Serendipity

  Part 5

            During their next shift together, Roy invited Wesley to come with him to meet Johnny. By now, Roy figured John would feel more up to meeting a stranger, and wanted him to meet his temporary partner. Johnny had questioned Roy during their last visit about the new man, so Roy decided to introduce them.

Johnny was resting; the soft white noise of a television game show droning in the background had lulled him into a light sleep. The shuffle of the two paramedics’ shoes on the linoleum floor drew his attention, and he opened his eyes to see his partner and another man entering his room.

He was glad for the company; he’d only been in the hospital a few days, and already he was intensely bored. A slight depression had also settled within him; he couldn’t help worrying about his recovery and wondering what the future held. Would he be able to get back on his feet again and feel like his old self, as he had done so many times before? Or, would this injury be the one to end his career? The doctors seemed optimistic; they felt he would recover completely, given time. It was hard not to think about the damage that had been done; a person can only be glued back together so many times before the glue stops working. With all the things that had weakened his body over the last few years, would he be able to do his job to the same extent that he always had? Would he be able to climb, and rappel, and contort his body to fit into places that no one else ever could – without pain? True, Heather had reminded him more than once that he didn’t ‘need’ to work, but he still felt a large part of himself would be lost if he had to give up his career. Even though he had a good life now without his job, the thought of losing it depressed him.

He felt a great deal of anger against the man who had inflicted this wound upon him, and who had killed that police officer. He just couldn’t understand the mentality behind those kinds of people. He was having a hard time dealing with it, just as it had been hard to deal with the maniac who had run him over with his car a year ago. John wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of having to testify in court against him. He just tried to keep telling himself that he was lucky the bullet hadn’t hit his spine and paralyzed him, or his heart, killing him. And he was immensely glad it had hit him instead of Roy. As much pain as he’d endured, dealing with that would have been worse.

Being confined to the bed was the worst though. He wouldn’t be able to get up for a long while yet, with the broken pelvis, and he’d be dragging the abdominal catheter around for at least another three weeks. He was already sore from lying on the same side all the time. He wondered how he was going to keep from going crazy. Johnny tried to concentrate on not thinking about all these things, knowing that it was natural to be depressed when in the hospital, and told himself that as he recovered, things would get better.

He still didn’t know what had happened to the gunman; he just kept forgetting to ask Roy; probably because his concentration had been so muddied from the pain medication. Fortunately, they had been able to decrease that some over the last few days, and now his mind felt clearer. Visitors helped greatly, and having Heather around this time made things a lot more bearable. Just seeing her beautiful face in his hospital room every day lifted his spirits. It was so comforting to have someone there to hold his hand and caress his brow when things got rough. He’d never realized before what a nice thing it could be. I could have this the rest of my life, if I wanted.

He opened his eyes sleepily and looked up when Roy and Wesley strolled in, clicking off the TV. It was still rather early at just after nine-thirty, and Heather wasn’t there yet. The two paramedics walked toward his bed, and Wesley watched the interaction between the two of them, expertly hiding the disdain he was feeling inside. He flinched when he heard the greeting Roy offered John.

“Mornin’, Junior,” Roy said amicably as he strolled up next to Johnny.

“Hey, Pally,” Johnny answered with a smile, then averted his gaze to Adams, expecting an introduction.

Roy turned toward Wesley and introduced them, each shaking the other’s hand and offering the usual polite solicitations.

Johnny offered his trademark crooked grin to the man. “So, you’re workin’ with Roy, huh? Is he treatin’ ya all right?”

Wesley smiled, trying hard to like the man whose disposition showed only friendliness. “Yeah, he’s treatin’ me all right. Can’t complain.”

Johnny nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, that’s good; that’s good. Roy’s a good guy; a little hard-nosed at times, but he hasn’t been too difficult to work with,” he teased. 

Roy rolled his eyes. “Somebody’s had to keep you in line.”

“And somebody’s got to keep the starch out of your shirt.”

Roy bantered back. “Well, you’ve done a good job of that. With you as a partner, I don’t have time to put starch in my shirts any more.” Roy turned to Wesley. “Johnny has this way of continually testing my paramedic skills – on himself.” He gestured to the man in the bed with a wry smile.

Johnny shrugged. “I just like to keep you on your toes, and make sure you’re performing adequately.”

“And keep me sitting in hospital chairs. You know I’m gonna have to start seeing a chiropractor if I have to keep visiting you in the hospital.”

Wesley watched the ease with which these two conversed, their friendly jokes emphasizing a comfortable comradery. Their one-liners flew effortlessly back and forth like a tennis ball lobbing between two players of equal skill, each trying to up the other. It was a display between very close friends that he’d always wished he’d had a chance to experience, but hadn’t in years, not since Gordon had died.

“You think the chairs are bad; you should try the beds. I think they purposely make them uncomfortable so the patients will get well faster and leave as soon as possible, which I’d be more than happy to oblige.” With that, he shifted his position, causing a sharp pain to knife through his abdomen. Failing miserably, he was unable to withhold the gasp he tried to suppress.

Adams couldn’t miss that the smile on Roy’s face suddenly turned to concern as the senior paramedic watched Johnny. Quickly, he stepped forward. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” The reply was an effort.

“Still hurting bad?” Roy asked compassionately.

John’s voice was strained. “Only when I breathe,” he attempted to chuckle, then grimaced in pain, “aughh…or laugh.” Johnny looked back at Wesley, anxious to direct the subject away from himself. “So, is he lettin’ you drive the squad?”

Wesley looked confused. “No, why?”

Johnny grinned. “No reason. Just wondered.”

Wesley cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying to find a way to fit into the conversation. He looked down at Johnny in the bed. “So, Roy told me you were shot….by some druggie. That must have hurt like hell, huh?”

Johnny’s face grew somber. He’d rather forget about the shooting. “Yeah. It did,” he said quietly. “Still does.”

“Guess you’re glad the little sucker died, huh? I know I would be.”

John’s eyes opened wider and he looked up at Roy. “He…he did?”

Roy looked down at his partner, trying to evaluate his reaction. “Yeah.” He’d meant to tell Johnny, but had been trying to avoid talking about the whole situation in order to take Johnny’s mind off it, knowing he had enough to deal with already without being reminded of the violence that landed him in the hospital in the first place. “The police shot him, and then he, uh, broke his neck when he fell from the rooftop.”

Johnny looked stunned, but relieved at the same time, and Roy knew why. “Oh,” was all he said.

The two looked at each other meaningfully for a moment, an unspoken understanding flowing between them, as it often did. Neither had to verbalize the relief they felt at knowing they wouldn’t have to testify against another criminal, or the comprehension of knowing the other’s feelings.

Wesley tried again, sensing the tension that he had evidently just caused. “So, how long do you have to be in here, John?” He was hoping the answer would be ‘a long time’. He’d only just started his time at 51’s, but was already feeling a good fit; he was looking for a place to stay a while, and this station seemed like the right place. If only this guy wasn’t coming back; he thought he had maybe found a place he could be happy and accepted.

Johnny sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m stuck here for a while. I can’t go anywhere with this…” he gestured to his abdomen and the tube that snaked out from under his covers, leading to the bag of urine attached to the side of the bed, “…umbilical cord tying me down. And after I leave here I’ve got physical therapy,” he said glumly. Once again, Wesley’s questions had brought Johnny down.

“It won’t be that long, Johnny. You’re gettin’ a little better every day,” Roy commented.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah,” he said dejectedly. He looked up at Adams then and smiled softly. “Just make sure you keep my seat warm for me in the squad, okay?”

Wesley forced a smile. “You got it, buddy.” He could have gotten an Academy Award for his ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ performance. Inside, once again the jealousy was boiling over. He hated that feeling, and what made it even worse was that he recognized how unreasonable it was, since he hardly knew either of these men.

At that moment, Heather made her appearance. All three men looked up to see the beautiful tawny-haired woman breeze into the room, brandishing a shopping bag in her hand. A little surprised at seeing the two uniformed men in the room so early in the morning, she composed herself quickly and offered a friendly smile and a ‘hello’ as she made her way to the bed, her first priority being to check on her man.

She set the bag down and immediately went to Johnny’s side, leaning down to softly place a kiss on his lips, gently caressing his face as she did so. She wasn’t shy about showing her affection for Johnny, and for the first few moments, all her attention was on him. “Hello, darling; how are you feeling today?”

Johnny offered her the most charming grin he could summon. “Better, now that you’re here.”

Roy couldn’t help but grin at his partner’s cheesy line and helpless expression.

“Sweet,” she murmured, then turned toward the visitors. She first said hello to Roy. Not recognizing Wesley, she immediately held out her hand to him. “Hello; I’m Heather Banks.”

Adams took her hand limply in his, stunned into muteness as he scrutinized her. Although her face held nothing but the most sincere and friendly smile, she gave him an instant feeling of inferiority. He finally managed to blunder out his name and justify why he was there; explaining the fact that he was Roy’s partner while John was out.

Regardless of his discomfort, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. The picture in Gage’s locker hadn’t done her justice. She was more gorgeous than the photo could convey; and could have easily graced the cover of any magazine. Her body was perfect too, emphasized by the little tennis dress she was wearing. Suddenly, Adams hated Johnny intensely. How could this chump in the bed have won over this kind of woman? It wasn’t fair. He’d never been able to get any woman interested in him, until he’d married Doreen thirteen years ago. She was a faithful woman who loved him, but for some reason he felt he had to dominate her. He had done so for so many years that she had mutated from the gay, high-spirited girl she once was, to a quiet, mousy woman who submitted to her husband’s orders. There had been a time when she had been quite attractive, but years of being married to Wesley had dimmed her beauty. At thirty-five, she was prematurely gray, the lines of stress from a life of constantly being on edge around her husband already carving their marks in her face.

Heather gracefully pulled her hand from his limp grasp, and shivered undetectably at the odd expression she saw on his face. It wasn’t enough to jar her unshakable cool, and she smiled pleasantly at him, then moved back toward Johnny.

“Been playing tennis?” Gage asked.

“Yes; that’s why I’m late. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, hon. You don’t have to be here every second, you know.”

“I know. But I do hate for you to be alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” he looked over at the other two men in the room.

She looked over at Roy and Wesley. “Yes, it’s nice that you stopped by.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to stop up to see Johnny whenever we’ve had to make a run to Rampart,” Roy said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“That’s nice of you, Roy. I’m glad you two are such good friends.”

Roy wondered silently if she really meant that. Wesley felt like gagging, but kept the smile plastered on his face.

“So, who won this morning?” John asked.

“Troy,” she said, her mouth turning downward into a pout.

Roy knew from talking to Johnny that Troy was Heather’s younger brother; Johnny had told him that Troy was sort of a ‘spoiled brat’ and that he didn’t think Troy liked him very much, but that he was trying to stay on his good side for Heather’s sake.

“As usual, huh?”

“Yes, he usually beats me.”

“Yeah, I know. He usually beats me too,” Johnny chagrinned. Heather had managed to set up teams of tennis doubles between herself and Johnny, and Troy and his girlfriend, Gloria, in order to encourage Johnny and Troy to get to know each other better. Johnny had only played tennis with Troy twice, and both times, the younger man had beaten the pants off Johnny, always winning with a smug look on his face. Johnny would have preferred playing without scoring, since he was so bad, but Troy seemed to have a very competitive nature about him, and enjoyed winning immensely, even if Johnny was no challenge to him.

“Yes, at tennis, but not at polo,” she said, her eyes twinkling into a smile. Johnny sunk down into the pillow almost imperceptively, cringing at the mention of playing polo.

“Polo?” Roy asked in surprise. “Johnny, since when did you play polo?”

Damn. This wasn’t something he’d wanted Roy to know. If word got around the station that John Gage was playing polo, the jokes would be ruthless. Kelly had already been referring to Johnny as ‘Thurston Howell the Third’ for weeks now. Chet had even dubbed Heather as ‘Lovey’, thinking his new joke was hilarious. Of course, Chet usually used that reference when Johnny wasn’t around, but Gage had caught wind of it just the same. It had all started when they’d found out Johnny went golfing with Arthur Banks, and that the two of them were becoming quite chummy. Art’s frequent calls to the station to discuss different stocks for John to invest in didn’t help his new image. Every time the multi-millionaire thought of a lucrative venture for John, he would call him. Perhaps he realized that this young man and his daughter were quite serious, and he wanted to make sure that his future son-in-law was investing his money wisely. Or perhaps since his own son never seemed to want to take his advice, he’d become a new mentor for Johnny, enjoying the newfound father-son-like rapport they seemed to have with one another. Johnny knew that Chet would never let him live this one down if he found out about it, not to mention the wrath he would get from Roy for playing such a dangerous sport.

