The Thousandth Man

  Part 11

Over the next few days, one by one they dropped by, to apologize, to offer good wishes, to ask questions and hear his story. John acknowledged them quietly, yet inside, the block of ice that was his heart refused to melt. Captain Stanley had been first to knock on Morton’s door.

Hank was somewhat unprepared for the gush of emotion that hit him when Johnny answered the door. As it had been with Roy, the sudden reappearance of someone he’d thought dead, whom he’d numbly accepted in his mind as dead, was a shock. At first he’d stammered for words, the extreme gratitude he felt at seeing his young paramedic very much alive stealing his voice. Then in a gesture that surprised even himself, he pulled John into a quick hug, patted him on the back a couple of times, then released him, sputtering out how good it was to see him.

Though Johnny welcomed him into Mike’s living room amicably, the discomfort between them was almost palpable. Hank wasn’t very practiced at making apologies to his men; he hadn’t really had the need to before, and he still, despite what happened, defended his actions to himself over his treatment of John during Roy’s absence. At least most of them. He hadn’t had any choice. What he did regret was not being more supportive of the man, of not listening more, and of not being more open-minded to John’s notion of Roy’s plight. Maybe if he’d been more understanding, Johnny might have handled things better, and the need for discipline might have been moot. Ah well, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, he thought.

He relayed those sentiments to Johnny, who listened quietly, nodding occasionally, not really offering forgiveness verbally, but the expression on his face held no reproach.

At Cap’s request, John told the story of his ordeal in detail, while the other listened with rapt attention, leaving him amazed at Gage’s fortitude in the end. With the paramedic’s reassurance that he was recovering, Stanley left, his questions about when John might be able to return to work delicately skirted.

Things were strained between Johnny and all his visitors. Chet managed to ease things up a bit by joking around; Marco brought a dinner dish his mother had made as a goodwill gesture. Mike was the most somber; truly regretting his behavior and asking John outright for his forgiveness.

Johnny had never been one to hold a grudge very long, and so now found it difficult to verbalize how betrayed he’d felt; it just ran too deep to explain. So he offered a half-hearted acknowledgement of Mike’s apology, leaving the engineer to assume he’d been forgiven.

But while his voice said one thing, his mind silently said, It’s easy to say you’re sorry now, and I believe you mean it. But where were you when I needed your friendship and support – when Roy needed it? And how will this make things any different in the future? I’ll just go back to being ‘crazy Gage’ your mind. Can I really expect any of you guys to think differently of me? To really value my opinion? I doubt it.

After Stoker it was Dixie. Her smile was a welcome sight, and her hug warmed Johnny. He didn’t feel the animosity toward her as he did the others; while she hadn’t exactly supported him over the months, she hadn’t spoken out against him either. Any opinions she’d held had been kept to herself, although he suspected that if she had believed in him, she would have made him aware of it. Maybe it was better not to know. He couldn’t bring himself to turn away her affections.

He told the story for what seemed the hundredth time. When he was done, he thought he detected tears in her eyes as she said, “You’re a very special person, Johnny. You know that?”

That produced a shrug and a soft smile, his head averting as he tried to hide the redness creeping on to his cheeks.

She told him of the New Year’s Eve party she’d decided to have. It would be in his and Roy’s honor, and she pleaded with him to come.

John only said he’d consider it; his excuse being that he wasn’t really feeling up to partying, citing the lasting effects of the concussion as reason. In reality, he knew that Brackett would be there, and there was no way in hell he wanted to even be in the same room as the man.

“I’ve invited Michaela,” she finally said, not entirely sure that would entice him to come or keep him away.

He’d looked up at her then, his whole face sagging in sadness.

She knew she’d hit a very deep nerve. “Johnny,” she started reluctantly, “this is none of my business, but…maybe the two of you should talk. I know she wants to see you…when she thought you’d died, she was a mess – ”

Johnny winced. “Dix, don’t – ” He knew all too well what it was like to experience what Michaela went through.

She held up her hand. “Okay, I won’t say any more, except, please, just…call her.”

He nodded, promising he would, just not saying when that would be. Why then, didn’t she care enough to at least stop by and see me when I was in the hospital after that brush fire? Why didn’t she tell me what Brackett was going to do? She had to have known I was there, must have looked at my records…she’s the one that ended the relationship. Another little voice in his consciousness piped up, saying, Yeah, because you drove her away.

Dixie got up to leave. “I’ll see you then on New Year’s Eve?” she asked hopefully.

He smiled warmly at her, feeling bad for lying to her. “I’ll try to make it.”

 Then Brackett came. That was the most awkward. Johnny was glad that Morton had been home when Kel had stopped by. It buffered the uneven balance Johnny felt in his presence.

Perhaps Brackett was so hard to forgive because Johnny had such a great amount of respect for him. Over the years Brackett’s high opinion and confidence in him had spurned a self assuredness that he’d never fully felt in his life until he became successful in his career, so when he found he’d lost it, it was hard to take. Being known as half of the best paramedic team LA had to offer was an achievement Johnny was proud of. When the doctors and his coworkers lost faith in him, it was a huge blow. He’d been knocked to the ground hard, and was finding it hard to get back up.

Kel was concerned at Johnny’s quietness. John’s usual demeanor was to speak his mind angrily when he was upset about something, not withdraw, which was what he seemed to be doing. Having an angry Johnny was so much easier to deal with than a reticent one.

Kel apologized in earnest for planning to send John to the Psych Ward without his knowledge, and for Administration’s treatment of Michaela. The mention of Michaela’s treatment lit a fire in Gage’s eyes, and even Mike Morton expressed his disapproval. Kel defended himself, explaining that he had personally put his reputation on the line in support of Michaela.

“Why?” Johnny asked. “Because you were friends with her uncle? Or because you needed to justify her to Admin so you wouldn’t look bad for hiring someone who was involved with a nutcase like me?”

Mike stood silently, torn as to whom to support. On the one hand, he was still angry with Kel for not trusting him in his assessment of John’s mental state. On the other, he knew Kel Brackett was more honorable than to let Admin send Michaela away because she was involved with Johnny.

“Johnny, whether you believe me or not, I would have done everything in my power to prevent Admin from ousting Michaela. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that.”

“Yeah. Because we broke up. I guess that solved the problem, didn’t it?”

Kel winced slightly, the side of his mouth twitching. The truth was painful sometimes. He didn’t want to get into a bitter argument with Johnny. “I’m truly sorry that happened, John. And I’m sorry for everything else too. I hope you can accept my apology and move forward.” There. I’ve groveled enough now. There’s nothing else I can say except, “And I hope now that you can begin to put your life back together. If there’s… anything I can do – ”

“That’s okay, Doc.”

“ – please John. Don’t hesitate to ask me. All right? I’d…like to help.”

Johnny knew he was making the doctor feel uncomfortable. Though seeing Brackett so contrite did not give him any pleasure. It only built upon the steady ache that was tearing his heart apart at the realization that yet another friendship had been a casualty of this situation. Or worse, that it had never been a friendship to begin with.

It was painful seeing the remorseful expression on Brackett’s face, and Johnny almost felt sorry for him. He didn’t think he was the type of man to have a lot of close friends to begin with, and he could tell this hurt him too.

Johnny softened. “Look, Doc. Thanks for coming. I appreciate what you said. I’m, uh, kinda tired though, so…”

“I understand, Johnny. I’ll be on my way.”

When the Battalion Chief showed up on Morton’s doorstep, Johnny was taken aback. He never expected an apology, much less a verbal commendation. Coming from a stoic and reserved man, the outright praise made an impact. While he wouldn’t admit to an error in judgment in approving John’s suspension, he hinted at regret and doused him with compliments, calling him a hero. It made John feel marginally better, to know where he stood in the Department, and that he wasn’t thought of as a fool – at least not from the higher-ups. Who knew what the rest of the guys thought of him right now.

Like everyone else, the Chief wanted to hear details. Only now was he interested in hearing of the how and why John had sensed that Roy was alive all that time, which annoyed Johnny. No one believed me until they had proof.

In a way, it felt good to have redeemed himself, but the cost of doing it had been high. The obstacles from the Police, the Department, the insurance companies, and everyone else he’d had to hurdle over had made it so much more difficult than it needed to be.

