not married.” Roy stepped over next to Wesley and pointed. “That’s his girlfriend. The kids are mine,” he said with a smile.

Wesley looked over at him in confusion. “Why’s he got pictures of your kids in his locker?”

Roy explained then how the kids had pegged him their ‘Uncle Johnny’ years ago, and the story behind it. Then he saw Wesley looking at the photo of the old engine, and felt compelled to tell him the story of how he and Johnny had come to buy it. He went into detail about how they had restored it, then how it had been wrecked when bricks from an exploding building fell on it while they were on their way to a parade. Then, he explained how they had restored it a second time, and of course, relayed the anecdote about the trick that the other shift had played on them when they had put a fictitious ad in the newspaper by a character looking to buy an engine just like theirs. Wesley had laughed along with Roy, asking questions about the old engine, trying his hardest to gain a rapport with this new man that he would be working so closely with. He was desperate for a friend, and thought that he might just have a good chance with Roy. He seemed like a down-to-earth kind of guy.

Luckily, that morning had been quiet, with only one run, and upon their first trip to Rampart, the two new but temporary partners stood at Dixie’s desk, waiting for supplies. Roy, of course, had introduced Wesley to Dixie, then took advantage of his very first opportunity to break away and go see Johnny. Roy was hoping that his real partner was feeling a lot better, and also was most anxious for the opportunity to apologize to him; the guilt of his earlier words seemed to multiply with each day that went by. Wesley watched Roy’s back as he headed for the elevator, a little perturbed after being asked to just wait at the base station for a few minutes. Roy took the HT with him so he would know if they got a run, leaving Wesley to chat with Dixie. Dixie had smiled affectionately after Roy, making a comment to the effect that she had never seen two partners who were as close as they were. Like ‘peanut butter and jelly’, she’d said jokingly, so different in personality, yet they always stuck together. Wesley simply smiled and nodded, and the two continued to get acquainted with one another.

It was the second day after John had endured the gunshot wound. Roy hurried down the hallway to see him, hoping he wouldn’t get a run before he got there. Upon entering, he discovered with a slight disappointment that Heather was once again by his side. She was trying to get Johnny to drink some water from a cup, which Johnny was rather shakily attempting to hold up to his own mouth. Hearing someone enter, he turned to see Roy, who was wearing a tentative smile on his face as he approached the bed.

Roy was glad Johnny was awake, but he still didn’t look well. Still positioned partially on his side, his partner looked weak and pale. The cup nearly slipped from his trembling hand at the distraction of Roy’s arrival; Heather reached up to steady it so that it wouldn’t spill. Johnny took a small swallow, and Heather set the cup down on the bedside table.

“Hi, Roy,” Heather smiled softly. She looked a little better today, but lines of worry still etched her face.

“Hi, Heather.” Roy looked down at Johnny, offering a smile. “Hey, partner.”

Johnny cleared his throat and swallowed, then offered a barely audible, “Hey.”

“You’re looking a little better today. You feelin’ any better?”

John shrugged slightly, looking away. “A little.”

Roy saw the smile leave Heather’s face and she shook her head slightly at him, not letting Johnny see.

“Well, that’s good.” They were the only words Roy could think of to offer, given the circumstances.

The moment felt awkward to both paramedics. With Heather there, and with Johnny obviously still not feeling well at all, it wasn’t the appropriate time for Roy to apologize for what he had said. He sensed that his friend’s reticence wasn’t based solely on the fact that he was ill. He could see the discomfort and uncertainty in Johnny’s eyes, even if they were full of pain.

Johnny had a hard time maintaining eye contact with Roy. The memory of the conversation they’d had the evening he’d been shot had returned, and his feelings were very mixed up about it. A part of him wondered why Roy was here looking so concerned, but fortunately, or unfortunately, he couldn’t dwell on it. Right now, the only thing that was on his mind was how bad he was hurting, coupled with a worry of how he was going to recover.

Before either could say any more, the HT started beeping, calling the senior paramedic out on a run. Roy looked down at his friend with regret, then said, “I’m sorry; I’ve gotta go.” He reached down and patted Johnny’s shoulder. “You take care of yourself, okay? I’ll stop back later.”

“I will,” John answered, and closed his eyes. He would have given anything to be the one to go out on that run, instead of being stuck in the hospital. He sighed as he heard Roy leave the room.

Roy found Wesley leaning against the wall at the base station; Dixie was gone. He was holding a cup of coffee in his hand, staring into space when Roy stepped out of the elevator.

“You ready?” Roy asked.

Wesley swung his head around to see Roy just a few steps away from him, and pasted on a smiling face, determined not to give away his feelings of anger and irritation. Roy had been gone nearly twenty minutes, and had made him stand here waiting for him while he visited his ‘partner’, the other half of this so-called legendary paramedic team. It was just annoying, and DeSoto was being inconsiderate; that was all, he reasoned.