Johnny cleared his throat and tried to shrug it off. “Ah, Heather’s brother just needed someone to fill in on his practice team one day, so he asked me.” John didn’t mention that Troy had asked John to play in order to make a fool out of him. Knowing that Johnny had some experience riding horses, but figuring the ‘blue collar’ fireman wouldn’t have a clue as to how to play, Troy had invited him one day on the pretense of being friendly, his underlying reason more along the lines of embarrassing Johnny and showing off in front of his friends. His plan had backfired though, once he discovered that Johnny was an expert rider. He’d had no idea that Gage had grown up on a ranch and had years of experience with horses and roping cattle, thus allowing him the agility and skill to be a valuable participant in the game. Johnny had shown Troy up that day, scoring the winning goal for the other team, and when it was through, to Troy’s dismay, John had been inundated with more invitations to play from the other team members. Later, Heather had smiled smugly at her brother for trying to outwit her boyfriend.

“So, tell me about this polo game,” Roy asked warily, rubbing his chin.

“I—it was no big deal. I don’t want to bore you, Roy.”

Roy wondered if his friend had been hurt playing, fallen off his horse maybe, and didn’t want to embarrass himself again – or didn’t want him to know about it. Roy wasn’t very knowledgeable about polo, but knew it was a fast-paced sport that could be very dangerous. As many times as his friend had ended up in the hospital, it was probably one of the worst activities he could participate in.

“No big deal!” Heather gushed. She turned to the two men. “He was brilliant. I’ve never seen anyone ride like John. He showed an instant proficiency for the game. He scored three goals, winning the game.”

Johnny looked down, his face turning crimson at her unabashed praise of him.

“That’s kind of a dangerous sport, isn’t it, Johnny?”

He looked up at Roy, seeing his incredulous expression. “Well….” Johnny stammered, “It’s not really that – ”

“Obviously it’s not as dangerous as his job,” Heather said soberly, then, folding her arms, turned away to look out the window. A palpable uncomfortable silence ensued for the next couple of seconds as the four of them struggled for something to say.

Johnny looked uncomfortably at his girlfriend, feeling Roy’s eyes upon him as he anticipated a reaction, and Wesley stood staring down at his shoes, trying his hardest not to look like he couldn’t wait to leave.

John reached out and caught hold of the hem of Heather’s skirt and tugged on it. “Heather,” he said softly. She turned to look at him and he was surprised to see her eyes glistening with tears. Rather than get into another discussion with her as to why he should quit his job in front of his friends, he diverted the subject as skillfully as he could. He reached out for her hand and squeezed it. “Hey,” he said gently, “what’s in the bag? Didja bring me something?” His face lit up in that irresistible crooked grin, and it brought a smile to her face instantly. Roy was amazed at how quickly his partner could charm a woman. It crossed his mind that Johnny could make a fortune if he could patent that smile. But then, he already had a fortune.

She picked up the shopping bag and began pulling things out. The first thing she showed him was a new pair of very expensive looking dark-colored silk pajamas with a small print on them. Then, she pulled out a new bathrobe, navy blue, that looked somewhat like a smoking jacket, and then a pair of slippers. She laid them on the bed, saying what each one was as she did so.

Johnny was glad for the distraction from the earlier conversation, but was somewhat caught off guard. She was always buying things for him unexpectedly, and it made him feel a little uncomfortable sometimes, especially when she did it in front of his friends. He looked up at her. “Th-thanks. Uh, wh-where’d you get these?”

“Saks,” she stated, matter-of-factly. “Do you like them?”

“Ah….yeah…” he tried to sound enthusiastic, “but…” he looked down at the favorite gray pajamas he was already wearing, “I’ve already got pajamas and a robe.”

She brushed his comment off. “Oh, I know, but these are so much nicer. Yours are starting to look kind of….worn; these will be so much better. I’ll help you try them on….later.”

Johnny smiled uncomfortably, looking from his partner down to the bed blanket. “Thanks, Heather.” He let out a breath; a sudden draining fatigue washed over him, and he grimaced to himself as he realized it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. Then, all at once, discomfort that came from dissipating medication begged his attention, and he swallowed, closing his eyes, trying to cope with the misery that was abruptly spreading across his abdomen. For some reason, he suddenly felt cold, and reached down to pull the covers up around him a bit. Busy folding up the new items she had bought, Heather didn’t notice the change in his demeanor, but Roy did.

Wesley Adams was extremely thankful that the HT came alive at that moment, having wanted to escape from this visit almost from the first moment he’d arrive. They all grew quiet as they listened to the call summoning the two men out to a ‘man needs assistance’ rescue.

Roy lifted the HT to his mouth, and depressing the button, gave the usual “Squad 51” response. Looking concernedly at John, he said, “We gotta go.” Seeing Johnny’s suddenly pale face made him regretful that the call had come in, and his eyes lingered on his sick friend for several seconds before he turned to leave. Glancing over at Heather, he relaxed a little, realizing that she surely would take care of letting the doctor know if any problems arose. The two paramedics said their good-byes and made a hasty retreat out the door.

Roy never made it back to see Johnny that day. In between a full day of runs, an airport drill assured that the men wouldn’t get much down time. Nighttime brought no calls, however, and all the men got a good night sleep, for once.

It was always strange for Roy to look over in the direction of Johnny’s bunk and see someone else sleeping there, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened by any means. Getting used to Wesley’s snoring was a bit difficult, but having slept in a firehouse for nearly a decade enabled the senior paramedic to brush off the wayward noises and fall into slumber without too much trouble. Gage was a much quieter sleeper, however.

The A-shift had the next day off, and Roy decided to take a day off from visiting Johnny. He had resolved to stop by to see him the next day at work on their first trip to Rampart, and he would call him sometime that afternoon to see how he was doing. The honey-do list that Joanne had given Roy was going to demand his entire afternoon, and since it was his and Joanne’s anniversary, he’d promised Joanne they could get a sitter and go out for the evening. It was something they hadn’t done for a long time, due to a tightening of funds, but both thought they could afford the small binge. Roy felt comforted by the fact that over the last day or two, Johnny did seem to be feeling better, and Heather was there most of the time, so it wasn’t like he had a lack of visitors or attention.

Wesley had originally invited the DeSoto’s over to dinner for that evening, wanting the opportunity to get to know him and his wife a little better, but Roy had to beg off because of the anniversary plans. They made a rain check for the following weekend, and Roy and Joanne had a romantic evening out, just the two of them. They made it an early night however, not only because Roy had to work in the morning, but also so that they would have time to enjoy ‘other things’ when they got home and the kids were in bed. Unbeknownst to Roy, Heather was also absent from the hospital that day because of a commitment to meet with an art dealer out of town. As it turned out, Johnny didn’t receive any visitors that day.

Johnny had spent most of the previous day sleeping, trying to let the painkillers work, and after his reassurance that he would be just fine without her, Heather had finally left at four o’clock, in order to catch her plane to New York. She had been so excited about the opportunity to meet with the art dealer, that he hadn’t let on to her that he was really feeling poorly, knowing she would probably cancel her trip if she suspected any worsening of his condition.

The pain in his abdomen that had plagued Johnny almost constantly since his surgery hadn’t abated that next day upon the administering of his medication, and as the hours went by, he became increasingly nauseated and chilled, even shivering after drawing the blanket up to his chin. He’d kept the conversation short when Roy had called, assuring him he was doing fine, lest his friend rush down there to see him. He didn’t want any visitors anyway, as rotten as he was feeling. The nurse had come in during the afternoon and taken his vitals without much fanfare, then examined and adjusted his IV, so it seemed nothing was out of order. Hoping it was just the usual post-op malaise, he wanted neither to be a whiner nor a pest, so he kept quiet, sure that time would eventually cure his discomfort. Despite his usual friendliness with the nurses, Johnny was always a good patient, never pestering any of the staff more than absolutely necessary. Things didn’t abate any by the afternoon, however. Johnny wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, or if he was really getting worse, but by the early hours of the evening, he started to realize that something was wrong.

He finally decided to call the nurse for more pain medication at five-thirty, but wasn’t feeling any better when the candy striper brought his dinner an hour later. Unable to eat, he pushed the food tray away and curled up on his side in a semi-fetal position, hoping between the medication and his change of position, he would get some relief soon. He didn’t.

Similar to the day before, the sedating side effects of the painkiller managed to lull him into a fitful slumber sometime after eight o’clock, but he awoke just before midnight in a cold sweat, feeling absolutely awful.

If his mind had been clearer, his paramedic wisdom would have demanded that he call the nurse to take his temperature and check his other vitals, but the combination of pain, exhaustion, and haziness from the medication clouded his judgment. By the time he realized he was in serious trouble, he was hurting too badly to move enough to reach the call button on the other side of his bed. The onset of severe abdominal pain hit him suddenly around one o’clock that morning, and any movement whatsoever caused agony. As he lie sweating and panting, and felt his pulse hammering out of control, he damned himself for not speaking up sooner, and prayed that someone would come through the door soon. 

Luckily, and after an hour of pure misery, his prayers were answered when the night nurse came in to check on him at two a.m. Recognizing that her patient was in trouble, she immediately called for a doctor. Joe Early happened to be there that night, and rushed up to examine Johnny, bringing a young intern with him.

Gage felt like a butcher was taking a knife and slowly carving up his innards like a Thanksgiving turkey. He didn’t think he could move as he lay on his side, curled up as tightly as his body would allow, clutching his abdomen, gasping in pain. When Joe Early walked into the room, the dark-haired paramedic had never been so glad to see a doctor in all his life. Just hearing Dr. Early’s calm, steady tone as he spoke offered a good dose of reassurance. Johnny kept his hands protectively around his mid-section as they took his vitals.

Dr. Early spoke softly but firmly to his sick friend, trying his best to keep his patient calm. “Johnny. Where are you hurting? Is it your abdomen?”

Gage gritted his teeth around the thermometer and nodded a silent answer.

Dr. Early pulled back the sheet and blanket, causing the paramedic to tense further. “Johnny, I need you to move your arms so that I can take a look at you.”

“A hundred and three, doctor,” the nurse stated, as she examined the thermometer she had just removed from John’s mouth.

Johnny shook his head fervently. “Nnoo,” he groaned, “can’t.”

Early turned to the night nurse. “Nurse, administer five milligrams MS please.”

With a quick acknowledgement, the nurse followed the doctor’s orders.

Joe Early’s mind worked while he waited a few minutes for the medication to take effect. He was almost certain he knew what was going on; an examination of John’s abdomen and some other tests could confirm almost without a doubt what he suspected. He added up the symptoms in his mind: sudden high fever, bounding pulse, low blood pressure, cold and clammy skin, a lack of bowel sounds, and John was diaphoretic.

He looked down at his charge. He couldn’t wait any longer; emergency treatment needed to start as soon as possible. “Johnny, I want you to move your arms away now, okay?”

Johnny’s eyes were closed and he was dizzy. The medication had already started to dull some of the pain, but it was still there. He knew it would be agony for anyone to touch his stomach, and kept his hands where they were. “Nnoo,” he answered weakly.

“Steve,” Early said softly to the young intern, and between the intern and the nurse, they managed to pull Johnny’s arms away from his body. John cried out in pain as they held him with his arms restrained, his fingers frantically arched and clawing at the air as Doctor Early made his examination. Nodding to the intern, Joe gave him a chance to feel the swollenness and rigidity of Johnny’s distended abdomen, as they switched places briefly. Dr. Early made sure he did his examination quickly, then motioned for the other two to release Johnny, who curled back into his fetal position with a groan.

Even though his mind was beginning to get muddy from the morphine, the thought occurred to Johnny that a woman’s labor pains couldn’t possibly be any worse than this. He didn’t ask any questions though, and all through the time that they moved him onto a gurney, wheeled him to the radiologist for X-rays and CAT scans, and even took blood, he remained quiet, too sick to comprehend for the moment what he was facing.