Johnny indulged him out of respect, but again, would not commit to a return to work date. The Chief seemed to sense his reticence and his face showed a regretful and concerned countenance.

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

Tired of visitors, Johnny almost didn’t answer the doorbell the next time it rang. He only did because he happened to be walking through the living room at the time and he figured whoever was at the door may have seen him walk by. Besides, it might be someone for Mike.

Detective Fahey stood on the stoop, hands in pockets, dreading the confrontation. He hoped Gage wouldn’t be home, but soon the door opened.

“Oh man. You.” Johnny threw the detective a look of disgust and seriously considered slamming the door in his face.

“Gage.”

“What do you want, Fahey?”

“Just a few minutes of your time.”

“One minute of my time is too much for you. You got something to say, you better spit it out in the next fifteen seconds.” He leaned into the doorframe, blocking the entrance with his opposite arm extended.”

Fahey’s throat was dry, and he cleared it. His gaze was focused on Gage’s shoulder. “I was wrong. About you and your buddy.”

“Oh. You suddenly had an epiphany, eh? Is that supposed to be an apology?”

Fahey frowned. “You can take it however you want. I just wanted to tell you, I…regret the turn of events of the past few months, although I still contend that nine times out of ten in cases like DeSoto’s, they’re guilty. You gotta admit, if you had been on the other side, you’d have thought it looked fishy.”

“I don’t have to admit anything.” Johnny said in disgust, then launched into a rant about all the blunders Fahey made throughout the investigation, and his fury at being pursued and spied upon like a common criminal. “Not only that, but your mistakes almost cost the DeSoto’s the life of their son. You should feel damn lucky he didn’t die, because if he had, you would have had to answer to me.”

Fahey sneered derisively, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes, that’s a fact.”

“It’s never wise to threaten a police officer, Gage.”

“Oh, is that what you are?” Gage’s eyes penetrated Fahey’s, and he used similar words that the government had used on him. “I’m not threatening. Just stating a fact.”

Fahey backed down, only because he had to. Any future with the Department was on the line. “You know, I think you’re directing your blame at the wrong person.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. It was the Feds that turned out to be the real bad guys. Not either one of us.”

Johnny laughed mirthlessly, feeling a strong urge to puke at the fact that Fahey seemed to be putting them both in the same category on the same side. “And just how do you figure that?”

“They were the ones that kidnapped your friend and held him hostage for four months.”

“They didn’t kidnap him, they saved his life! They did what they had to do.”

“Exactly what was that?”

Johnny shook his head. “You’re the detective. You figure it out. Use those wonderful sleuthing skills you possess.” He couldn’t help but smirk.

Fahey’s eyes narrowed. “But you know, don’t you?”

Johnny really didn’t know…exactly. But he knew a lot more than Fahey, and was enjoying having the upper hand for once. “I certainly don’t intend to discuss it with you.” Johnny looked at his watch. “Your fifteen seconds was up three minutes ago.”

Don suddenly became concerned that the conversation hadn’t gone amicably at all. Even though it was obviously hemorrhaging, he needed to heal this wound for his own sake. All he’d done so far was anger Gage more, reminding him of reasons the paramedic might want to file a formal complaint against him. He was in boiling water with his boss; he’d made a fool out of the department, and now his job was on the line; years of hard work down the drain… He had to do something to salvage this conversation.

“Look, I admit my judgment was somewhat flawed – ”

“Somewhat.”

“I’m a human being, Gage. I’m not perfect, like you are. I make mistakes. I don’t suppose you’ve ever made one?” For the life of him, he just couldn’t seem to make himself act civil.

Why did he dislike this man so much? What had Gage ever done to him except outsmart him? Maybe that was it. Or maybe he couldn’t help but compare himself to this genuinely decent person whose selfless acts only made his own look callous and vindictive. Admitting wrongdoing had never been one of his strong suits.

“Yes, I’ve made mistakes; thankfully I’ve never made one that cost anyone his life. Although if you ever needed my help, I might have to make an exception.” Johnny’s heart hadn’t been completely in that statement, knowing he’d never refuse to treat anyone that needed help, even Fahey. Although if it hadn’t been for the fact that Fahey was Chet’s cousin, Johnny would have been tempted to punch the guy out by now.

Don chose to ignore John’s cutting remark. “Look, Gage, I’ve always thought I was good at my job. I don’t want to lose it. I’ve got a wife and a family to support. I did what I thought was right.”

“Oh so that’s what this is about, eh? You’re afraid you screwed up so bad they’re going to fire you, and you’ve come to suck up to me so I won’t expose how you treated Roy and his family, and myself. That’s really pathetic, Detective.”

Fahey was losing patience now. He was trying, but Gage wasn’t giving an inch. I probably wouldn’t either, if I were him. In fact, I probably would have punched me out by this time. “I didn’t have to come here. I did it because I wanted to try to make amends.”

“Yeah, I know,” Johnny said sarcastically. “To ‘express regret’.”

“That’s right. I know I was wrong about you, and your friend. When you’ve been a detective as long as I have, you tend to be suspicious of everyone. I hope you can understand that.”

Johnny’s nostrils flared slightly as he breathed in deeply. “Detective, I have things to do.” He pushed himself away from the doorframe and stepped back.

“Thank you for your time.”

“Don’t mention it.” Johnny shut the door in his face.

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

Mike Morton blew softly over the top of the steaming cup, making the coffee ripple. Gingerly, he took a sip and set it down. It was his first break of the day, and he decided to check the headlines in the paper. After scanning the front page, he thumbed to the next. His eyes widened and he leaned forward, pulling the paper closer to his nose.

He scanned an article entitled, ‘Paramedic Rescues Missing Partner and Family’. The article exposed everything that Johnny had done for Roy and his family.

 I wonder if Gage has seen this. He’s not going to be happy. The doctor sighed. I guess it was only a matter of time before the press got their paws on this. Well, he can’t blame me. I’m not the one that exposed his secret – Dr. Marcantonio did that. I wouldn’t have told anyone.

Mike thought back to Johnny’s homecoming and the days that followed. The morning of John’s return was almost surreal. Seeing Roy and John again, two people he’d worked closely with, one he’d recently established a closer friendship with, after thinking they were both dead, was rather unbelievable.

He’d watched as they’d exited Roy’s truck, chatting and walking side by side in casual comfort up his walk to his front door as if nothing had ever happened. He’d invited them in and they’d drunk coffee together as the two of them unfolded their incredible story to him.

It was interesting observing the two of them together that morning. Of course, he’d seen Gage and DeSoto together many times, but for some reason, that morning he realized what an extraordinary pair they were, not only professionally, but personally. It occurred to him that fate must have had something to do with bringing these two very different men together. 

Mike had welcomed John to stay as long as he needed, no pressure. “I’m not home much anyway,” he’d stated.

In the brief periods of time they spent together after Roy left, Johnny had remained low key, spending a lot of time resting on the couch or sleeping. Mike suspected John’s sluggishness was a combination of illness and depression. When Mike told Johnny he’d probably be able to clear him to start work in a few more weeks, Johnny seemed unenthusiastic, which was totally out of character for him.

Johnny feigned illness the night of Dixie’s New Year’s Eve party, and so Mike went without him. He certainly wasn’t going to try to convince the paramedic to go when he claimed to not be feeling well, although he suspected the real reason for the excuse.

Everyone was disappointed when Johnny didn’t show. If Johnny had attended, he would have been astounded at all the Fire Department and hospital personnel that turned up to honor him. If only to have diverted some of the lavish attention bestowed on himself, Roy wished that Johnny had joined him and Joanne. By the end of the evening, Roy was exhausted from all the questions and from repeating his story.

Johnny stayed home alone at Mike’s that night, watching Dick Clark in New York City bring in the new year on delay as the ball went down. There was no champagne, no kiss at midnight, only an awful ache in his heart as he thought of Michaela, wondering if she had attended Dixie’s party, and wondering if she was alone.

She didn’t, and she was.

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

Roy had warned Johnny about the media. It took them several days to track Johnny down. Once they did, they wouldn’t leave him alone. Johnny had been visited or called by every major newspaper, local TV news and radio station in town.