Roy hadn’t even realized it, but he continually mentioned Johnny throughout the day, making little anecdotes referencing how they operated together; each time referring to the two of them, Roy and Johnny, as a team, as Roy used the term ‘we’, or ‘Johnny and I’, over and over again.

By the end of the day, Wesley had unwittingly been saturated with the knowledge that Roy and John were some kind of a super team, obviously well known throughout the department and Rampart, a kind of ‘dynamic duo’ of sorts. That had been reinforced over and over again by his co-workers and the hospital staff, as the word of John’s injury and their illustrious partnership became the most talked about subject of the day. He found it most irritating.

Roy finally got his opportunity to talk to Johnny the next day, when he was off work. Hoping he’d be able to catch a time to visit Johnny when Heather wasn’t around, he waited until later in the afternoon to go visit. As luck would have it, when he peeked in the room, Heather was nowhere to be seen.

Hesitating in the doorway a moment, Roy tried to gather his thoughts, then slowly entered the room. Apparently, his movement was heard, because when he reached the foot of John’s bed, the injured paramedic’s eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on the figure standing near him.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Roy said softly, his hands were shoved inside his pants’ pockets.

John cleared his throat. “You didn’t. I was just resting.”

“How’re you feeling today?”

Johnny licked his lips, then answered, “A little better.”

Roy nodded, then walked around to the other side of the bed so that he was facing Johnny, and so that his friend wouldn’t have to strain his neck to look at him.

Johnny regarded him, perceiving that his friend seemed a bit nervous. He wasn’t surprised at the tension that was in the air, after the words they had exchanged a few days ago. Then finally, Roy said, “Johnny, I….I’d like to apologize to you.” He stopped then, searching for the right words, and found he was having difficulty. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

 Johnny just blinked at him, waiting, his face unreadable.

“Johnny, what I said to you the other day in the dorm, before we got called out to that last run….I didn’t mean it.” Roy raised his gaze to meet John’s eyes, and the eyes looked like they held forgiveness. “I feel pretty rotten about what I said, and how I treated you that entire shift.”

Johnny nodded slightly. “I wasn’t, you know,” Johnny said softly.

“Wasn’t what?”

“I wasn’t trying to…’buy your friendship’, as you put it.” He looked away. “I kinda thought that after all these years, that had already been established.” Though there hadn’t been a lot of inflection in his voice, Roy was still able to detect the hint of underlying hurt in his voice.

Roy looked Johnny right in the eye, his expression sincere. His next words came out rather forcefully. “It has. And I’m sorry. I don’t know what got in to me that day. I guess I’d had just about all I could take from Harriet.” That drew a small smile from Johnny. “And I took it out on you. It’s not a very good excuse, I know. I hope you’ll….accept my apology?”

Johnny looked up at him, thinking. Several seconds went by before he replied. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That you’ll accept mine too.”

Surprise swept over Roy’s face. “For what?”

Johnny looked down at his bed blanket and sighed. “I know I went overboard. I should have…kept my nose out of your personal business. I shouldn’t have called Joanne. You got angry with me one other time for doing that, and yet I did it again anyway. I guess I…didn’t learn my lesson. So, I’m sorry too. I’ll try to….restrain myself in the future.” A small sheepish smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

“Johnny…” Roy looked down, biting his lower lip. “There’s no need for you to apologize. I know you were just concerned, and that you were only trying to help.” He looked back up at his partner. “You’re like….a member of our family; you have been for years. What you did….was what any family member would do.” Roy shook his head. “I was just being a jerk.”

Johnny felt emotion welling in his throat at Roy’s declaration that he was a part of their family, and subconsciously felt the need to lighten things up, lest he lose control of his emotions, which were a bit fragile at the moment. “Hey, let’s just….forget it happened, okay? Everybody loses their cool once in a while – even the unshakable Roy DeSoto, he said, arching one brow. Weakly, John held out his hand for Roy to shake, and he took it, shaking it once. It was limp, void of the usual vigor his handshakes usually held.

“Thanks, Johnny. And….I am sorry.” Roy couldn’t help but feel especially sincere. Almost losing his partner – again – added a grim reality to the situation, and Roy hadn’t liked the feeling of almost having their bitter exchange be the last communication they would ever have.

Johnny waved it off. “Forget it, Roy. Let’s just not talk about it anymore, okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.” He looked around uncomfortably, glancing out the window, when a thought occurred to him. “Hey, was Chet here earlier? I thought I saw his car pulling out of the parking lot on the way in.”

“Yeah, he was here, all right. He and Marco stopped by a little while ago.” Johnny rolled his eyes, recalling their earlier conversation. He had been lying with his eyes closed, resting, when he’d heard people enter his room….