Johnny lay on the gurney in a daze, as time seemed to stand still for him. He wasn’t even sure where he was. Someone was speaking to him, and he recognized Dr. Early’s calm voice over him. He opened his eyes, staring upward, trying to grasp what the doctor was telling him, something about another test, a needle aspiration of his peritoneal cavity. He almost lost it then as his mind registered the invasive procedure he’d have to endure, but kept it together as a sample of fluid was obtained through a long needle from his abdomen. He’d thought he would pass out during that, and wished he had; so that this hellish nightmare would be over.

Instead, once that was over, he felt the gurney moving again, and was wheeled somewhere else. Colors looked blurred and sounds were slurred as he moved down the corridors, unaware and uncaring of where they were taking him. Sweat trickled down his face, and he was both hot and cold at the same time. Though he was covered, he felt naked and vulnerable, and worst of all, alone. He wished Heather was with him, or Roy. Anybody, just so he wouldn’t have to face this by himself. Right now, he’d even take Henry the stationhouse dog if he was available. Dr. Early tried to be as comforting as he could, but the urgency and seriousness of his tone outweighed his attempted warmth.

John jerked when a sharp pain under his collarbone brought him to awareness again, and blearily glanced down to see the doctor inserting a central line in his subclavian vein. He looked around; it appeared that he was in ICU now, and finally, the consequences of this new development in his convalescence began to become clear through the fog in his brain. It was when the doctor approached him with the NG tube that became the final straw, and he felt an unnerving panic rising up just under the surface, the overwhelmingness of it overtaking him.

Dr. Early tried to be as gentle and reassuring as possible as he maneuvered the dreaded rubber tube through John’s nostril and down into his stomach, but the paramedic still shook the entire time, barely able to swallow when the doctor asked. By the time Early was finished, Johnny was shuddering and sweating profusely, tears of pain and fear pooling in the corners of his eyes.

Joe looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose momentarily, the years of practice at not becoming emotionally involved with the patient suddenly dissolved, forcing his more human side to feel the abject suffering of a friend. When his eyes returned to the face of the young man he was treating, they were full of compassion, kindness, and understanding. Squeezing Johnny’s shoulder, he offered a reassuring smile and said, “You’re doing a great job, Johnny. Everything’s going to be all right. I’m going to order a sedative for you now, so you can get some rest, okay?” It was the best he could offer, given the circumstances.

Still shivering, Johnny nodded, the closing of his eyes squeezed out a tear, which trickled down into his ear.

Roy was in good spirits that next morning when he arrived at work, and was anxious to get to Rampart so that he could check in on Johnny. Roy was almost glad the previous shift had been busy, and that they hadn’t had a chance to restock their supplies, since it gave him a good excuse to visit his friend. Roy made it their first priority of the day. Hoping that Johnny was feeling even better now that two more days had passed, Roy was anxious to tell Johnny about his anniversary dinner with Joanne, knowing that would cheer him up.

After Carol helped them fill their order, Wesley wasn’t surprised when Roy suggested stopping up to see Johnny. It was the last thing he felt like doing, but he went along amicably, pretending to have real concern for his perceived competition.

Dixie McCall was just coming out of the treatment room when she spotted Roy and Wesley heading for the elevator. They were about five paces ahead of her, and she called out to them, while at the same time, hastily heading in their direction.

“Roy!” Dixie’s familiar voice behind him caused Roy to stop walking and turn toward her. His friendly smile faded as she reached them, and he noticed the solemn look on her face.

“Hi, Dix,” he offered warily.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Were you two on your way to see Johnny by any chance?”

“Yeah, we were.” Roy looked at her, trying to read her expression. “Is…something wrong?”

Dixie looked from Wesley to Roy, then said, “They moved Johnny into ICU early this morning.”

Roy’s mouth dropped open. “What? What happened?”

The head nurse sighed. “It seems he started having severe abdominal pain in the middle of the night. When Joe got to him, his abdomen was rigid and distended, his BP was way down, and he had a fever of a hundred and three.”

Roy’s body tensed as he stared at her, waiting for more explanation, and waiting for her to tell him that Johnny was going to be fine. By the look on her face, he wasn’t too confident at the moment that he would hear that last reassurance.

“His white count’s way up, Roy. Joe ordered a peritoneal fluid culture;” her large eyes looked up at the light-haired paramedic meaningfully, “it came back positive.”

Roy looked stunned and worried. “Peritonitis?” he almost whispered.

“Yeah,” she said in an exhaled breath.

Roy reached up behind his head to massage his neck, focusing his glance down the hallway for a second. He turned back to Dixie. “So…what’s Dr. Early doing for him?”

Dixie sighed again, shrugging her shoulders, her hands limp inside her two front pockets. “Joe’s got him on heavy-duty antibiotics, fluid replacement, TPN, and analgesics, for now. He placed an NG tube to keep his stomach empty and decompressed. Apparently the antibiotics he’s been on since surgery haven’t been enough to stop this infection; I guess the combination of trauma, the surgery, and the spleenectomy last year were just too much for his immune system.” She paused again, then added, “Joe’s worried about sepsis.”

Roy swallowed, shaking his head in disbelief, thinking to himself that his friend could easily die if the antibiotics didn’t work and this infection spread to his blood. He looked down at the floor. “He was so much better….two days ago…” his voice trailed off. Guilt welled up in him when he thought of how he had blown off coming to see Johnny yesterday. Maybe if he had stopped by, maybe he would have been able to detect that something was wrong. Maybe….

“Roy, we both know how fast these kinds of infections can happen.”

A long silence went by, then Roy gazed back up at her, swiping at his mouth. “Can I see him?”

“I think you should,” she stated simply, then added with a grim smile, “You’re next of kin.”

Wesley was surprised to hear this information, and glanced curiously at Dixie, remaining silent.

Something about the ominous content of her words scared the hell out of Roy, and he searched her face for something that might offer a little hope. He didn’t find anything.

She realized she was worrying the heck out of him, but he needed to know how serious the situation was. “Joe wants to talk to you too. If Johnny doesn’t respond, it’s possible he’ll have to go back in surgically, or….anyway…you might need to sign some papers.”

“Okay,” Roy mumbled, still stunned at the news he had just received.

“Why don’t you go on up for a few minutes, and I’ll track Joe down.” She patted him once on the shoulder and smiled softly at him, then turned and left.

Roy stood quietly, his mind whirling. His blue eyes absently searched the floor, then he looked over at Wesley. “Call the squad out of service for thirty minutes, Wes.”

Wesley opened his mouth to disagree, then decided to keep quiet. He couldn’t believe Roy was standing the squad down, and felt compelled to dispute it, but he didn’t. The expression on DeSoto’s face left no room for argument.

“C’mon,” Roy ordered, and headed for the elevator, leaving Wesley Adams standing there. Roy didn’t turn back, and when the doors opened, Adams was there beside him.

Roy was out of the elevator before the doors were open all the way, once again leaving Wesley behind. Adams watched the senior paramedic as he purposely strode down the hallway toward the ICU, then followed, lagging behind. When Wesley entered the ICU area, Roy was already talking with Abigail. He walked up next to them to listen in.

Abigail was smiling softly and nodding, and had her hand on Roy’s forearm in a friendly gesture. She glanced backward to the room they had situated Johnny in, then said, “You can go on in.”

Roy nodded, and started toward the door when Abigail said, “Oh, Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t wake him, okay? He had a….pretty rough night. He needs to rest.”

Roy nodded somberly. “I won’t,” he promised, then looked at Wesley, who he had just realized was standing there. “Uh, I’ll be back…in a few.”

Adams simply nodded, trying his best to look very concerned. He hated having to pretend, and he hated himself for not giving a damn whether Roy’s ‘real’ partner lived or died. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t be compassionate, why he felt so threatened by the existence of this man he barely knew. And he knew he was wrong to feel this way. But he couldn’t deny his feelings; all he could do was to try to keep them contained. After all, what would DeSoto think of him if he knew what was going on in his mind, that he was now hoping that this Gage person wouldn’t make it just so he would have a permanent place at Station 51? He’d think he was some kind of a monster, a jealous, unbalanced freak, and he’d lose any chance of having a close friendship with the man at all. No, that wasn’t the way to become friends with someone at all. He sighed, and sat down to wait.

Roy entered the ICU cubicle and slowly walked up next to the bed. There lay his partner, looking worse than he had after surgery. Johnny’s eyelids were heavily closed, his consciousness buried deep under the shroud of medication. His face was flushed with fever, and sweat glistened on his skin, causing his dark hair to cling to areas of his forehead, face, and neck. Roy winced at the sight of the NG tube snaking out of Johnny’s nose, and the white tape securing it to his face; his friend’s slow breathing taking place through his slightly open mouth to accommodate the loss of one nostril. The beeping of the EKG monitor caught his attention, and Roy looked up to notice that Johnny’s heart rate was too fast for being at rest. Trying hard to remain detached, Roy concentrated on examining all the supportive measures Johnny was receiving to make a diagnosis for himself, hoping he would be able to spot evidence in the readings that would assure him that his friend would get better.

His eyes dropped back down to his partner’s body, taking in the EKG electrodes on his chest and the central line. It was a triple lumen, he tried to observe stoically, and Roy followed the plastic tubes snaking upward to the large IV bags that hung above, scrutinizing what medications he was receiving. One was a deep gold color, and the other a milky white. He knew those were supplying Johnny with concentrated vitamins and fats for his nutrition, since he wouldn’t be getting any by mouth. The third port could be used for drawing blood samples.

More IV bags hung on the other side, dripping into a fresh vein in Johnny’s arm, his opposite arm bruised from previous IV’s. Roy assumed they were antibiotics, and as he stared at the liquid in the bags, he willed them to kill the infection that was ravaging Johnny’s body.

A soft groan from Johnny startled Roy, and he looked down into John’s face to see if he was coming around. Johnny’s head tossed to the side once, but he remained unconscious. Roy looked around to see if Abigail had noticed, worried that she would think he disturbed her patient. She was absorbed in a medical chart, and didn’t notice.

Roy continued to stand there, beside the bed, lost in thought. He looked at his watch and knew he needed to go talk to Dr. Early, and call in to the station to give everyone an update, but found it almost impossible to pull himself away. Finally, he backed away from the bed and turned to leave, rationalizing that Johnny didn’t know he was here anyway. He felt disappointed that he hadn’t been able to offer any comfort to his best friend. As he neared the doorway, the senior paramedic turned back to look one last time, then left with the sick feeling in his stomach that there was the possibility that he might never talk to Johnny again.

Roy left Wesley waiting at the base station while he met privately with Dr. Early. According to the white-haired neurosurgeon, the infection was polymicrobial; a nasty little bug called Bacteroides Fragilis was among the worst of the individual organisms that had grown out in the peritoneal fluid culture. Dr. Early informed Roy that he had ordered a strong cocktail of compatible antibiotics for Johnny, mainly Penicillin, along with supportive fluids and electrolytes, and expressed his hopes that the drugs would begin to work soon. He also explained the reasons for the NG tube and central line, although Roy was already aware of the fact that they were employed as ‘supportive measures’; the NG tube would rest his GI tract and keep it empty and decompressed, while the central line would provide his total nutrition and maintain his fluid and electrolyte levels.

There was also the remote possibility that John might need surgery again, to clean out the infection. Johnny would remain in ICU until they were sure his vitals were stable. Until then, Dr. Early explained, they would watch closely for signs of septic shock, a dangerous condition that could occur if the infection became so overwhelming that his blood pressure dropped too low, which would lead to low blood flow. Roy knew that if that happened, John’s chances for survival would not be good. Once the infection got to that point, his vital organs would start to fail.

Wanting to be prepared for the worst-case scenario, Roy asked hesitantly, “Doc, what do we do then? What if the infection does get worse?”

Joe looked up at Roy, once again expertly wearing his game face. “Then we go to plan B.”

“Which is?”

Now Joe smiled wanly. “Roy, let’s just take it one step at a time, okay?” He saw the troubled look behind Roy’s eyes and added, “I can’t really tell you at this time. We’ll just have to evaluate the best course of action when, and if, the medications don’t work.”