All the coverage only made him feel self-conscious and embarrassed. They were labeling him a hero, a title which, under different circumstances, Johnny would have worn proudly. It was the exposure of what he’d done for Roy that made him feel like hiding away.

Some reporters described his actions sarcastically, insinuating a kind of craziness must have overtaken the paramedic to have given away all his worldly possessions to save his friend’s family. Some even implied more scandalous possibilities, that maybe something more sordid was going on between these two paramedics, whether it happened to be illicit, or even a romantic involvement. The idea that anyone might consider that he and Roy were gay lovers almost made him throw up.

Then there was the opposite end of the spectrum, those that put Johnny up high on a pedestal. They labeled him some kind of a saint. He hated being analyzed, his innermost thoughts and feelings picked apart by people he didn’t even know. He felt like a freak, like one of those people featured in the National Enquirer. Even they had tried to contact him.

The hype reached a crescendo one morning when Johnny answered Mike’s telephone and Phil Donahue was on the line. Too flabbergasted to say much, Johnny listened as the popular talk show host invited him to appear on his television show. He thought the world should know his story, and expressed a great deal of admiration at what Johnny had done. Finally able to find his voice, Johnny politely turned him down. During his debriefing, he’d been instructed to avoid the media whenever possible, and he was afraid that something might slip out during a talk show. Besides, appearing on national television would likely have paralyzed him.

After Donahue, someone from the Merv Griffin show called. Again, Johnny politely said no. But it was hard.

His world became even more surreal when later he hesitantly answered the doorbell, only to find Mike Wallace standing on Morton’s front porch. Peering over his shoulder, he saw a CBS van parked at the curb, its big black painted eye staring at him. Gage’s own eyes nearly popped from their sockets as he babbled, “Y-you, you’re…you’re Mike…Mike Wallace f-from Six-Sixty Minutes…aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” the incredibly deep voice said. Droopy brown eyes smiled drolly at him. Behind him stood a cameraman and it appeared he was being filmed. “May I come in?”

“Sure…uhhh, no, I…this isn’t my…you see…uh…no. I’ll just talk out here.” He craned his neck to get a look over Mike’s shoulder. “Uh, are you filming this?”

Wallace stared at Gage as if to say, ‘What was your first clue?’ “Yes, we are,” he said matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry, you’ll get to see the final take before it airs.”

Johnny finally got his sensibilities about him. “No wait a minute.” He held up his hand. “I don’t wanna be on television. Can you stop filming?”

Wallace waved to the man behind him, who stopped reluctantly. Then the TV reporter began peppering John with questions, intermingling a strong persuasiveness to convince Johnny to do an interview and tell his story.

Johnny knew what kind of stories Sixty Minutes told, and figured there was no way he could do it. Who knew what they would expose. His jaw dropped when Wallace offered a figure of ten thousand dollars to appear.

“I’m sorry,” he practically whispered, not believing the words coming from his own mouth. “I can’t.”

Wallace regarded him from the corner of his eye. “What is it that you’re trying to hide, Mr. Gage?”

“Hide? I’m not trying to hide anything. I just…” he licked his lips, thinking. “This is private, Mr. Wallace. All this…was supposed to remain confidential. I never wanted to advertise what I did.”

Wallace remained silent for a moment, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Look John. There aren’t too many times we get the chance to tell a story like yours, not only the bravery but the incredible act of kindness you bestowed on your friend. A lot of people would probably even find it hard to believe. They’ve already speculated whether you and Roy DeSoto are for real, or whether you’ve just created a great big hoax.”

Johnny reacted exactly the way Wallace expected him to, with indignity and defensiveness. “A hoax!? It wasn’t any hoax, I can tell you that. Roy didn’t fake his death. And that ship was real – I should know, I found it. I was on it. They kept Roy there for almost four months!  I – I…” Abruptly, he stopped, horrified at how easy it had been for Wallace to con him into almost revealing information he’d sworn to keep secret.

Shaken, Johnny turned away, trying to get a grip on himself. His hand swiped over his face. Suddenly he realized the camera had been turned back on again, and he glared at the cameraman.

Wallace took a step forward. “Let me interview you, John. Tell your story. Let everyone know what the real truth is.”

Riled, Johnny was breathing hard, his fists clenched, angry at how he’d been manipulated. He met Wallace’s eyes and took a breath. His voice was low and barely controlled when he said, “Sorry. I’ll have to pass.” He turned then, and walked back inside, shutting the door.

From inside he heard Wallace call, “We’ll still do the story John, whether you let us interview or not. It’s your choice. There are others we can talk to.”

Johnny sagged against the wall, his fingers pressing into his forehead. Oh man. Watching through a part in the curtains, he watched Wallace and his cameraman leave.

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

“Roy, I just wanted to let you know I’m gonna take off for a couple of days.”

Roy switched the telephone receiver from his left hand to his right. He sounded a little taken aback. “Where’re you going? You just got home.”

“Roy, I, I gotta get away. The media is drivin’ me crazy. They won’t leave me alone.”

Johnny sounded not only frustrated, but tired. Roy sighed. He knew the feeling. “I know. I’ve got the same problem.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’d never believe who called me yester – ”

“Well you’ll never believe who called me!”

“Who?”

“Phil Donahue.”

“Oh yeah? That talk show host.”

Johnny couldn’t figure out why Roy didn’t sound that surprised. “Yeah. He wanted me to come on his show and tell my story. After that, I got a call from someone at the Merv Griffin Show.”

There was a slight pause. “Huh.”

Johnny stared at the telephone receiver a moment, then put it back to his head. “Then, yesterday afternoon, Mike Wallace shows up on my doorstep, er, I mean, Morton’s door step.”

Roy sounded a little more surprised at that. “From Sixty Minutes?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“Whatdaya mean, ‘huh’? I thought it was pretty incredible myself.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Boy, Roy doesn’t sound very impressed. “You ‘guess so’?”

“Well, it’s just that I’m not that surprised ‘cause I got some phone calls too.”

“From who?”

“Johnny Carson and Barbara Walters.”

Johnny almost choked. “Johnny Carson!”

“Yeah. He invited me on his show.”

“Johnny Carson,” Johnny mumbled, frowning. “Huh.”

Roy thought he heard Johnny mutter, ‘I wonder why he didn’t call me?’ “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Actually, he mentioned something about both of us coming on together.”

Johnny’s eyes brightened, then he quickly frowned. “Ohhh, no.”

“What.”

“I’m not goin’ on another talk show with you.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you remember what happened the last time we went on TV talk show together?”

“No.” There was a pause. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Every time I started to have a cohesive thought, you finished my sentence for me.”

“Oh yeah. Right. I did. I guess I got carried away.” Roy was glad Johnny couldn’t see him smiling.

“I’d say.”

“Johnny, you know we can’t go on any of these shows anyway. You didn’t accept any of the invitations, did you?”

“No,” he said glumly. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Roy, Mike Wallace offered me ten thousand dollars to do the interview for Sixty Minutes.”

“Ten thousand dollars!”

Johnny smiled smugly, glad to finally get a reaction out of Roy. “Yeah. I guess they think it’s a pretty big story. But anyway, I had to say no.” He heard Roy sigh. “Besides, that guy is slick. Just in the few minutes I talked to him, he almost had me saying stuff I shouldn’t before I even realized it.”

“You didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t say anything…vital.”

“Good.”

“But Roy. Ten. Thousand. Dollars.”

“I know.” Roy felt bad for Johnny. He needed that money to get back on his feet, especially after giving up his life savings for him. Hell, they both needed it. Jimmy was out of danger now, but there were still lots of doctor visits and tests and the bills were still rolling in. “But we can’t, and you know it. Besides, you really want your face plastered all over national television? We’d never get a moment’s peace.”

Johnny tried to imagine it. It didn’t sound all that bad. The chicks would eat it up; think of the women I could meet… The sudden apparition of Michaela’s face in his mind stopped that thought dead in its tracks. Immediately, Johnny felt down.

“…Johnny?”

“Huh? Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Imagine trying to go to the grocery store to get a jar of mayonnaise or something and you’d be hounded by masses of people.”

“Hmm. I know. Well, that’s why I’m leaving.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Just…camping somewhere. Somewhere they can’t find me.”