Chet and Marco stopped in the middle of the room when they realized John was asleep.

“Maybe we shouldn’t wake him,” Chet whispered.

John opened his eyes. “I’m awake,” he’d said softly, turning to look at his visitors. They approached the bed.

“Hi, Johnny,” Marco said.

“Chet, Marco,” he acknowledged, then tried to shift in bed to see them better. It hurt like hell to move, but he got tired of being in the same position hour after hour. They could see the sudden discomfort in his face as he moved, and Chet suddenly felt uneasy; flashes of that horrible night played in his mind, and he remembered things he saw that he wished he could erase from his memory. The sight of Johnny’s blood flowing from the torn, gaping wound, his flesh ripped apart by the bullet, and the agonized expression on his friend’s face had frightened Chet more than almost anything he could remember. After seeing that, he understood what war veterans went through after experiencing the atrocities of the battlefield, and he was glad he had never been sent out to the front lines during his stint in Viet Nam.

Johnny saw the haunted expression cross his face, and scrutinized it, sensing something was bothering his friend, the Phantom. He hadn’t remembered much about the other night, but now that Chet was standing there, he seemed to recall that someone had slipped their hand into his as he had lain there, and realized that it must have been Chet’s. He forced himself to smile, and tried to act as normal as possible. “How’re you guys doin’?” he asked.

“I think we should be the ones asking you that,” Marco replied. “How’re you feeling, Johnny?”
            Johnny glanced up at Chet. “Ah, I’m….better; a lot better.”

Chet still hadn’t said a word.

Trying to pull Chet out of his funk, John said, “Chet, what’sa matter? Your tongue tied today or somethin’? Don’t tell me you got laryngitis? All this time I’ve been waitin’ for that to happen, and then ya go and get it while I’m absent.” Johnny tried hard to keep his face straight, but wasn’t entirely successful.

Chet finally came out of his fog, forcing himself into Phantom mode in order to hide his earlier disconcertion. “No, John. Actually, I was….just waitin’ to get a word in to tell you the good news.” A mischievous expression formed on his face.

Johnny chuckled suspiciously. “Good news, huh?” He could tell he was about to be set up. “And just what could that be, Chet?”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that you don’t need to worry about the damage to your…..ah….derrier from the bullet.”

Johnny sighed, closing his eyes. Oh boy, here it comes. I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the ass jokes to himself. He opened his eyes and looked at Chet suspiciously. “Oh, really? And why is that, Chet?” As if I wanna know.

“Well, word has it that Bellingham signed up to donate part of his butt to build you a new one, since he has some to spare.”

“Madre di Dios,” Marco muttered. “Chet – ” he started to admonish.

“Bellingham?!”

“Yeah. You don’t care if it’s white and hairy, do ya? It’d only be on one side. I thought it was rather generous of him.”

Johnny stared at him, his mouth hanging partially open in disgust.

“Chet – ” tried Marco again before he was interrupted.

“We were gonna ask Brice to donate, but his ass is so tight even Brackett couldn’t find any spare to give ya.” With this, Chet’s face broke out into a grin.

Johnny cleared his throat, trying hard not to laugh, because he knew it would hurt. “Well, you tell Bellingham that’s very generous of him, but I won’t be needing any….transplants. My…. ‘derrier’ is gonna heal just fine.”

“Oh, okay; well, if you’re sure, I’m sure Bob’ll be relieved.”

Johnny shook his head. “Kelly, you are – ”

Chet peered over Johnny’s prone form, making an exaggerated point of trying to examine his backside.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

“Did they wrap you up in a lot of bandages back there?”

Johnny snorted. “Would you like me to show you?” he said sarcastically, reaching for the covers, calling Chet’s bluff.

Marco’s eyes went wide and he stepped back.

Chet held his hands up. “No, no. I just wondered if you could fart through all that.”

“CHET!” came the reply simultaneously from Johnny and Marco.

Chet cringed and retorted as seriously as he could, “Don’t blow a fuse, Johnny. I just don’t wanna be standin’ too close if you can’t. You might explode or something, and I don’t wanna get caught in the aftermath. Besides,” he shrugged, “you’d mess up all of Dr. Early’s work.”

Now Johnny was ready to kill Chet. His last joke hadn’t been funny, and Chet’s choice of words had been poor. Reaching behind him, he grabbed his pillow and threw it at the Irishman, causing him to yell in anguish at the pain it caused. “Auuuuughhh!” He lay on his side, gasping, his head having fallen down to rest on his arm as it dangled off the bed; the other arm wrapped protectively around his lower abdomen. His knees curled up under the covers as he drew them protectively inward.