The fact that Dr. Early didn’t give him a clear answer worried him all the more. He sighed, thinking it might be best if he didn’t know anyway. “Okay.”

The last topic of discussion was how and where to reach him should John remain incapacitated and need any other invasive treatments. Roy made sure he gave the doctor his schedule and telephone numbers so that he could be contacted, assuring him that he would be checking in all throughout the day. With that, he trudged from the doctor’s lounge, heading for the base station to pick up his ‘temporary’, he hoped, partner.

While Adams had waited on Roy to talk with Dr. Early, he casually chatted with Dixie, curious to find out why Roy was considered John’s ‘next of kin’. Vaguely, she had explained that Johnny had been the one to list Roy as his choice to be his so-called ‘guardian’; whether that was because he had no family, or because he didn’t trust his family, she didn’t know. Johnny had never made any explanation as to why he chose Roy. Over the years and injuries, it had become a known fact that any time Johnny was unable to grant permission for treatment himself, Roy was designated as his medical power of attorney. Out of consideration for John’s privacy, they never questioned it.

Wesley soon got used to the idea that DeSoto would be stopping in to see Gage every time they made a run to Rampart. With resignation, he played along, acting the concerned third party, wanting to get on Roy’s good side. He decided now that the tactic he would use would be to kill him with kindness. He figured that was a better way than any to win his friendship. With any luck, maybe Gage would be permanently disabled, and DeSoto would decide he liked being partners with Wesley better anyway.

Three times that day they made a trip up to the ICU to see Johnny. The second time, they ran into Heather, who appeared solemn and grim-faced. Roy had tried to call her that morning after finding out about Johnny, but had been unable to reach her. He supposed that she had found out about Johnny’s decline the same way he had, when she had come to visit him this morning and learned that he had been transferred back to ICU. She had informed Roy that there had been no change since the morning in John’s condition, then beckoned Roy out into the hallway to talk to him.

She had been concerned whether Johnny was getting the best treatment, wanting reassurance that the doctors at this hospital were competent. She questioned how he could have developed this infection under the care of a hospital, and Roy reminded her that either the bacteria from the bullet or even bacteria from the tiniest intestinal perforation could cause organisms to leak into the peritoneal cavity and cause infection. In addition, Dr. Early had said that the ruptured bladder could have made the tissue inside more susceptible to infection. Those things, combined with the trauma from surgery, were a dangerous recipe for infection. Johnny’s lack of a spleen also added to the scenario, weakening his immunities further.

“I was afraid this would happen,” she said quietly. “When you told me about his spleen being removed,” she closed her eyes briefly, as if trying to gain control, then went on. “This is twice now that his job….has almost killed him. And now one work-related injury is affecting the outcome of another.” Her words were laced with disdain.

Roy grimaced, glad now that she didn’t know about all the other times…. “Heather, we can’t do anything about that now. We’ll just have to give the antibiotics time to do their job.”

She looked up at him, her green eyes bright with tears. “And if they don’t….John could die.”

Roy pursed his lips together and looked down. When he looked back up at her again, his eyes were steely with a firm resolve. “That’s not going to happen. I think he’s gonna get better.” He’s got to. If he can survive all those other things, he can survive this, he thought determinedly. 

Heather turned away skeptically and Roy reached out, laying his hand on her forearm. A small reassuring smile formed on his face and he said, “Heather…there’s a thing or two that I know about Johnny that you don’t.” He meant this to sound neither impudent nor presumptuous, but more as a means to support what he was about to say. “I’ve seen him overcome worse than this. He’s strong. He’s gonna beat this.”

Heather stared at him. Worse than this? If John had ever been in a condition worse than this, she didn’t want to hear about it right now. She supposed he must have meant when John was hit by the car.

Wesley stood uncomfortably listening to the exchange between them, feeling like an outsider, wishing that someone felt that strongly about him.

Slowly, Heather nodded, and her expression softened. The thought crossed her mind then that John had chosen a good man to be his friend. “Yes, you’re right. I’m sure he’ll get better too. It’s just….”

“I know,” Roy soothed. Smiling wider and gesturing back toward the ICU, he added, “I think he enjoys giving me gray hairs, you know that?”

Heather finally laughed. “Well, if he gives me any, only my hairdresser will know for sure,” she joked. It felt good to relax and joke a little; she’d felt so incredibly tense and worried since she’d arrived at the hospital this morning to find him in ICU.

As Roy turned to leave, Heather drew him into an emotional hug, and for the first time since he’d met her, Roy actually felt some real affection for her. After patting her back, he pulled away and looked into her eyes, and saw that devoted and caring side of her personality present once again. To him, she’d always seemed so superficial; now Roy realized that maybe he should try to get to know her better, and that maybe Johnny hadn’t made such a bad choice after all. Time would tell.

Before Roy left, the two made an agreement to keep in touch, each calling the other with updates or changes. Roy appreciated that, especially since his work sometimes tied him up for hours, and was glad to finally get her phone number.

They stopped back up to the ICU one last time that night, after a run for a sick child. Heather had gone to eat dinner, and Roy was slightly surprised to find Joanne there visiting Johnny. Her presence said volumes about how she felt about Johnny, for she would have had to go to the trouble of getting a sitter for the kids in order to leave to visit him. Wesley was surprised too, and for the first time, Roy got to introduce his temporary partner to his wife.

Roy had called her that morning to fill her in on Johnny’s condition, and seeing her now felt comforting. He greeted her with a long hug, both finding comfort to their worries about their friend in each other’s arms.

Wesley took the opportunity to be as charming and warm as he possibly could, almost feeling guilty that he was never that nice to his own wife. He wanted to make a good impression on Joanne DeSoto, in the hopes that he and Doreen would soon be spending time as couples with them.

Joanne greeted him warmly, but her interest in him was overshadowed by her concern for Johnny, which annoyed Wesley. She had barely shaken his hand, and offered a few polite comments, when she started in about Johnny.

“He’s asleep, honey. But guess what?” Her face lit up.

“What?” Roy asked anxiously.

“He opened his eyes earlier, when I first got here. And he squeezed my hand and smiled a little.”

“Really?” Now Roy’s face lit up.

“Yes, and that’s not the best part. His temperature is down almost a half a degree.”

Roy sighed in relief. “That’s great, honey. Maybe that means the antibiotics are working.”

“Yes, I hope so. Heather was here, and she knows about it too. I finally convinced her to go down and get something to eat. She’s been here all day, coming in to see Johnny every time they would allow it. She certainly seems devoted to him.”

“Yeah. She does.”

Once again, Wesley stood in the background, nausea rising at their talk of Gage’s girlfriend being so devoted, and guiltily feeling disappointment at hearing of Gage’s lowering temperature. Conversely, he tried to act as enthusiastic as Roy and Joanne were.

Shortly thereafter, Joanne decided it was time to leave, and then Roy went in to see Johnny for a minute, leaving Wesley to wait outside.

As he stared down into his friend’s face, his smile faded as he noticed Johnny’s skin was still damp with sweat, and his face was still flushed with fever. Déjà vu washed over him, and for a moment, he was once again in the ER, watching his friend writhe with fever after being infected with that monkey virus. He shook his head to clear it. You still look like shit, partner. A half a degree? It’s not much. But I guess it’s better than nothing. Not wanting to wake John, he stayed a minute longer, then left with Wesley.

Roy took the fact that he hadn’t heard from Heather or Dixie overnight as a good sign, and when the shift was over, he left hastily, wanting to get to the hospital to see Johnny as soon as possible. He intended to go home first though, and talk to Joanne, and maybe have a little breakfast before he went to Rampart.

Roy rode the elevator up to the ICU.  He was startled to see Chet in front of him, waiting for the elevator as the doors slid open, and they almost bumped into each other. Chet stepped back to let Roy off, said a quick and rather curt hello, then tried to enter the car.

Roy grabbed his arm before he could enter. “Hey, Chet; wait a minute, would ya?”

Chet stiffened and turned to look at Roy. He didn’t say anything.

The senior paramedic scrutinized him a moment, trying to figure out why he was being so unfriendly. For that matter, it suddenly dawned on Roy that Chet had been downright cold to him ever since the shooting. With a lot of his mental space being taken up with worry about Johnny, he hadn’t stopped to consider just why, until now, and in giving it a bit of analyzation, it wasn’t that hard to figure out the reason. He had seen the shocked look that Chet had been unable to hide when he had stormed from the dorm that evening after his confrontation with Johnny. Embarrassed and ashamed at his behavior that day, he shifted his weight, feeling a little unease at the frostiness in the air between them, now that they were alone together. “You, uh, see Johnny?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s he doin’?” Roy stood with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“He looks better than yesterday.”

Roy thought a moment, then scrunched up his face in confusion. “Yester – you were here yesterday? How?”

Chet shrugged. “The Cap let us stop by on the way home from that trash fire run since we were close by.”

Roy looked down, nodding. “Oh.”

In a slightly annoyed tone, Chet added, “I’ve been here every day, Roy.”

“You have?” Roy looked surprised.

Chet crossed his arms defensively and leaned his shoulder against the wall. “Yeah. I have. You know, Gage is in a bad way. The way I figure it, he’s gonna need all the friends he can get to help him recover – real friends, I mean,” then added, “that is, if he recovers.” With that statement, he turned and tried to punch the elevator button, now that the doors had closed.

Roy grabbed his arm again, preventing him from pushing the button. “Okay, Chet. Hold it. Now are you gonna explain what you mean by that?”

Chet’s arm dropped to his side, his eyes growing wide into an innocent expression. “Nothin’, Roy. All I mean is that Johnny’s going to need a friend who’s on his side, not fair-weathered friends who don’t appreciate or understand him.”

Roy nodded. “You’re referring to me, I’m guessing.”

“If the shoe fits.”

“Uh huh. I see you’re remembering me and Johnny’s ‘private’ conversation in the dorm the other day when you walked in?”

Chet crossed his arms again, looking angry. “Oh, is that what it was? It sounded more like you were rakin’ him over the coals to me.”

Roy looked down, taking in a deep breath, then blew it out.

Now that Chet’s ire was up, everything that had been bothering him came pouring out. “You know, Roy, Johnny’s been your best friend for years, through thick and thin; he’s been like your brother, even saved your life a few times.” Chet’s eyes narrowed. “And then the way you paid him back after he tried to do you a favor – ”

“You’re right, Chet,” Roy said softly.

“I mean really, Roy, he didn’t deserve that – ”

“I agree – ”

Chet plowed on, unhearing, now completely worked up. “And now he’s laying in the hospital, maybe dyin’, and he’s got to worry about what you think of him – his co-called ‘best friend’ – ”

“You’re absolutely right, Chet.”

“I mean, if I were Johnny, I’d…..” he stared at Roy, just now realizing what the man had said, “what’d you say?” His brows were scrunched together in confusion.

“I said, you’re right.”

“Oh.”

The two stared at one another for a few seconds, and Roy looked sincerely at Chet, knowing and wanting to give him an explanation. “It was unjustified, Chet. And I felt like a real louse for what I said to him. That’s why I apologized to Johnny.”

Roy’s admission caught Chet off guard. “You did?”

“Yes.”

Chet now looked uncomfortable and he looked away. “Oh. Well, I guess it’s none of my business, but – ”

Roy had to try hard to keep a straight face.

“ – but, well, what did he say?”

“Everything’s fine between us, Chet. We worked it out. Johnny understands I was just being a jerk that day.”

Chet didn’t know what to say now that he had totally embarrassed himself. “Oh, well….good, I’m glad….because John’s gonna need all his friends, you know.”

“I know, Chet.” He hesitated, and the two stood in uncomfortable silence for several moments before Roy decided it was time to take the conversation in another direction. “So, you say he’s better?”

Chet’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled a little. “Yeah. I think he looks better. His temperature’s down almost a full degree now.”

Roy brightened. “Hey, that’s great, Chet,” and slapped him lightly on the upper arm.

“Yeah. Hey, listen, I gotta go. You let me know if anything new develops, okay, Roy?”

Roy smiled a toothy smile. “I will, Chet. And, thanks for coming. I know Johnny appreciates it.” Roy looked at Chet meaningfully and added, “You’re a good friend, Chet.”