There was a long silence, then, “Can I come with you?”

“Come with me? Roy, you just got home. Don’t you want to spend time with your family?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I have been. But all the phone calls and everything are driving Joanne crazy too.” He stammered a bit, not knowing how to explain it, but just knowing he too wanted to get away. “I just…how long are you going to be gone?”

“Three or four days maybe, depending on how I feel.”

“You sure you’re up to it? You probably shouldn’t be hiking…”

“Roy, I’m not gonna do much hiking. Mostly just fishing…and relaxing.” And thinking. And planning.

“Oh.”

“If you want to come, I’ll be glad to have you.”

Roy sounded relieved. “Good. Yeah. I’d like to come.”

“Don’tcha think you should run it by Joanne first?”

“Uhhh…yeah. Okay. I will. But I’m sure it’ll be okay.” Roy knew there was no way Joanne would protest if he wanted to spend a few days away with Johnny. Not after what John had done for their family.

“All right then. I’ll come by and pick you up at five.”

“Five. AM?!”

“Yeah. I want to leave before the sun comes up. In case someone’s…watching us, you know?”

Roy’s brow wrinkled. Johnny’s tone sounded a bit…paranoid, if not just a bit scared. He remembered then about how Johnny had been followed and spied on for the past several months and wondered how that must have affected him. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

The two hung up. Johnny stood in Mike’s living room daydreaming. Man. Johnny Carson. I’ve always wanted to meet him.

For a moment the room faded, and Johnny was transported to a place on a stage behind a multicolored curtain, waiting. He’d come out wearing an expensive suit, smiling, his hand extended to meet the host and then they’d introduce him…Heeeee’re’s Johnnny! Gage’s eyes grew misty as he envisioned the audience’s wild cheers, the girls screaming….

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

The drive was long and began quietly. Both men were tired from rising early, but once caffeine was flowing through their veins, the conversation grew livelier.

Roy opened the can of worms when he asked, “How’d you get that big dent in your Rover?”

The answer turned into a conversation that lasted almost the entire trip. They really hadn’t had a chance to discuss the details of the last four months, and so now, alone together, it all came out.

Johnny talked animatedly about the chase the LA Police and the Feds had taken him on during his trip to Montana. He talked in more detail about much of what went on at work during Roy’s absence, and the sequence of events that led to finding Roy, including Matilda, the fortune teller he’d consulted. He didn’t talk about his fallout with Joanne though, although some of Roy’s questions drew bits and pieces out of him.

Roy spoke of his time on the ship, his recovery, and of the boredom, anger, and hopelessness that followed.

Opening up to each other burned away an unspoken uneasiness that had somehow created a thin but invisible barrier between them. Neither had acknowledged it, even to themselves; they’d only known that things hadn’t felt completely ‘right’ between them.

The last four months had changed them both. As their comfort level rose, the closeness between them returned to the familiar knowing looks and harmless jokes that they’d been used to for so long before any of this had happened.

Later, a somber silence blanketed them as each became lost in their own thoughts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

 

Santa Rosa County was just as beautiful as it had been the last time they’d been there, although the January air was much cooler. Roy wasn’t sure he was going to enjoy sleeping in a tent when temperatures dropped into the high thirties; it didn’t seem to bother Johnny though. Even after all the years he’d spent in LA, Johnny still seemed suited for the cold – at least during camping trips.

An evening fog hovered like ghosts over the ground, and the two of them relaxed at their campsite in front of a roaring fire. Johnny leaned his back against a nearby tree, while Roy was perched on a small log closer to the fire. He watched quietly as tiny sparks spiraled upward into the mist and extinguished.

Roy regarded Johnny surreptitiously over the top of his beer can. Despite the serenity of the mountains, lakes, and quiet, Johnny had been acting distracted all day, his mind obviously elsewhere. He hadn’t caught one fish; if it hadn’t been for Roy’s success with the line, they wouldn’t have eaten dinner.

The fact that Johnny had been bent on finding Blaine Bittner bothered Roy. When they’d finally been told their sheriff friend was visiting his sister out of town, Johnny had seemed disappointed, almost frustrated. Roy couldn’t help the disconcerted thoughts that niggled the back of his mind. Not certain he wanted to hear the response, he spoke his mind anyway. He had to know.

“Johnny.”

Gage startled from his reverie and turned his attention to Roy.

“What’s the real reason you decided to come here?” Roy asked quietly.

Johnny looked nonplussed. “Huh?”

“If you just wanted to get away and hike and fish, you could have gone anywhere. I know you’ve got other spots that are your favorites. This was a hell of a drive to just ‘get away’. We didn’t have to come all the way to Santa Rosa County.”

John’s gaze flicked away to rest on something in the distance. “Actually…” he took a swallow from his water bottle and seemed to be considering something deeply before he responded, “…I wanted to see if Blaine might offer me a job.”

Inhaling, Roy looked down. That’s what I was afraid of. “Doing what?”

Johnny picked up a nearby stick and dug at the ground. “Oh I don’t know. Maybe be a rescue man, or an EMT. Maybe even try to get a paramedic program started up out here. You know the last time we were here he practically begged us to come work for him.”

“So, you’re not coming back to 51’s,” Roy said flatly, trying not to sound upset.

Johnny heard the disappointment in Roy’s voice. God knew he’d do anything for his friend, but now that Roy was back safe and sound, Johnny felt it was time to live for himself. “I don’t really want to, no.”

“You can’t forgive the guys for what they did.”

Johnny sighed, discontinuing the little swirl marks he was making in the dirt with his stick. “It’s not that, Roy. It’s not a matter of forgiveness. It’s a matter of trust.”

Roy looked up at him, slightly surprised. “Trust? You mean…as in watching your back? Johnny, despite what they did to you, they’re still professionals – ”

“No, I don’t mean I don’t trust them, Roy. THEY don’t trust ME.” Johnny narrowed his eyes. “How can I work with a group of guys who have no faith in me? I mean, trust is the basis for everything we do together. If we don’t have that…” He flung the stick into the bushes and looked away.

The flame of the fire glittered in John’s eyes. “No one believed me, Roy. Not one of them backed me up, not even the Cap. They stood by and watched as my career slowly slid down the toilet, all the while convinced I was off my rocker.

“And it wasn’t just the guys. It was the docs at the hospital too. Brackett was gonna commit me to the Psych Ward.”

Roy threw him a rueful glance.

Johnny’s expression grew sad. Even Michaela doubted me in the end. “Strangely enough, Morton was the only one willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Roy didn’t know what to say. He’d been anticipating his return to work, not really imagining that Johnny wouldn’t be back by his side.

He didn’t intend to argue with him though. He had only just begun to realize the depth of Johnny’s devotion to their friendship, and felt Johnny deserved the same kind of devotion. After what he’d gone through for him, Roy wouldn’t make the guys’ actions into a triviality, nor did he want to.

There’d been times in the past that Johnny had hinted at the importance friendship held for him; Roy had never realized before just how seriously Johnny took those relationships. Now that Roy thought of it, it wasn’t just friendships. With the exception of some of the overly anxious-to-get-married women Johnny dated, Johnny gave fully of himself to anyone he was involved with, whether it be helping Drew’s wife, Pam, after the death of her husband, aiding a friend in need, or even helping a rescue victim by watching her dog, even at the cost of his own welfare. Roy now saw the pain in Johnny’s face and felt it himself.

“I thought they were my friends, Roy. More than that. To me, our crew was like a family. Famlies don’t treat each other that way.” He shook his head sadly. “No, I don’t wanna go back.”

Roy sat quietly thinking for several minutes. “You know, I’m not sure I want to either.”

John’s brows rose in surprise.

Roy took another sip of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t get it out of my head that by giving up on you, they gave up on me too. Maybe I don’t want to work with a bunch of guys who didn’t give enough of a shit about me to make a little extra effort to find me.”

Johnny filled with guilt. He didn’t want to ruin Roy’s relationship with the guys by imposing his own feelings.

“Maybe we can both ask Blaine for a job. Maybe we can still be partners.” Roy looked over at Johnny with a hopeful smile.