Marco picked up the pillow and shook it at Chet. “Chet, you idiot!” He was angry. He turned back to Johnny, who was now trying to recover from just having inflicted extreme pain upon himself. “Johnny, you all right?”

Chet blanched, dismayed to realize his jokes had caused more pain to his friend. He had only been trying to make him laugh. He stepped forward, taking the pillow from Marco, and went to John’s side. “I’m sorry, man,” he said softly. “Here, let me help you.”

John looked up at him, almost expecting Kelly to pull something else, but then Chet very gingerly lifted Johnny up by the shoulders and helped reposition him on the bed, making sure the pillow was behind his head.

Johnny continued to pant through his mouth, his eyes closed. “Kelly….you…..” His eyes cracked open to behold the very apologetic eyes of his friend, and he decided to change what he was going to say, “….tell the worst jokes of anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Next to yourself,” Chet added. Both Marco and Johnny glared at him. “Hey, I was just tryin’ to make him laugh.” He looked beseechingly at them both. “C’mon you guys, lighten up.”

“Don’t….try to make me laugh, okay? It hurts too much.”

“Sorry, Johnny,” Chet said sincerely, and added, “Really.”

“S’okay.” The pain from his movement was finally dying down. Johnny looked over at the paper bag they had set on the table. “Whad’ja bring me?”

“Oh!” Marco grabbed the paper bag and pulled out a new best-seller. He laid it on John’s bedside table so that he could see it. “Here. Chet picked this up for you to read, when you’re feeling better.”

“Which I’m sure will be real soon, Johnny. Right Marco?”

Marco nodded. “Right, Chet. As soon as you leave.”

Johnny eyed Chet. “Thanks….I think.” He peered over at the book that Chet had picked up. ‘The Deep’ was the title.

“You’re gonna like this one, John. It’s a thriller. It’s Benchley’s follow up to ‘Jaws’.”

“I’m sure it’ll….help me pass the time.” He looked back up at Chet, realizing by his expression that he was truly sorry for causing him pain. “Thanks, Chet. I appreciate it,” he said softly.

“Well, we’d better be going…..” Marco had said.

Then, the two had left the room, leaving Johnny almost no worse for the wear.

Johnny cringed as he replayed their visit in his mind.

“Chet didn’t…..” Roy was almost afraid to ask, “did he?”

“He did.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, not much. Just that….” he paused for effect, “Bob Bellingham offered to…. ‘donate’ part of his butt to replace the part of mine that got….damaged. He….ah….wondered if I’d mind that it was white and hairy, ‘cause it’d only be on one side.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Oh, he also said that they were gonna ask Brice to donate, but said ‘his ass was so tight even Brackett couldn’t find any spare to give me’.” Johnny rolled his eyes.

“He said that?!!”

“Yep. ”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Ah, don’t waste your energy. He was just bein’ himself. I think he was actually just tryin’ to make me laugh, which is the last thing I wanna do right now. He and Marco gave me that too.” Johnny nodded toward the book.

Roy picked it up and looked at it. “Huh. ‘The Deep’. That was nice….for Chet.”

“Yeah.” Johnny reached for the bed control and lowered the head of the bed slightly to readjust. He couldn’t help but grimace as he tried to move around a bit.

Roy noticed the pained expression and took a step toward his friend. “You need any help?”

Johnny shook his head and closed his eyes. His voice was tight with pain now. “No. I’m fine.”

Roy realized he should get going and let his partner have some quiet, then realized something was amiss. He frowned, looking around. “Where’s Heather?”

John opened his eyes halfway. “I sent her home. She’s been here a lot; she looked tired, so I told her to leave for a while.”

“She has been here a lot. I guess she must think you’re worth it,” Roy said facetiously, his brow raised.

Johnny smiled. “I guess. It’s kinda…nice….for a change, you know?”

Roy nodded. Yes, he knew indeed how nice it was to have that special someone with you when you were sick or hurting. Johnny had never had that luxury before. Instead, it had always been himself that had filled that role, or tried to. “Yeah; I know,” he said simply.

Seeing Johnny’s eyes slide shut again prompted him to end the visit. He knew his friend needed rest, and he thought he had made Wesley wait long enough. “Hey, I think I better get outta here and let you get some rest.”

“’Kay.”

“Is there anything you need before I go?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m good.”

“Okay, then; I’ll see you later.” He started toward the door.

“Roy?” Johnny had lifted his head off the pillow. Roy turned back questioningly. “Thanks…for comin’ by.”

Roy nodded and smiled, understanding the underlying significance to John’s gratitude. “Any time, Johnny. You call me if you need anything, all right?” He emphasized the word ‘anything’.

Johnny let his head fall back down to the pillow. “I will.”

Roy left the room, glad that the strain he had inflicted on their friendship seemed to have dissolved.

Part 5