Chet swallowed and nodded, then looked away and reached for the elevator button. He turned back then; a playful smirk had materialized on his face. “Well, I gotta make sure my pigeon gets well, you know. There’s no one more fun than Gage to play jokes on.”

Roy chuckled, shaking his head, then turned to leave. “See ya,” Roy said with a wave, as he headed down the hallway, smiling to himself. Yep, you may not want to admit it, Kelly, but you do care – a lot more than you let on.

When Roy reached Johnny’s room, he saw Abigail at his side taking his blood pressure. He waited until she got the reading, standing silently in the doorway; then when she had finished, he knocked quietly. Both patient and nurse looked over, and Roy smiled to see Johnny awake. “Can I come in?” he asked.

“Sure, Roy. I’ll give you ten minutes this time,” Abigail answered, smiling.

Roy walked in and took the few steps needed to get beside the bed. He looked down at Johnny. “How’re you doin’?”

Johnny peered up at Roy through heavy eyelids. Roy thought he looked worn out and pale, but at least he didn’t appear quite so feverish today.

“M’alright,” he answered in a low voice. Then, he added, “Be a lot better if I could get rid of this garden hose.” He gave Abby his most convincing sad, puppy-dog, brown-eyed expression, while gesturing to the NG tube.

Abby smiled knowingly. No matter how charming Johnny tried to be, there wasn’t anything that could break her resolve, or cause her to break the rules. True, it was tempting sometimes; that crooked grin of his had this way of making most girls melt, and Abigail wasn’t any more immune to it than the others, but she’d learned to stand up to his charms long ago. “Sorry, but no can do – yet.” She looked down at him with a mock stern expression and said, “I’ll make a deal with you. You keep working on getting that temperature down, and then I’ll talk to Dr. Early about removing that; okay?”

“Slave driver,” he said wearily, but with just a hint of a twinkle in his eye.

“Just for that, I’m gonna have to prick your finger again.” She reached down and picked up his hand, then proceeded to swab down the tip of his finger with alcohol. Roy smiled at their playful interaction; the fact that Johnny was contributing to it was a good sign.

Johnny grimaced and began to protest. “C’mon, Abby; you just did that a little while ago. I’m not gonna have any blood left.”

“That was six hours ago. You know since you’re on TPN we have to keep checking your glucose level.”

“Can’t you take it from here?” he whined, pointing to the central line under his collarbone.

“Nice try, Johnny, but no can do.” She readied the needle near his fingertip.

“But – ”

“Now, this won’t hurt a bit…”

Johnny cringed and turned his head away as she poked his finger, then coaxed the blood into the tiny glass vial. When she was done, he shook his fingers gingerly and looked up at Roy with a sour expression on his face. “I’ll never play the violin again.”

Roy laughed.

Abigail turned to leave, the blood vial in her gloved hand. Glancing back at Roy with raised brows, she said, “I can always tell when your partner is getting better – it’s when he starts giving me a hard time.”

Johnny tried to look hurt. He weakly splayed his fingers across his chest. “Me?” he asked indignantly.

She pointed her finger at him. “You behave now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Abigail looked at Roy, a no-nonsense look to her eyes. “Roy – five minutes, okay?”

He nodded and threw her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Shaking her head, she left the room, muttering something about the fact that the ICU should be used for the ‘really’ sick patients.

Roy sank down into the chair beside Johnny’s bed and hooked his ankle up on top of his knee. “I saw Chet on the way in.”

“Yeah,” Johnny’s voice was weak. “Been here a lot.”

“So I hear. He misses you.”

Johnny snorted. “Yeah. He misses me,” he said sarcastically. “He misses dumpin’ water on me.” Johnny knew only too well that wasn’t the truth, but felt it necessary to keep up the disparaging image that he and the Phantom had carefully built with one another, for everyone else’s benefit. In actuality, Chet’s intermittent presence these last few days had been more comforting than Johnny would have believed, but neither felt comfortable letting in on the fact that they had become quite close. Roy was astute enough to see through their front and simply nodded in acknowledgment.

“So tell me, has he nailed your new partner yet?” John asked wearily.

“Part – oh, you mean Adams?”

“Yeah.”

“Not yet. But there’s plenty of time for that. He’s just working himself up to it. I think he’s plotting for the most opportune moment.”

“I’m sure he is,” Johnny offered, then abruptly seemed to run out of steam. He had intended to ask Roy how he and Wesley were getting along, but suddenly a heavy fatigue fell over him, and he couldn’t seem to draw a deep enough breath to finish. He closed his eyes, shifting slightly in the bed, trying to get comfortable. Out of the blue, he became aware of a dull headache and a tightness in his chest, which forced him to cut off his end of the conversation.

Roy noticed the change immediately and scrutinized his friend’s face. He could tell Johnny was uncomfortable, and his face drew tight in concern. “Johnny? You all right?” He leaned forward.

John opened his eyes and saw the concern in the blue ones staring back at him. It was the same concern he was feeling for himself at the moment, but didn’t want to acknowledge it just yet. He tried his best to smile and failed, then shut his eyes again. “I’m just…really tired. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Roy said softly. He was past the ten minutes, and turning, he saw Abigail heading for the door. Maybe it was best that he leave and let his partner get some rest. Just this short conversation seemed to have been taxing to him, and he knew that Chet had been here just a few short minutes ago too. He didn’t want to keep his friend awake when he needed to sleep. Roy stood up, glancing at the heart monitor, noticing that Johnny’s pulse had increased slightly.

“Roy.” Abigail stuck her head in the door.

“I’m going,” he answered. Patting Johnny’s arm, he said, “I’ll see you later. Get some rest.”

Johnny nodded, but didn’t open his eyes.

On the way out, Roy motioned to Abigail that he wanted to speak with her. Before he left, he wanted to make sure to relay his observation about Johnny to her. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but tried to explain how he had sensed a change in Johnny’s behavior indicating that maybe he was feeling worse, and told her how his pulse had increased at the same time. Abby thanked him, telling him she would be sure to keep her eye on him, and would recheck his vitals. Feeling satisfied that his friend was in capable hands, he left for the day.

Johnny lay in bed trying to quell the uneasy feeling slowly engulfing him. He’d tried his best to ignore the discomfort he’d felt in his chest over the last day and a half, and exhaustion had caused him to sleep the previous two days almost non-stop. After his last visit with Roy, he hadn’t been quite sure who had come up to see him. At least the horrific pain in his abdomen that he’d had several nights ago had subsided considerably, and the other day Abigail had been pleased to report that his temperature had gone down eight-tenths of a degree.

It was nearly noon, and as he gingerly tried to stretch a bit to ease out the stiffness, a series of new but hauntingly familiar symptoms suddenly made their presence known, slamming into him, catching him off guard. He laid still, heart pounding, feeling the fear begin to well up inside of him. He knew that if it was what he suspected, he could be in trouble.

He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on relaxing and staying calm, but that only called more attention to the pounding going on in his head, and the vice-like grip that was tightening around his lungs. A chill ran through him and he shivered.

His eyes popped open as he felt Abigail’s presence next to him, and he saw her engrossed in the heart monitor, while she clutched a clipboard against her chest. Slowly, she looked down at him and smiled. “Hey, sleepyhead. How’re you feeling?” she asked lightly.

He couldn’t hide anything from her, nor did he want to at this point; he’d already learned his lesson once – that was enough. He looked up at her miserably. “I…I don’t know, Abby….my chest….kinda hurts….and I….I got a headache. I’m cold.”

“What about your abdomen?”

“It’s…better, but…still a little sore.”

She reached for a thermometer, and gestured for him to open his mouth. She slid it in under his tongue and waited.

He couldn’t read her face as she pulled it out minutes later and read it. “Abby? What’s my temp?”

She saw the knowing look of worry in his eyes and said hesitantly, “Well, it’s up just a bit.”

“What is it?”

“One-oh-two,” she answered, shaking the thermometer down. With another mock look of irritation on her face, she said, “I know you can’t stand to be away from me, sweetheart, but raising your temperature isn’t the way to my heart. I promise I’ll come visit you in a regular room if you just get better, okay?”

He didn’t respond; instead, he closed his eyes in dismay, now really getting worried at what might lay ahead.

The fact that her joke wasn’t acknowledged didn’t deter her, and she continued with the small talk while she took a new blood pressure reading and respirations, palpated his abdomen, then put her stethoscope in her ears to listen to his lungs. Like most good nurses, Abigail was expert at not giving away what she was thinking, and remained friendly and upbeat throughout the examination, as if nothing was wrong.

“Are you having any trouble breathing, John?”

“Yeah….a little. Feel like I can’t….take a deep breath.”

“Try to take a deep breath for me now,” she said, still listening with the scope.

He tried to comply, but was rewarded with a heavy wet cough, and a stabbing pain in his chest that caused him to gasp and curl up, clutching at his chest.

This time, she looked down, the corners of her eyes creasing in concern, unable to completely hide her worry. A moment later, the smile was pasted back on her face, and she told him to just relax, and that she would talk to Dr. Early about it. A chill raced over Johnny and he shivered; Abby reached down and pulled his blanket up and tucked it around his shoulders. She secured an oxygen mask over his face, awkwardly placing it over the NG tube before she left the room.

From there, the day only got worse. True to her word, Abigail immediately went to talk to Dr. Early about John’s condition, and the young intern that Johnny had seen with the doctor a few days ago returned without delay to check his condition, since Dr. Early was in surgery at the time. His examination spawned another series of tests including a chest X-ray and thoracic CT, sputum culture, blood cultures, complete blood cell count, and arterial blood gasses. It seemed to Johnny that all they did was poke him with needles all afternoon; the ABG was the worst, and he knew he’d have to go through it more than once so they could keep tabs on how well oxygenated his blood was. His already sore arm was bruised even worse after the painful test. When it was all through, he lay sick, exhausted, and except for the hospital personnel, alone in the ICU.

Heather was not allowed to see him when she arrived for visiting hours late that afternoon, but stayed close by, waiting for news on his condition while they attempted to stabilize his vitals. As promised, she telephoned Roy to deliver the bad news, but she got no answer. Roy had gone to run errands for Joanne that afternoon.

Breathing became harder and harder as the day wore on, and by evening, Johnny was coughing up greenish mucus. As he lay in bed, chills ravaged his body, while sharp pains invaded his chest, made worse by in increasing coughing. His head was pounding and he felt nauseous. Johnny couldn’t remember ever feeling so sick, even with the monkey virus. Doctors and nurses came and went; someone was seemingly by his side at every moment, continually listening to his lungs, adjusting IV’s, checking vitals. He knew Dr. Early had been in, and had spoken with him, but couldn’t remember now what he had said.

As the hours went by, he followed what he remembered of the doctor’s orders to the letter, hoping his breathing would get easier, and the pain would subside. He did his best to breathe in the nebulizer treatments the respiratory therapist employed on him, but the drugs from it made his heart pound faster and made him jittery. He wished now that he’d used the spirometer more after his operation, but he’d been too weak from the surgery to use it more than a few times.

He’d tried to lie very still, exerting all his concentration on getting enough of a breath. When that stopped working, he found himself turning his head from side to side, trying to get enough air; his arms and legs seemed to move purposelessly on their own accord. The terrific discomfort he was feeling blurred everything, but somewhere deep down, his fear escalated. He had no idea how much time had gone by when it finally got to the point that he was gasping for every breath. Terror set in as he began to feel as if he were drowning, and he started thrashing around.

Instantly, hands were everywhere, grasping his sweat-soaked skin, holding him down, and he tried to cry out, gagging instead, suddenly cognizant with crystal clarity that he was going downhill fast, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Visions flashed through his mind in rapid succession, like a camera with a motorized shutter. His aunt’s smiling face, Roy driving the old engine, Heather on her boat waving, his brother skimming a rock across a lake, his childhood home, then himself as a little boy, sitting on his mother’s lap crying, his arms wrapped about her neck. He lunged out a flailing arm in a desperate attempt to get out some last words, the urgency of communicating some final thoughts foremost in his jumbled mind, but spots began to dance in front of his eyes, and then all the noise and commotion around him faded to black.

“Roy? It’s Heather.” Her voice trembled with emotion, and his chest tightened as he clutched the telephone harder. It was just past ten o’clock, and Joanne had called to her husband from the bottom of the stairs; he had been up in Chris’s room saying goodnight when the phone rang.