As wonderful as it sounded, Johnny knew it could never happen. “Roy, as great as that sounds, you know you can’t just pick up and leave.”

“Why not?”

“You’d have to give up your career, sell your house, move your family out to the boondocks…”

“So?”

“So, Joanne wouldn’t go for that.”

“She’s always said she’d support me in any career move I made, as long as I was making the money. She’d go.”

“Maybe. But she wouldn’t be happy. And what about your kids? They wouldn’t want to leave their school, their friends…”

“They’d go if I told ‘em they had to.”

Johnny shook his head. “You don’t want to do that to them.”

Roy looked down in disappointment. He knew Johnny was right. If only things could just be the way they used to be… He chewed at his fingernail. “Well…maybe the two of us should just go start over at another station.” He looked hopefully at Johnny.

Johnny smiled softly, reminded once again of why Roy was his best friend. “Can’t do that. He shook his head resignedly. “Not in LA.”

“Why not?”

“Roy, I’ve got a bad reputation.”

“Bad reputation! What are you talking about? You’re the hero of the entire department!”

“Hero,” Johnny scoffed softly. “Right. A real hero. A few weeks ago I was a nut. They were ready to commit me. Now I’m a hero. What’ll I be next week? Probably a has-been. Ah, I tell ya, if you hadn’t of turned up, I think I’d have already left.”

Roy swallowed. He couldn’t think of any argument.

“So, what now? You gonna try to get a hold of Blaine somehow?”

Despite the fact that he’d been thinking about just that all day, the conversation was beginning to stress him out. “Yeah, I guess. I gotta do something soon. I need an income.”

“Johnny, if you need some cash to tide you over, I’d be glad to – ”

“No, no. I’m okay, Roy. I’ve got enough left to keep me afloat for a little while. The thing is, firefighting can be kinda rough. I’m just not sure I’m feeling up to it yet, you know?”

Roy had seen the signs all day and nodded knowingly; he could relate all too well. “What is it? Headaches? Nausea? Dizziness…”

“All of the above,” Johnny said gloomily, pinching at the bridge of his nose, the reminders of the symptoms almost seemed to intensify them.

Roy drained his beer can and crushed it in his hand. “I threw up every day for three weeks after that head injury.”

Johnny’s head snapped up and his eyes widened. “Oh man.” He recoiled at the thought of feeling that rotten for that long.” He eyed Roy, thinking he couldn’t spare to lose that much weight. “Hey, you sure you’re okay now? Maybe you better get checked out – maybe you shouldn’t even be here, Roy.” I never should have let him come.

Roy smiled. “I’m good. They actually took pretty good care of me. My symptoms disappeared completely after about eight weeks.”

“Eight?” Johnny said in dismay.

“Hey, don’t worry. Your head’s harder’n mine. I bet you’ll be over it in at least seven. Maybe six even.”

“Ha ha.” John winced as his head pounded and stomach rolled simultaneously. He closed his eyes and dropped his head down onto arms resting on his knees. A moment later he felt Roy’s hand under his elbow.

“C’mon. Maybe you should turn in.”

“Yeah.” Gage struggled to his feet, and together they plodded to their tent.

They left the next day. Roy drove the entire trip.

Johnny sat with a paper bag in his lap the whole way – just in case.

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

When Johnny returned home, he knew he had three things he had to do. First he had to move out of Mike’s home. All the attention he was drawing compromised the doctor’s privacy, and Johnny didn’t want that. It just wasn’t fair to Mike to have a three-ringed circus going on in his own home.

Second, he had to find a way to bring in some money, other than firefighting. Johnny realized that he was in no more shape to be trouncing around in hot burning buildings than he was to try to attempt some of the more difficult aspects of his rescue job, like climbing or rappelling. Going back now, before he felt one hundred percent better, would be too risky, not only for himself, but for the guys he worked with and his victims. Besides, he’d already decided he didn’t want to go back to 51’s anyway.

Third, he had to make a phone call that was long overdue. He needed to apologize to Patrick for ‘borrowing’ his boat. It turned out that calling Patrick ended up solving his second problem. Patrick not only forgave Johnny, but he offered him a job.

Bartending was the perfect solution to his problem. It wasn’t too strenuous, and while he may have nights where he worked late, his job wouldn’t wake him up in the middle of the night. He’d be able to get all the rest he needed during the day before going in for his shift.

Patrick was a good guy. In true Kelly style, he teased Johnny that he’d ‘repay’ him for the boat incident by arranging for a water bomb drop some night when he was least expecting it. Apparently, Patrick was familiar with Chet’s antics at the station.

Johnny groaned at that. “You’ve been hanging around your cousin too much, Patrick.”

“Au contraire, I taught Chester everything he knows.”

“Great,” Johnny grumbled.

Patrick snickered, then turned more serious. “Actually John, your timing was perfect. I’ve been needing to hire someone and just haven’t found the right person yet. We’ve got a gig comin’ in next weekend and we’re gonna be packed. I really need the help.”

Patrick’s bar often scheduled entertainment on the weekends, usually some type of local rock band.

“Oh yeah? Who’s playing?”

“Three Cents.”

“Oh yeah? They’re pretty good, aren’t they? Kinda bluesy rock.”

“Yup. Going to be a good night to make money.”

Johnny smiled. Just what I need. “Sounds good.”

They ended the call with plans for Johnny to come in and be trained. His first shift started in two days.

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

“I don’t think he’s comin’ back, Cap.” Roy glanced around a table of shocked and disappointed crewmates.” The paramedic sighed. He wished he didn’t have to be the one to break the news to them about his partner, but Johnny’s presence had been nonexistent to just about everybody except himself. Roy wouldn’t have revealed anything had they not pressed him for information about his friend.

Chet looked crushed, his mouth hung slightly open in disbelief. “He wants to be a bartender the rest of his life?”

Roy grimaced. “No, Chet. He only took that job temporarily, until he’s recovered from everything.”

Hank leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. His flat tone reflecting his dismay. “So what are his plans after that?”

“All I can tell you is that he’s mentioned moving out of LA.” He saw their reactions and added, “I don’t think he’s completely made up his mind yet.”

Captain Stanley lips were pressed together in a thin line. “I guess it’s because of us.”

Roy looked down and picked at his thumbnail. He didn’t have the heart to say yes. “Cap, it’s a lot of things. He’s upset with Brackett too.”

“Why Brackett?” Gil asked.

Stanley scowled. He knew the answer. “When Johnny was in Rampart a few weeks ago, Dr. Brackett was planning to send him to the Psych Ward to be evaluated. He didn’t tell him about it. Gage found out. That’s why he left the hospital early the morning he disappeared.”

“Crap,” Mike said softly. “Between us and how Dr. Brackett treated him, I can understand why he doesn’t want to come back.”

Marco leaned his elbows on the table and beseeched, “But we all apologized to him. He seemed like he was okay with everything when we last talked to him.”

Hank twirled his coffee cup around. “Maybe that’s just not enough, pal.”

Chet scooted his chair forward and sat up straighter. “Look. Roy. I’ve got an idea. You tell Johnny no more Phantom jokes. Ever. He’ll retire from Station 51 permanently if John just agrees to come back.”

Marco’s jaw dropped.

Roy smiled. “Chet, it’s just not that simple. On our camping trip he said something to me about trust. He said, he can’t work with guys that don’t trust him – ”

“We trust him!” Chet interjected.

Roy gestured with his palms up. “He doesn’t think so. He said we were like a family to him, and if his own family doesn’t trust his judgment, then…what’s the point? You know?”

Hank raked his fingers through his hair. Roy’s comments were like a sucker punch. “Boy.”

It was obvious to Roy how badly everyone felt. They certainly hadn’t intended to hurt Johnny. “Look, just give him some time. He’ll work it out. Maybe…maybe he’ll be able to put it behind him, but – I think some attitudes are going to have to change.” Roy knew that abandoning his ‘family’ might not be as easy for Johnny to do as he thought.

Hank narrowed his eyes almost as if in pain. “What about you, Roy? When’re you comin’ back?”

“Ah,” he stammered, “I’m gonna spend a little more time at home, you know, Joanne and the kids…”

Stanley saw hesitation in Roy’s eyes and it sickened him to consider that he might be losing both paramedics. “But you will be back?”