“Hi, Heather,” he said hesitantly; a strong feeling of foreboding enveloped him.

He heard her take a breath. “John’s worse; much worse.”

“What happened?” he nearly whispered.

“His temperature’s back up; it’s 103. He began having chest pains this afternoon, then trouble breathing.” Heather would have called Roy sooner, except she thought it best to wait for the results of the tests first, and thing had seemed to decline so rapidly she hadn’t had time to think.

Roy closed his eyes.

“Roy, he could hardly…breathe on his own. They put him on a ventilator. He’s got pneumonia.”

Oh, God. “Oh,” he groaned into the phone. I knew something was wrong when I saw him the other morning.  “Heather, what else did the doctor say?”

“Well, he wouldn’t tell me much, since I’m not…family.” He could hear the disdain in her voice. “Dr. Early was in surgery, so there was an intern that took care of John. All I know is that they ran a bunch of tests, and they said he had developed pneumonia. They said it was taking too much energy for John to breathe, and that he needed to conserve that energy so that he could heal and fight the infection better. So, they sedated him and put him on a ventilator.” Her voice broke on the word ‘ventilator’.

Roy didn’t know what to say. This sounded very bad. Johnny was already fighting one infection, and now he had another to deal with. The fact that his temperature was climbing indicated that the antibiotics were not working. If they didn’t come up with something that worked soon, he would likely die. Knots were building in his stomach, and he rested his head in his hand as he cradled the phone, his fingers absently tightening around a tuft of his thinning hair, while he tried to think of the right words to say. Before he got the chance, she said something that caught him off guard totally.

“Roy, I’d like to see John taken out of that hospital.”

His head snapped up. “What?!” He was unable to hide his shock at her statement.

“I don’t think those doctors know what they’re doing, Roy. First he got the peritonitis, and now this. Why is he getting all these infections? He’s in a hospital, for God’s sake. It’s supposed to be clean and sterile, and he just keeps getting sicker. They’re not giving him the right medications, or….something….I don’t know, but I think he’d be better off in a better hospital with better doctors.”

“Heather – ”

“When my father had his gall bladder out, he was in Century Pavilion. He had the best care there I’ve ever seen. Now – ”

Roy cut her off, incredulous at her suggestion. “Heather, we can’t move Johnny.”

“Why not? If he stays at Rampart…I’m afraid he going to die,” she cried, obviously on the verge of breaking down.

“Heather, first of all, Johnny’s too sick to be moved. Second, Rampart is a good hospital – the best. They have some of the best doctors in the state of California, and Doctor Early is one of them. I know they’re doing everything humanly possible for him; Century Pavilion wouldn’t be able to do any more for him than Rampart is. And Pavilion is smaller; they have less access to newer treatments than Rampart.”

He heard her sniff. She was unconvinced. “Dr. Early was in surgery today when John needed him. He had some…some…inexperienced intern taking care of him.”

“Did Dr. Early see him after the surgery?”

“Yes….I think so.”

“Okay, then – ”

“Roy, please, have him moved to Pavilion. You’re the only one who has the power to do it.”

He sighed, frustrated that he was unable to convince her. “Heather, even if I wanted to have Johnny moved, it would be dangerous. It’s just not possible. And besides….Johnny wouldn’t want that. He knows the doctors at Rampart, and he trusts Dr. Early. He would be very unhappy if I had him moved to Pavilion.”

He heard the resignation in her sigh, then heard her choke back a soft cry. “Roy….I don’t want him to die.”

Hearing that sent a knife through his heart. He didn’t want Johnny to die either, and now that seemed like a very real possibility. Roy pinched the bridge of his nose, the thought of what she just said happening began to make him feel sick to his stomach. He looked up. Joanne had entered the room and was sitting on the edge of the sofa staring at him, her face a mask of grief and worry. “Heather, I don’t want him to die either. None of us do. Just please believe me when I tell you that I’m positive they are gonna do everything they can for Johnny.”

“Right,” she said stiffly.

“Heather, let me call the hospital. I’ll try to get some answers. I know the people there, and I’ll be able to talk to someone who can fill me in on exactly what’s going on and what they’re doing about it. I think if we have a little more information, it’ll make you feel better.” And me too.  “Okay?”

“’Kay,” she said softly, the skepticism still clear in her voice.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at the hospital. They won’t let me see John, and they asked me to call you.”

“Okay. Listen, why don’t you go home and get some rest. There’s nothing you can do there at the hospital except exhaust yourself, and – ”

“No. I don’t want to leave. I need to be here in case….”

Roy looked into Joanne’s eyes, then made a decision. “Okay. Look, I’m coming down there. I’ll find someone to talk to and get some answers.” He just prayed Dixie McCall was on duty that night.

“Thank you, Roy.”

“I’ll see you as soon as I can.” He hung up the phone. Joanne was already standing there with his jacket in her hands.

“Tell me,” she said softly.

He explained what Heather had said as she silently helped him slip his arms through the jacket and straightened the collar for him. Even though it was already past ten o’clock, even though Roy had to work early in the morning, and leave his family alone for God knew how long that evening – maybe all night – Joanne didn’t hesitate to let her husband go to his friend, and in fact, encouraged him to go be with Johnny. They exchanged a hug, then a kiss, and he was out the door.

Roy was in luck that night. After driving as fast as he dared, he entered the hospital through the familiar ER doors. The first person he saw was Dixie, sitting at her desk, and he strode through the hallway quickly heading in her direction.

When he was a few steps away, she looked up, smiling sadly, but knowingly. “Roy. I’m glad you’re here.” She wasn’t the least bit surprised to see him, and in fact, was expecting it. “I was just getting ready to call you; I’ve been tied up on a case for the last hour. I guess you heard about Johnny. Did his girlfriend call you?”

He leaned on the counter, slightly breathless from walking so fast. “Yeah,” he said somberly. “How is he really, Dix?”

She took a deep breath and frowned. “Not too good,” she said softly. “I think you should talk to Joe.”

“Is he here?”

“Yeah, Roy; he just finished up in four. Why don’t you go on in?”

Roy smiled, and reached out to gently squeeze her forearm in appreciation. “Thanks, Dix.”

Roy walked the short distance to the treatment room and slowly pushed the door open. Joe Early was examining an x-ray on the lighted screen, and looked over at Roy as he entered the room. His usually neat silver hair was a bit ruffled tonight, and his eyes looked tired. The bright white light emanating from the screen accentuated all the tiny lines and wrinkles in the doctor’s face, making him look older. “Hi, Roy,” he said tiredly. He had been waiting, knowing Roy would show up that night.

Roy nodded and approached the doctor. “Doc, what can you tell me about Johnny?”

A nurse chose that moment to walk in, intending to clean up the room.

Dr. Early clicked off the light on the screen and stood up from his stool. “Roy, let’s go into my office and we’ll talk there.”

“Okay.”

Together they left the treatment room and went to Joe’s office. Dr. Early took a seat behind his desk, and leaning his elbows upon it, looked over at Roy through steepled fingers. Roy sat in a chair in front of him, pulling it up a little closer to the desk, and leaned forward.

The older doctor then began explaining to Roy the progression of events that had taken place over the last forty-eight hours, beginning with all of Johnny’s symptoms, and then the tests that followed. The results of the ABG were troubling, indicating Johnny’s oxygen saturation was low. His white count was high. His lung sounds were diminished in all fields, indicating double pneumonia, and his tidal volume, or the air he moved in and out, was diminished as well. All that, and the onset of Johnny’s rapid respiratory failure, necessitated his sedation and intubation.

Knowing Heather would ask, Roy voiced her concerns about how Johnny acquired these infections. He was careful not to sound accusatory, realizing that anyone hospitalized had the potential to develop a hospital-acquired infection.

Joe explained that John’s combination of shock, trauma, surgery, and his decreased resistance due to the peritonitis infection and his history of immunity compromise, increased his chances developing a nosocomial infection. The type of pneumonia he had often developed from atelectasis, or from a thickening of lung secretions that occupied space needed for normal air flow. It was common for the bed-ridden, but could prove deadly for Johnny in his weakened state.

Roy lowered his head and stared at the floor as Dr. Early gave details about isolating the bacterium that had infected Johnny, and how he had already started him on a different antibiotic cocktail, in hopes of stopping the infection. Joe Early had high suspicions of what organism had infected Johnny, and knew if he was right, John was in for a tough fight.

When Roy was satisfied that all his questions had been answered, he lifted his head and looked forlornly at his elder doctor friend. “In your honest opinion….is he gonna survive this?” Inwardly, he cringed, desperately not wanting to hear the answer, but knowing he must.

Dr. Early drew in a breath and slowly blew it out. His face looked grave and he shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, Roy. He’s a very sick man.  I’ll be honest with you, if the antibiotics don’t work, and the infection continues to grow and spread, then he could very well die from this.”

He saw the stunned look on Roy DeSoto’s face as his eyes roamed away from his face, and wished he had had something more positive to say. But he didn’t want to lie and paint a rosy picture, when he himself really wasn’t sure if John would survive. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to offer false hope. He could however, speak another truth. Smiling slightly, he added, “I will say this. That man has surprised me more than once. With John Gage, you never know. He’s an exceptionally strong person with a strong will to live. Given his past track record, I’d say he has a chance of recovering. We’ll just have to wait and see, Roy. We should be getting the results back from the culture soon; then we’ll have more information about exactly what we’re dealing with here, and maybe be able to implement a new course of treatment. I’d say if we don’t see any change in the next 36 hours, then things will definitely become more worrisome. Let’s just give it some time.”

            Roy swallowed, not liking what he had heard one little bit. “Doc…can I see him?”

            Joe looked at his watch and shook his head slightly. “Visiting hours are long over, Roy. But, I think I can pull some strings for you. I’ll have Dixie take you up.”

            Roy smiled gratefully, thankful to the doctor for allowing him to see his friend. It was something he felt he desperately needed to do tonight – before he went home. He just had to see his friend for a minute. That’s all he wanted. “Thanks, Doc.”

            Together they left the office and headed for the base station.  Things were relatively quiet that night, and Dixie sat chewing on a pen while examining a medical chart. Joe Early asked her to take the light-haired paramedic up to the ICU in order to see his friend for a moment, then gave Roy a slight pat on the shoulder before turning to go back to the treatment room.

            Dixie slid off her seat wordlessly, and slipping her hand through Roy’s arm, guided him toward the elevator and up to the ICU. As they rode up in the car, she looked up at him with her large blue eyes and saw the worry and depression that she had seen so many times on this poor man’s face, every time his partner was in peril. She’d seen it too many times to suit her taste.

            Stepping off the elevator, she took him through a doorway, leading him down a back hallway that was a shortcut to the ICU that only the staff was allowed to utilize. They entered the ICU area and walked to Johnny’s cubicle. Abigail looked up when she saw them enter, already knowing that Roy had been granted special permission to see his friend, and nodded her head wanly. They stopped in the doorway and looked in. Dixie touched Roy’s upper arm. “He won’t be aware that you’re here, you know.”

            Roy looked down at her a moment, then into the room. “Yeah….I know. But….I’ll know.”

            Dixie squeezed his arm once, and tried to stop the sudden feeling of tears building in the corners of her eyes. Through a lump in her throat, she murmured, “Just a few minutes, Roy.”

            He nodded, then slowly shuffled into the room to stand by the bed. Johnny hardly looked recognizable now. White tape crisscrossed his face, holding in place the corrugated vent tube that snaked out of his mouth, and the NG tube still protruding from his nose. He was deathly pale, yet his skin glistened with sweat. EKG wires and the suprapubic catheter wound their way out from under the blue cooling blanket that now lay over Johnny’s body, and more tubes lay across his body from the central line still embedded under his collar bone. Both arms had IV’s in them, and both were terribly bruised. He looked awful, but even more frightening was the complete stillness of his body. The only movement Roy could see was the faint rise and fall of his chest as the ventilator artificially filled his lungs with oxygen, then pulled it out. Johnny had been positioned slightly on his side, and pillows were propped under him for support. He was a mass of wires, tubes, white tape, and bruises, and as it all sunk in, Roy was overwhelmed with a horrible feeling that his partner wasn’t going to survive.

            He moved closer, and resting a hand on the edge of the bed, leaned over Johnny slightly. Softly, he talked to his friend, the rational part of his mind knowing that he wouldn’t be heard, but hoping at the same time that he would be. “Johnny? It’s me. Roy. Listen, um…I just wanted to tell you that….everything’s gonna be okay….they’re taking good care of you. They put you on the vent so you could breathe easier…and…get some rest.” Roy swiped a tired hand across his face. He struggled for some comforting words to come to him. “Johnny….you gotta fight this infection….I know you can, partner. You’re gonna get better….we just have to give it some time, okay?” He stopped, unable to say more, and looked at Johnny’s face, so still. A vision of his friend lying exactly like this in a coffin flashed through his mind, and he quickly closed his eyes, throwing it off with a violent shake of his head, unwilling to let that thought take hold. Gently, he touched John’s arm, then said, “Johnny, I wish I could stay, but I can’t. They’re ready to kick me out of here. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Heather’s here too, and everybody’s thinkin’ about ya….so, you just….get better…and….concentrate on getting well, and….I’ll see you in a little while.” He swallowed, then turned to leave.

            Dixie had gone, and when Roy walked out, he saw Heather sitting alone in the waiting room that he had bypassed on his way up. She stood up immediately when she saw him, and he walked toward her, prepared to explain everything that Dr. Early had told him.

            Two days went by, and things went from bad to worse. Johnny’s temperature climbed to over 104 degrees. Additional arterial blood gases showed increased hypoxia, and his heart rate was still too fast. Joe Early’s suspicions about the organism were confirmed when they got the test results back. A stubborn, but opportunistic bug by the name of Pseudomonas was what was invading the young paramedic ’s body; ordinarily it wouldn’t bother a normal, healthy person, but with someone like Johnny, whose immune system was severely compromised, it could easily be the death of him. Early’s newest concern was whether Johnny’s organs would fail, and kept a close monitor on them, hoping not to have to put Johnny on further life-support.

            He wasted no time in executing a plan of action regarding Johnny’s care, however. From the moment he knew what he was dealing with, he immediately consulted with Dr. Kelly Brackett, and both concurred it would be wise to contact the USC and the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta to see if they had anything new that would kill this infection. In addition, Kelly Brackett looked up an old friend he had at the CDC, an Infectious Disease Specialist who sometimes called on former colleagues, to help in John’s case.

Arthur Banks had also taken it upon himself to take an active role in Johnny’s care. After meeting with Dr. Early, he arranged to have his drug company, Banks Pharmaceuticals, begin work to develop something that would save Johnny. It was a long shot, and if they came up with anything, it would probably be too late, but the doctors at Rampart were thankful that he had offered to try. At this point, they would take all the help they could get.

            Johnny was unaware of the near constant presence of doctors, nurses, and specialists and therapists at his side, not to mention the steady flow of visitors he was receiving, whenever allowed. Heather never left the hospital, and her father had also become a frequent fixture in the waiting room.

Roy had cursed the fact that he’d had to work that next morning after Heather had called with the news of Johnny’s decline. Every time they’d had a run that brought them to Rampart, he hurried up to the ICU in the hopes of seeing Johnny, or hearing some good news. The following day off, he remained at Rampart with the exception of going home to eat, which he had no appetite to do, but forced himself. Captain Stanley was there, Chet was there, and many of Johnny’s other friends stopped by, but only the closest ‘family’ members were able to visit with him, and then only for limited amounts of time. In between visiting times, many of those same people spent time praying in the chapel for John, since his chances for survival seemed to be growing dimmer by the hour. Everyone feared that the ‘invincible Johnny Gage’ may have finally met his match.

Dr. Early came out of the treatment room to find Kelly Brackett waiting for him at the base station. He was leaning against the counter with his arms folded; he and Dixie appeared to be having a serious conversation. Seeing the nervous twitch coming from the younger doctor’s face, he hurried over, anticipating that the man might be able to give him some news. Dixie’s face was dismal, and she looked tired. She herself had spent quite a bit of her off time at Johnny’s bedside, and she knew the gravity of the situation. She dropped her head and began to rub at the base of her neck as Joe approached.

            “Kel, have you heard from Dr. Meirs at the CDC yet?”

            The corner of Brackett’s mouth twitched again, belying the distress and frustration he was feeling regarding Johnny. “Yes, I just heard from him. They can’t find anything of theirs to kill the bacteria, Joe.”

            Dr. Early looked down, closing his eyes momentarily, while Brackett continued.

            “Joe, the military has something they call C182 that they’re letting Meirs test against Johnny’s cultures. We should hear something in the next 48 hours.”

            Joe nodded, his face grim. “Let’s hope that Johnny’s still alive in 48 hours. He’s sliding downhill fast.”

            Dixie couldn’t help it; her eyes filled with tears. She already knew that Johnny’s chances for survival were growing slimmer by the hour, but hearing it verbalized seemed to bring the fact that Johnny might not be around much longer slamming into her like a lightning bolt. She just wasn’t able to imagine what the hospital would be like without him around any more.

She’d grown so fond of Johnny over the years; his charm, enthusiasm, and intoxicating smile had brightened her days so many times that it had almost become a part of her. Somehow, without realizing it, she had come to think of him almost like a younger brother; that was the kind of closeness she felt toward him.

There was just something about him that made him seem more human to her than almost anyone else she knew. Maybe it was the fact that sometimes it seemed like things came harder for him, and that his life appeared to be more of a struggle than for the average person. But he never let it get him down, and he rarely showed it if it did, unless it was something trivial. Maybe it was the fact that they were both single, both loners in their own way, that she could relate to him so well. While it seemed apparent that he sometimes wore his emotions on his sleeve, she knew there was a deeper side to Johnny that he kept carefully guarded, choosing not to show that side to anyone. She knew it because she was like that herself, and she could spot it in others. She knew he often acted nonchalant or used humor to hide darker or maybe painful things about his life, and she could see right through it. There was a story there, behind his dark eyes, that only he knew. The fact that he had been a patient so many times, and out of all of those times, never did a family member visit. What had happened? Surely at one time he’d had a family. What kind of heartbreak had occurred that had left him alone in his life?

She only wondered what secrets he would take with him that he never chose to reveal to anyone…if the worst happened. She wondered if Roy knew those secrets. Maybe, but she wasn’t sure. She knew they were close, but suspected that even Roy was left in the dark about a lot of things concerning his partner. All she knew was that he was such a good person. It wasn’t fair that his life could be over. He was so young, and had so much life to live, and so much to give. The thought of never seeing Johnny again made her feel as if her heart were breaking, and she looked away, trying her hardest to remember her professionalism. Kelly Brackett had seen the tears, and after Joe had walked away, he reached an arm around her and pulled her tight, just for a moment.

They’d had something together once, and every now and then, hints of it would surface. Moments like these, when she knew he still cared. Of course he cared; he always would. But his main love was his medical practice, and that would always come first. She’d finally realized that a few years ago when they had finally mutually broken off their relationship. They still saw each other now and then, but with no strings attached. She’d decided after a while that suited her fine. It was easier that way, than to be hurt constantly with unfulfilled expectations.

He looked down into her eyes then, and reached up to brush away a tear before giving her one last small hug, then he walked away.

Nearly forty-eight hours later, Johnny was still hanging on, barely. His temperature had soared to 105 by then, and his body functions showed signs of decline. Dr. Early anticipated that it was only a matter of time before his vital organs began shutting down, or the infection spread to his brain.

Three hours earlier, during a visit, Chet had been quickly ushered from his bedside when Johnny experienced a seizure. The Irishman had been just standing there quietly, lost in his thoughts about his friend, when suddenly Johnny had begun convulsing wildly, his body thrashing on the bed as every muscle twitched out of control. Chet had watched in stunned horror before he found his voice to yell to the nurses. They had been in the room almost before Chet was able to finish his plea for help, having been watching Johnny on the monitors. Shortly afterward, Roy and Captain Stanley had arrived, and had found Chet slumped in a waiting room chair, his hands clasped together limply, in shock, staring straight ahead, certain that Johnny was going to die. He’d just kept saying, “He’s not going to make it.” There hadn’t been any words to comfort him.

There hadn’t been any words to comfort any of them. Having lost hope, knowing in his heart it was inevitable, Roy had begun using the time trying to prepare himself for his best friend’s death, the best friend, he realized, that he’d ever had in the world. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t prepare himself for it, that if it happened, he didn’t know how he’d react. Right at the moment, he felt at the breaking point.  His eyes burned with unshed tears that he fought not to let fall, not being able to stop the thoughts that bombarded him of what life would be like without Johnny as his friend. He felt sick and lost, and his captain had simply watched as he paced the room miserably, often stopping and staring out the window wordlessly for seemingly hours at a time. Seeing Chet like he did made it even harder for Roy, made it more real. Joanne had been with him on and off during the day without the children, who she felt shouldn’t see their ‘uncle’ this way, and who wouldn’t have been allowed to see him even if they had been there. Tearfully, she reflected that she would want them to remember him as they last saw him, and not like this. But now Joanne was gone, having left once again to take care of the children.

Unwanted thoughts of funeral preparations had dominated Roy’s mind for the last several hours, and as he sat quietly in the waiting room once more, he tried to think about what kind of remembrance ceremony Johnny might like. Would Johnny want a lot of fanfare? Would he want his casket riding atop the engine honorably as they made their way to a funeral where the Battalion Chief would officiate? Roy imagined dozens of firefighters would crowd into the church for the memorial to pay homage to Johnny. He himself would probably speak at the funeral, or read the eulogy, as good friends or family members often did. Hell, he would probably be the one planning it. Roy thought of dozens of things to say about his friend, some actually forcing a smile to his face, only to be sobered seconds later when he realized why he was thinking of such things.

Maybe Johnny would prefer a very low-key, quiet memorial with only his closest friends present. Many of Johnny’s friends would probably say that he would prefer the former, but Roy suspected that if Johnny could let them know, he would prefer something more modest and unpretentious. As gregarious as Gage could be at times, Roy still thought his preference would be to have his friends remember him quietly, without drawing too much attention to himself. But there was just no way to know; they had never talked about it. Always aware of the possibility that the unthinkable could happen to either of them given their careers, it still remained a taboo subject, as if discussion of it might make it happen, and neither of them had wanted to take that chance. Now it seemed that not talking about it might have been a mistake. It was happening, and sweeping those discussions under the rug hadn’t helped. As much as DeSoto wanted to wipe all these thoughts from his brain, they wouldn’t go away.

For his part, Hank was miserable as well, but felt like he had to hold himself together for the sake of his men. Just sitting here waiting for John to die was agony for them all, but he had to be there. He’d never lost a man before. He guessed he’d always known that if it were going to happen, it would probably happen to Gage. He felt a deep sadness, a deep loss. He wished he had some way of comforting his men, of comforting himself, but there seemed to be nothing he could say to alleviate their gloom. Though his heart wasn’t in it, he forced himself to remain positive, continually offering phrases of hope and optimism. He wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Heather had closed herself off, her eyes dull and bloodshot from hours of crying. She sat quietly now; her father beside her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as they waited together. All the millions of dollars that he had, that his company had, had not been able to conjure up a cure to save Johnny.

Dr. Early was analyzing Johnny’s latest arterial blood gases, when Dr. Meirs from the CDC called with news. It appeared the military’s new drug had worked against the bacteria in the lab. Even as they spoke, Dr. Meirs was putting Dr. Joel Prescott, an Infectious Disease Specialist and old friend of Kel Brackett, on a plane to LAX. From there, he would be flown by helicopter to Rampart General in possession of an experimental antibiotic that would possibly save Johnny, if it weren’t too late. After a detailed but brief discussion, it was agreed that Dr. Prescott would coordinate the detailed antibiotic regimen that Johnny would require, since he was most knowledgeable about experimental military drugs. Dr. Early quickly made his way to the ICU to deliver the news, his face hopeful, but guarded. They now had a small ray of hope, if only it wasn’t too late.

As Dixie and Joe Early stood by, Dr. Prescott prepared the IV, and soon the new medication was dripping into Johnny’s vein. Roy and Heather stood by his bedside as it was administered, praying to themselves, but not holding out too much hope at this point, afraid to hope for fear of being let down.