Roy smiled a bit nervously. “Sure, Cap. I’ll be back.” The truth was, he wanted to wait to see what Johnny was going to do, but didn’t want to lay his cards on the table yet. He could always quit if Gage decided to leave 51’s.

Gil patted Roy on the shoulder. “Well, I guess then we’ll both be getting new partners, eh?”

“Yeah,” Roy said somberly. “For whatever it’s worth, Gil, Johnny said you were an excellent partner.”

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

Michaela was pissed. She was also disappointed, worried, and lonely. Without Johnny by her side, she felt like a fish out of water.

She’d been devastated when she’d heard of his death. Then, when the good news came in that he was alive, and that Roy was alive, she was overjoyed that maybe there’d be an opportunity for a new beginning. But that beginning looked more like an ending.

Johnny had been home over a week now and he hadn’t even bothered to call her. He must know how I felt when he disappeared, when we all thought he was dead. Doesn’t he care?

How could he leave me in the dark this way? I thought he felt more than that for me.

 I guess I was wrong. I guess he just doesn’t give a damn. That’s why he wanted me to leave.

Michaela sighed. She knew in her heart that wasn’t true, much as she tried to deny it. There was only one reason Johnny had wanted her to leave, and that was for her own protection. She’d thought it was bullshit at the time, but now she knew better.

Unbelievably, everything Johnny had been paranoid about had turned out to be true.  Everything he’d done since Roy’s disappearance had been for others’ benefit, not his own. Never once did he think of himself and what his actions were doing to his life. When she thought of how many different directions he’d been pulled – from Joanne and the children, from the Department, the Police, Rampart, and herself, she wondered at how he’d managed to keep himself together at all. And what did I do to help? I bitched at him about not spending enough time with me, and harassed him for not giving up on his search for Roy. If he’d have listened to me, Roy would probably still be missing.

 I should be the one to apologize this time.

Sometimes it was hard to admit one was wrong; she’d never been very good at it. Unlike Johnny, she suddenly realized. He usually did the apologizing.

She thought back to their first fight, the scene they’d made in that bar on Chet’s birthday so long ago. It was the first time she’d met any of Johnny’s friends. The fight had been over something stupid; he’d parked too bar away and made her walk in the rain, then he’d spilled his drink on her. She’d acted like a brat, embarrassing him in front of his friends. Yet, he was the one who apologized. After he apologized, they’d left, taking a cab back to her place – to make up.

Michaela smiled as she remembered the cab ride, how they’d made out in the back seat, embarrassing the cab driver. After that, they couldn’t get inside fast enough and back into each other’s arms. Once in her bedroom, the frantic clawing subsided, and Johnny had surprised her with how tender a lover he could be. It was their first time, and he’d made it the most memorable sex she’d ever had. She remembered how erotically he’d touched her and kissed her, and with an intensity that she’d never experienced before. Much to her surprise, he’d whispered ‘I love you’ that night, and at first she’d thought, ‘yeah, I bet you say that to all the girls when you’re fucking them’, but it quickly became apparent that Johnny’s actions backed up his words, and that was what came through that first time he’d first made love to her. That had been the defining difference between Johnny and anyone else she’d been with.

Besides, as she later found out, Johnny didn’t lie.

That had been the start of a beautiful relationship. A much too brief relationship.

We meant so much to each other! How could he throw that away?

Maybe he’s angry that I told everyone what he did for Roy. He probably knows it was me that blabbed everything. But I thought he was dead, for God’s sake! Surely he could understand that.

Maybe he’s not feeling well. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t called. But then why is he working at a bar then? He can’t be feeling that ill if he’s working.

I wonder if he’ll come back to work. The rumors are that he’s not. I can’t believe he’d give up his career. What could be going through his mind?

Maybe he’s lonely and alone. Maybe he needs someone. Maybe he’s waiting for me to be the one this time.

Sitting at her feet, Denali whimpered pathetically. He’d been moping ever since he’d left Johnny’s place. He wanted his master back, and Michaela knew that.

Suddenly, she looked down at the dog, brightening. “Denali, You miss Johnny, don’t you?”

Upon hearing his master’s name, the dog looked up hopefully at her and barked half-heartedly. “You want to see him, don’t you boy? Well, maybe I just need to go talk to him about you, huh? What do you think?” Now he got up and barked a little louder, circling once excitedly.

I’ll never know if I don’t make the first move.

Besides, Johnny may really want you back now that everything’s over. I at least owe him that. If nothing else, it’ll be a good excuse to go see him.

Smiling, she reached down and patted the dog on the head.

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

Patrick’s bar was in an older part of town about fifteen minutes away from Station 51. Housed in a wood frame two story, the building had worn cedar vertical siding painted a faded chocolate brown. Neon Budweiser and Killians signs glowed in a window by the door. A large weathered painted sign reading ‘Patrick Kelly’s’ swayed from two chains over the entry. Other than a wall-mounted bare bulb that had long ago lost its decorative glass shade, it was the only adornment.

Inside, wide, well worn knotty board floors spanned the lower level, which consisted of a large, low-lit room with a mixture of mismatched tables and chairs, and lots of Irish memorabilia on the walls. A monstrous solid mahogany bar that Patrick had attained at an old hotel auction was positioned against a wall, behind which sat a small kitchen, storage room, bathroom, and an office. A steep, slightly bowed wooden stairway led to a second floor where small round tables and chairs were arranged around tattered pool tables.

On this particular night, a fair crowd had already assembled upstairs; many queued in line to drop quarters into the coin slots to play pool while they waited for the band to start. Downstairs, Three Cents was busy setting up their sound stage, while a steady trickle of customers made their way past the bouncer at the door.

Johnny and woman named Susie were working the bar; Patrick was also helping out until another bartender came in for his shift.

Patrick smiled to himself as he noticed two cute girls chatting Johnny up as he got their drink orders. Johnny had only worked five shifts so far but he was a natural. He loved talking to the customers and seemed to get along with everyone.

It certainly didn’t hurt Patrick’s business one bit that Johnny was something of a celebrity. Quite a few of the customers recognized him and brought in their business just to get a look at him. The only disadvantage was that a lot of them wanted to hear his story and tended to distract him from his job. He noticed that Johnny was quite reserved when being questioned about his adventure on the Navy ship; he usually skirted their questions with vague answers, or avoided answering at all. That was okay with Patrick.

Another benefit to having Gage behind the bar was that he seemed to attract the female clientele; already he seemed to have a following with some of the customers. The best advantage however was that he knew he could trust Johnny. Patrick certainly didn’t regret hiring him.

Gage surveyed the bar as he wiped his hands on a bar towel; the place was rapidly filling. The band started to make some noise as they warmed up.

An acrid smell floated under Johnny’s nose and he squinted, trying to ascertain what it was and where it was coming from. No one else seemed to notice, although Johnny was able to distinguish odors that even remotely resembled things burning. His eyes settled on one of the band members who just then took a drag off something that looked suspiciously like a joint. Shaking his head, his attention was forced back to the bar when two of his ‘fans’ requested another round of drinks.

Johnny served the two giggling early twenty-somethings their drinks as they unabashedly flirted with him. One had auburn hair and a little black “beauty” mark on her cheek that looked suspiciously painted on. The brunette with pronounced dimples was in the midst of suggesting that he would be able to make a killing in tips if he were employed at the Playgirl club as a dancer, when he heard a familiar voice a few seats away.

“Is there anyone in this place who knows how to make a proper Manhattan?”

He scarcely heard dimples mention how much she would enjoy putting a dollar bill in his G-strap as he spun around to face the source of the voice he knew so well.

Michaela’s tenuous smile was met with a stare from a wide-eyed, slack-jawed Johnny, who rudely turned away from his fan club right in the middle of their conversation about the G-string. It gave Mick some satisfaction to know that she had what it took to draw his attention away from them without so much as a backward glance. For a few moments prior she’d been considering walking out, but at the last minute had steeled her anger in an effort to control her jealousy.

Michaela looked stunning, almost radiant. Her glowing complexion surrounded sparkling dark eyes, and her hair was as beautiful and shiny as ever as its long waves cascaded around her shoulders. Her simple white sweater was just clingy enough to emphasize the shapely body underneath. It had been a long time since Johnny had seen her and he couldn’t help but stare. No other woman in the bar held a candle to her.