Johnny was now lying on his side, supported by pillows, having been turned once again to facilitate his lung function and prevent bedsores. A short time later, his visitors were asked to leave while a therapist did range of motion exercises on him to prevent his muscles from contracting.

They waited all evening, hoping and praying for signs that the drug would work. Everyone from 51’s A-shift had shown up that day, including some of their wives, and multitudes of Johnny’s friends dropped by to offer support as well. By evening, there was no change in John’s condition, and things began to look downright grim.

Finally, just before midnight, Dixie and Dr. Early were able to convince Roy and Heather, the last two remaining in their vigil for Johnny, to go home and get some rest, with the promise that they would be called immediately upon any change whatsoever. It wasn’t easy to get either of them to leave, and both were utterly exhausted from the strain and lack of sleep. They were assured that Johnny’s condition would be monitored closely throughout the night. The one piece of good news that they’d had was that Johnny’s temperature hadn’t increased any further. With that tiny reassurance, both Roy and Heather very reluctantly left the hospital. Roy was scheduled to work that next day, but with the help of Hank Stanley, found a replacement for himself, so that he could be by Johnny’s side.

The phone rang at five-thirty that morning, and Roy groggily lunged for the handset, knocking it off the bedside table in his attempts to answer. The fact that the telephone was ringing so early suddenly gripped him tightly in fear that the worst had happened, and he clamored for the telephone in the darkness, suddenly coming fully awake.

“Hello?” he said with trepidation. Joanne was now sitting up in bed and leaning toward her husband, her own heart pounding.

“Roy? This is Abigail.”

Instantly he knew it concerned Johnny, and his throat tightened. Abigail? He thought about the significance of Abigail calling him, and not one of the doctors. If it was bad news then why….

“Abigail? What’s going on? Is Johnny….” He couldn’t say it.

“Roy, I just wanted you to be the first to know that Johnny’s temperature went down to 103 overnight.”

Roy could tell she was smiling, even through the telephone. A great whoosh of a sigh spilled from his lungs and he sagged, not even realizing how incredibly tense he was grown since picking up the phone. He smiled slowly. “Abigail, that’s great!” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Joanne, “His temperature’s down to 103!”

“Yeah, Roy; I thought you’d want to know right away. You made me promise to call, so I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“No, no! It’s okay!” Roy was elated. “Listen, can you, uh, tell me anything else? Any other improvement?”

“Well, not just yet, Roy. But this is a good sign. We’re going to keep monitoring him, and we’ll be doing another ABG this morning as well as some other tests to check all his vital functions. We should know a little more by noon how he’s responding.”

“Okay. I’ll be there a little later. Thanks, Abigail; I really appreciate it.”

“Any time, Roy,” she answered warmly.

Then the two said their good-byes. Roy hugged his wife, and together they sagged back down onto the bed in relief. It was still dark out, but Roy knew it would be impossible to sleep after this. It was the sign they’d been hoping for. Maybe he wouldn’t have to plan that funeral for Johnny after all.

Johnny continued to improve over the next two days. By the second day, his temperature had decreased to just over 101, and his lungs began to sound clearer, the rales and rhonchi diminishing. A complete blood workup indicated that his white count was coming down, and his red count also appeared to be moving toward the normal range, along with the rest of his vitals.

Dr. Prescott kept a close eye on Johnny’s progress, continuing to preside over his care with regard to monitoring the multitude of medications he was receiving. He was especially conscious of any side effects Johnny might develop from the new antibiotic, since it hadn’t been fully tested. If all went well over the next twenty-four hours, he would be able to return to Atlanta, relinquishing that part of John’s care back to Dr. Early.

The improvement in John’s arterial blood gases prompted a decision to try to slowly wean Johnny off the vent to see how he would do on his own. If his oxygen saturation maintained a normal level with less support, they would slowly decrease the vent settings until it could be removed entirely. As his dependence on the vent decreased, they also decreased the amount of sedation Johnny was on, encouraging him to awaken for short periods of time.

As the deep silent darkness he had been cocooned in began to lift away, he had the vague sensation that he was underwater, the roar of ocean waves overhead muffled by swirling water. His body was floating; his ability to feel anything just beginning to awaken. He inched toward it, cautiously, subconsciously fearing it, afraid to surface for some reason. Sounds became apparent, but he was unable to recognize them at first, content to just ride the wave as his body slowly bobbed up and down.

He jerked as new sounds interrupted his pleasant surroundings, and suddenly he was assaulted by a sharp, high-pitched noise. Reality crashed into him with blunt intensity, as if he had just fallen from a high place and had hit the ground, and suddenly he could feel everything, although the sensations were dulled. Light invaded his pupils through his closed lids, and all at once, he was extremely uncomfortable. Something was in his throat; he had little control over the air going into his lungs; it flowed in and out on its own accord. His head ached; his chest ached; his pelvic area ached; his throat felt on fire. That wretched high-pitched sound was starting up again, and just as he became aware of the ability to move some of his limbs, he felt hands restraining them. Then voices. Different voices.

“Johnny?”

“Johnny.”

“C’mon John.”

“It’s okay.”

“John?”

“Wake up for me.”

“Open your eyes, Junior.”

Junior? Who…? His eyelids lifted ever so slightly.

“That’s good. Open your eyes some more.”

It was hard, as if heavy weights were holding his eyelids down. He was so tired, but they wouldn’t leave him alone. He would try again.

As his lids lifted halfway, faces swam around him. It took a moment for his brain to register who they were. Dr. Early. Some other guy in a white coat. Roy, and someone else behind him. A girl, looking scared. Her face came into focus. It was Heather. He used all his strength to open his eyes all the way. They were all smiling. He tried to listen to what they were saying. Something about a vent. He was on a vent. He’d been fighting pneumonia, but he was getting better.

Then he remembered his last lucid thought. Just a few minutes ago, he had been drowning – unable to breathe! Didn’t they know? Panic started to build. It hit him that if he were on a ventilator, then things must be bad. There were things he had to tell them before he was gone, but now he couldn’t focus clearly on any of them. He opened his mouth, trying to speak. That blasted noise started again, then stopped. Frustration and fear set in. He had to tell them, before it was too late! Things were so hazy, he couldn’t form the right words. Even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to verbalize them. He started to struggle; their voices became more urgent as they sought to calm him. He reached out a desperate hand, clawing the air to get someone’s attention. Someone took it; it was Roy. He held on tight.

“Don’t fight the vent,” someone said.

“You’re okay.”

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Listen to me a moment, John.” Dr. Early’s voice growing nearer.

John’s eyes fixed on the gray-haired doctor, and the serenity of his face seemed to calm him a bit. Dr. Early began explaining everything that had happened, in not too great of detail, but assuring him he was going to be all right. Could it really be true? He sure didn’t feel all right. Then he was asked if he knew where he was. His eyes roamed the room; recognition set in. Rampart. He tried to nod.

“Good,” Joe Early’s voice said.

Johnny’s eyes were locked on the white-haired doctor’s, hanging on to every word he said as if they would save him. He knew this man would tell him the truth. 

“Johnny, you’re doing really well. I want you to rest, and let the ventilator help you. We should be able to take you off it in a short time. You’re going to be just fine. Okay?”

The dark-haired paramedic stared at the doctor a moment longer, then tore his eyes away to look at the others. Their faces confirmed what Dr. Early was saying. Finally, he nodded wearily in comprehension, and his eyes slid shut. He was exhausted. He felt someone pat his shoulder gently, then as his hand lessened its grip on the other man’s hand, he felt it slip away, to be replaced by a smaller, softer hand. He forced his eyes open once more, and saw Heather by his side, holding his hand. She leaned down and gently kissed his forehead. Relief flooded through him, and he couldn’t stay awake a moment longer. 

Johnny was taken off the ventilator the next day, after his ABG’s had remained in the normal range for over twenty-four hours. He still had the NG tube, which served to irritate his already inflamed throat mercilessly, but was told that that too, could be removed soon, since the peritonitis also appeared to be resolving. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was so weak and exhausted that he was asleep most of the time, which at least cut down on his suffering. He barely noticed when he was being turned from side to side every two hours, or when they exercised his limbs. He had been too groggy to remember later when Dr. Prescott came in to say good-bye and wish him good luck.

The following morning, they moved him out of ICU and into a regular room. After that, they encouraged him to stay awake for longer periods of time. Inundated by a constant barrage of tests, Johnny groaned miserably as the doctors and nurses flowed steadily in and out of his room all day, rarely giving him a moment’s peace. It seemed that they were constantly poking and prodding him. The latest and painful arterial blood gas test had left him shaky and sore. They poked his fingers for blood samples, checked his vitals on the hour, palpated his abdomen, checked his IV’s, central line, and catheter continually, turning him from side to side just when it seemed he just got comfortable in one position. He cringed when the dietician came in to check the ingredients in his TPN, fearing it was the respiratory therapist instead, who had commenced the nebulizer treatments to heal his lungs. Leaving the NG tube dangling from his nose, they had clamped it off and disconnected it from the wall suction in order to initialize the beginnings of a more normal diet. 

By evening, things seemed to have calmed down a bit, and he was sharing a quiet moment with Heather as she sat by his side. She had dimmed the lights down in the room to facilitate a restful feeling, and talked softly to Johnny, telling him about her art, trying to take his mind off his discomfort. She was feeding him small chips of ice from a spoon when Roy walked in.

They both looked up as Roy entered the room, smiling. He had been there the day before when Johnny had been taken off the vent, but Johnny didn’t remember seeing him. Now the sick man greeted his friend with as warm a smile as he could muster.

“Hey, Roy.” Johnny’s voice was rough and scratchy from the ventilator tube, and it still hurt to talk. His throat was raw and uncomfortable from the remaining NG tube.

“Hey, Johnny, Heather.” Roy walked over to the bed. “How’re you feelin’?” It was kind of a stupid question; Roy realized that if he felt anything like he looked, it was probably pretty crummy. Even still, Johnny appeared a lot better than he had in the ICU a few days ago when he had lain so completely still.

Johnny’s grimace belied his answer. “Never better,” he croaked sarcastically. He watched as Roy nodded in understanding, then sank into a second chair beside the bed. Johnny scrutinized his friend, taking in his appearance. Roy looked tired. No, he looked almost haggard, John thought. His eyes were droopy and rather bloodshot, and his skin looked dull and a little pale. He seemed to be slumped slightly in the chair. Johnny cleared his throat. Never one to beat around the bush, he asked, “Roy, what’s wrong with you? You look like hell.”

Roy straightened in his chair slightly. He cracked a wry smile at his friend, enough to let him know that he was okay. “Isn’t that kind of like the kettle calling the pot black? Maybe you should take a look at yourself in the mirror before you say that.”

Johnny frowned. “No thanks. I’ll wait ‘till Halloween.”

Roy and Heather both laughed.

Johnny turned more serious as he looked at his friend. “Are you sick?” he asked concernedly.

Roy tried to look more energetic. “Nah. I’m fine. Just tired. We had a rough shift yesterday; didn’t get much sleep.” In truth, he was exhausted, both emotionally and physically from worrying about his friend nearly dying the past week, but he wasn’t about to tell Johnny that, or the real reason why he hadn’t been getting any sleep.

“Yeah? What happened?” Johnny perked up slightly, anxious to hear about Roy’s day at the station. It seemed like it had been forever since he had worked, and suddenly he couldn’t wait until he got out of the hospital and finished his rehab so he could go back to work and normalize his life again, although that, at the moment, seemed so far out of reach he hesitated even thinking about it. At least the details of the gunshot accident were conveniently, if not temporarily, forgotten.

Hoping to take his friend’s mind off his problems, Roy began recounting the details of his shift yesterday, emphasizing the more humorous moments of the day. At the onset of the conversation, Heather’s

 face grew solemn, and she hastily excused herself to go to the restroom while the men talked.

When Roy didn’t mention any nighttime runs, Johnny became suspicious of his story about not getting much sleep the previous night. It dawned on him now exactly why Roy was so tired, and silently he struggled for a way to thank his best friend for being there for him, even if he hadn’t been cognizant of it one hundred percent of the time. Little flashes of remembrance of Roy’s presence during his ordeal began surfacing, and he felt determined in some way to express his gratitude. It was just so good to be sitting with him again, talking about firehouse gossip.

Part 6