Johnny floated over to her, unable to utter anything more than her name.

When he remained mute, she asked again, her face straight. “How about that Manhattan, bartender, hmm?”

“Um…yeah. Sure.” Still stunned, he turned this way and that, as if he’d forgotten which way to go. His hand had just reached for the lowball when it fell back, and he turned back toward her, his face now a bit more composed. “Top shelf or well?”

Her chin dropped and she looked up at him as if offended he didn’t know.

“Right,” he said turning, and reached for the Chivas. When he’d finished mixing the drink, he slowly set it before her.

Their eyes met, and her hand wrapped around his before he could pull it away from the glass. From their position a few bar stools away, dimples and black mole threw Michaela matching glares.

Johnny looked down at her hand. Her touch felt like an electric current. He gazed at her uncertainly.

She squeezed his hand lightly. “I just wanted to tell you…I…I’m glad you’re back.” She slowly let go of his hand. The lost contact between them was almost painful.

He nodded slightly, still not certain how to take her presence. He tried to read her; she didn’t seem angry, but why was she there? Could she possibly be interested in reconciling? He didn’t want to allow himself to think that yet.

She thought he looked a little pale. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I…I am.”

There was a long, painful silence between them.

Her expression turned wounded. “I wish you would have called me.”

His eyes met hers warily. “Really?”

Her reply was just short of a reproach. “Of course I do.”

His expression remained undecided.

Her brow wrinkled. He’s not going to make this easy for me. Frustrated, she leaned forward a bit. “Don’t you have any idea how I felt when you disappeared?”

John’s brown eyes suddenly seemed intensely sad and hurt. “No. I don’t.”

Michaela’s mouth fell open in stunned dismay. It took her a moment to speak. “Oh, Johnny.”

Just then, Susie nudged him. “Your fan club wants you.” She gestured with her head in the direction of the two girls.

Johnny shot a hesitant look at Michaela, then returned to the girls.

They’d decided they wanted something from the kitchen. Their real goal was an excuse to talk to him and get him away from their competition.

“What’ll it be, girls?” He smiled crookedly at them.

Four seats away, Michaela struggled to control her aggravation.

Dimples and black mole began questioning Johnny about the items on the menu, asking which appetizers he liked the best. They had to speak quite loudly since the band was now playing.

Once again, a burning tang caught Johnny’s attention and he glanced away, looking for the source. It was hard to discern if any of the band members were smoking anything, but someone else could have been. He glanced up at the gray haze hanging thickly in the air as it swirled around the colored lights illuminating the stage.

Distractedly, Johnny took their order.

“I’ve never seen you here before.” The gentleman that had seated himself next to Michaela had gone unnoticed by her until he spoke.

She jumped, her head snapping in the direction of his voice.

“Come here often?”

Bright white teeth gleamed at her, the tanned face making them stand out. The man was forty-something and rather handsome; his thick dark hair was peppered with gray at the temples. His khaki pants were slightly wrinkly and he had rolled up the sleeves of the pink pin-striped oxford he wore as if he’d just gotten off work.

Michaela glanced down at his hand, quickly noticing the pale band of skin on his left ring finger. “Ah, no. Actually, I don’t.”

He nodded. “Me neither. Not my type of place, really…one of my employees has a son in the band and I promised him I’d stop by and check him out.”

Johnny put the food order in and turned back toward Michaela. Jealousy instantly sunk in its claws when he saw her talking to the man next to her, and the wolfish smile upon his face. Angrily, he turned away, snatching up a drink order one of the waitresses had placed before him.

Michaela saw the expression and became distressed. Things weren’t going well, and she didn’t need this guy’s come-ons right now. He continued talking to her. All he got was her profile as she watched Johnny making the drinks, waiting for him to make eye contact with her.

She felt a hand on her forearm.

“My name’s Gerald…you can call me Jerry.” The white teeth blazed again. “And you are - ?”

Now was her chance. Johnny was a few feet away. She glanced at Jerry apologetically. “Um, excuse me.” She turned her attention back to Johnny. “Ah…bartender?”

He glanced her way. “What?” he asked coldly.

Suzie eyed Johnny in surprise when she heard his rude tone.

“Uh…I’d like another Manhattan.”

Johnny’s stare bore into her half empty drink and his mouth twisted. Whirling around, he swiped the Chivas off the shelf, haphazardly mixed her another drink, and placed it before her.

Before he could turn away, she called more desperately, “Johnny, please. Could I talk to you? Just a sec?”

Johnny’s eyes darted between her and the man next to her. “About what?”

“Look…uh…” She stammered, suddenly feeling as if everyone in the bar was listening to her.

What she wanted to say was that she was sorry that she’d bailed on him. That she missed him. That she wanted him to come back. That she loved him so much and couldn’t live without him any longer. What came out was, “Well…uh…Denali…well, he really misses you. I mean, now that you’re home…maybe we could – ”

John’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Despite the fact that part of him was annoyed with her at the moment, the rest of his emotions were in a blender. His heart ached for her, yet she had left him, and now here she was with some other guy blatantly flaunting it before him, seemingly teasing him, although he didn’t think they’d come in together.

The fact was that deep down inside he’d been hopeful that her presence there meant something, that maybe she really was there because she cared. But this? Was it really only because she wanted him to take his dog off her hands?

Just dig the knife in a little deeper, honey.

“What?!” he exclaimed loudly, almost in outrage. “Oh, I’m sorry if Denali’s been too much trouble for you, but I’ve been sort of tied up lately, you understand? I’ll take him off your hands as soon as I can.”

Appalled at his misunderstanding, Michaela’s stomach twisted. “No – I didn’t mean that you should – ”

Johnny glared at her through slitted eyes. “Your drink is $2.50. You want to run a tab?”

Jerry reached out to tap Johnny’s wrist. “Young fellow – I’ll pay for that; give me the check – ”

“No! No, please don’t,” Michaela said in desperation, reaching into her purse. “Johnny,   I -”

Johnny’s expression was incredulous. His eyes narrowed at her as his jealousy got the best of him. “You with this guy?”

She glanced at Jerry. “No! Of course not.”

Jerry begged to differ. “Look, mister, the lady and I are having a private conversation. Why don’t you just go back to pouring drinks?

 Dimples and black spot were now staring at the three of them, listening to their argument.

Johnny threw his towel down on the counter, glaring at first Jerry, then Michaela. “Why did you come in here, anyway?”

Mick gritted her teeth in anger and leaned forward, placing her hands on the bar. “I came in to talk to you! Maybe if you’d spend a little less time talking to Mary Ann and Ginger over there and just listen to me, you’d – ”

Jerry nudged her arm. “You know this guy? Because, look honey, if he’s bothering you, I’ll make sure he never tends bar in this place again.”

Mary Ann and Ginger got indignant at that. Ginger slipped off her seat and strutted toward Jerry. “Listen, asshole, he’s the best bartender in this place. It’s you two,” she gestured at him and Michaela, “that are causing the trouble, so why don’t you both get lost?”

In a huff, Jerry swiveled toward her. “Listen, little girl, maybe you’d better get out your ID and have them check it because you don’t look old enough to be buying drinks, much less coming on to him.” He pointed to Johnny with his thumb.

With those comments, both Michaela and Johnny glanced over them in exasperation, each realizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Michaela took advantage of Jerry and Ginger’s argument to refocus Johnny’s attention.

She leaned across the bar to him. “John, please. I need to talk to you. Not just about Denali. But about…us. Please.” Her eyes showed her desperation.

A tiny piece of rock crumbled from Johnny’s wall and his face softened. Oh how he wanted to believe that she still wanted to be with him but was so afraid to.

Denying him the chance to respond, a glass bottle of Seagram’s suddenly exploded on the shelf behind him, spraying glass and whiskey everywhere.

Johnny startled as shards of glass and amber liquid pelted him from behind. Michaela cringed, unsure of what had happened. Ginger looked stunned as she noticed a tiny dribble of blood slide down Mary Ann’s face where she’d been hit by a tiny sliver of glass. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” she exclaimed. “What happened!?”

Beside the bottle of Seagram’s, another bottle exploded. Susie jumped back and cried out. Several of the women at the bar screamed. Surprised exclamations from Patrick and some of the others resounded. Michaela sat frozen, stunned. Baffled, Johnny stared at the space the bottles had been.

Jerry’s eyes widened as if in comprehension. “Someone’s shooting at us!” he exclaimed, eliciting more screams. He proceeded to duck under the bar and behind some stools. “Get down! Everyone, get down!” he yelled.

Michaela stared at Johnny, uncertain how to react at his puzzled expression.

Johnny squinted suspiciously at the shelf where the bottles had been and suddenly reached out to touch the wall behind them. He recoiled at the heat that nearly burned his hand. Tipping his head back, he saw a thin tendril of smoke seeping from a crack in the ceiling. A knot formed in his stomach.

Just as he turned away, the mirror behind the bar shattered and large chunks of it broke off and fell to the floor in a loud crash. More customers began screaming, scrambling from their bar seats.

Patrick yelled toward Johnny over the noise. “What the hell is going on?”

“Hang on!” Johnny ran from behind the bar and rounded the corner, heading to the hallway that led to the kitchen, storage, and bathrooms. Skidding to a halt, he gingerly touched the closed storage room door, withdrawing his hand quickly when his fingertips revolted at the heat. At his feet, gray smoke was billowing out from under the door.

Shit.

 Sagging in dismay at the lack of a fire extinguisher nearby, he raced for the kitchen.

Poking his head inside, John yelled for the two cooks to get out before moving on to the bathroom doors. Bursting through each, he took a second to yell for anyone inside to get out immediately, then returned to the bar area. 

Johnny reached out and clamped a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. Keeping his voice as low as the noise would allow, he said, “Patrick, call the Fire Department. You got a fire back there.” He nodded to the wall behind him.

Patrick glanced at the bar. “Holy shit,” he whispered, lunging for the phone.

 Squinting at the din of the band, Johnny called, “I’ll start evacuating the people; you see if you can get that band to stop. Then get the hell out of here. This thing is gonna spread fast.”

Patrick nodded as his shaky fingers dialed the emergency number.

Johnny ran around the bar to Michaela, his shoes crunching on the shards of mirror that had fallen around his feet.

Everything about him was steely and cool, but she saw a distinct alarm in his eyes. It was funny; whenever Johnny got worked up about something, he often overreacted. But when it came to reacting in an emergency, something inside of him made him cool and incredibly level-headed.

“Hon, you gotta get out of here. Right now.” There was no room for argument as he pulled her by the shoulders off the bar stool and tried to push her in the direction of the door.

Her hands locked onto his forearms. “Johnny, wait! Did you say, a fire?”

“Yeah. Back there,” he nodded behind him, keeping his voice just loud enough for only her to hear. Both their grips tightened on one another and their eyes locked for a few seconds.

Tearing his eyes away, he glanced up at the ceiling. Smoke was now pouring through invisible cracks.

There was no time to waste. Johnny coaxed her toward the door then gave her a small shove. “Go. Help is coming.” Leaving her, he turned to the other customers around him and spoke up. “Okay, everyone. We’ve got a little problem here at the bar. You all need to leave right now. C’mon.” With a gentle but firm push to the shoulders, he began steering the customers toward the door amidst frightened questions from several about the possibility of a fire.

Johnny didn’t want to cause a panic. “It’s a possibility. We have to check it out to be sure. But the important thing is not to panic. The Fire Department’s on the way. In the meantime, you all need to go, just to be safe. Everything’s gonna be all right.” He urged them on, imploring them to stay calm and go one at a time, no pushing.

When he turned around, he saw Michaela trying to direct people out of the bar instead of getting out herself.

He scrambled back to her. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled.

“I’m trying to help these people get out!”

“Mick, get yourself out! I’ll help the people; I’m a fireman, remember?” Once again, he grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to steer her toward the door.

She fought him a moment, turning to face him. Her fingers gripped his arms. “What about you? You have to get out too!”

The look in her eyes that told him he needn’t doubt her feelings any more made his heart skip a beat. “I’ll get out. Don’t worry.” On impulse, he seized her by the shoulders and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her hard but quickly. The act left him breathless. They stared at each other in desperation as the bar was quickly turning into a riot around them.

Someone bumped into them, pushing them apart. Michaela got caught up in the crowd of people moving toward the door. Johnny kept his eyes on her until he was sure she was headed out of the bar, then ran to help Patrick who was unsuccessfully trying to get the stoned band members to stop playing.

Patrick was wrestling with one of the guitarists, who had turned combative at being asked to leave. He didn’t seem to notice that panic was spreading through the building almost as quickly as the smoke, and groups of terrified customers were crowding at both the front and rear entrances of the bar.

Johnny couldn’t hear Patrick’s screams over the blast of the amps, but he could see the man was not having any success at stopping the band. Following the cables of the electronics, he spied the outlets they were plugged into and yanked the power cords.

Suddenly all that could be heard were the screams of everyone trying to get out. Shoes scuffling against the wooden floor sounded like hammers. The clueless band members and the confused guitarist halted his tussle with Patrick. Pushing the bar owner away, he stared down at his guitar, not understanding the reason for the cessation of its tones. When the crazed guitarist began bashing his guitar into the floor, Patrick gave up and he and Johnny worked to evacuate the others. There was no time to waste on someone who was delaying others from escaping.

Thick gray smoke plumed in the air making it difficult to see. Sounds of coughing joined the din and most people were attempting to cover their mouths and noses with either their shirt or whatever they had available.

A woman’s screams rose above the noise and Johnny blindly rushed in her direction, picking his way through the crowd. As he drew closer, he could still hear her frantic calls for help, but couldn’t see her. Diving into the middle of the crowd, he found a woman crumpled on the floor struggling to get up as her hands clawed at the legs of those around her. It was one of the girls who had been flirting with him at the bar, the dark-haired girl. Her face was now covered with a mixture of blood and tears.

Johnny’s shouted admonishments to move out of the way went ignored. Forcing his shoulder in to make room, he lowered himself to one knee and moved to scoop her up in his arms. Someone’s knee slammed into his back, knocking him over, and he landed on top of the girl. Struggling to rise, he raised an arm to block his head as he attempted another try. After a gauntlet of kicking and an elbow in his cheek, Johnny managed to rise up with the girl. Carried out of the bar by a wave of escaping people, he stumbled out the back door, barely managing to hold on to her.

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

It was just after nine thirty when the call came in. Hearing it wasn’t for them, the men at Station 51 stayed in their seats in front of the television, engrossed in an episode of Starsky & Hutch. Roy, who had finally returned to work, was out on a run with Gil and had been gone a half hour, leaving the other four.

Chet’s eyes went wide when he heard the address, and raced to the TV to turn the volume down.

“Hey!” Marco groused.

Chet ignored him, turning to his captain. “That’s my brother’s bar!”

Hank stared at him. “What’s your brother’s bar?”

“Chet, move!”

“Shut up, Marco! Cap, that run – it’s Patrick’s bar!” Chet began to pace agitatedly.

Hank leaned forward. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Cap; I’m positive! I spent a year of off hours’ time there helping him fix it up before he opened.” Chet’s hand went to his head. “I can’t believe it!” He headed toward the door and stopped, turning toward the other men. “Well, c’mon you guys!”

Hank stood up. “Chet, it’s not our call,” he said regretfully.

“Cap, I know it’s not our call, but we gotta go. Patrick’s working tonight. So is Johnny!”

Marco moved to turn the TV back up. “Well that’s good, Chet. There’s already a fireman on the scene. Johnny’ll know what to do.”

Chet remained where he was by the doorway. “Cap, I can’t just sit here when Patrick’s bar is burning down.”

Hank swallowed, hesitating. “Chet, there are already two engine crews on their way. They’ll take care of it.” Even as he said it, he knew they couldn’t do nothing. If there were two engine crews it likely wasn’t any small fire.

“Cap, he’s my brother.” Chet’s anxious blue eyes pleaded with his captain’s.

Mike stepped up next to them. “And Johnny’s ours.” A man of few words, Mike’s had the impact intended. His jaw was set with steely determination. “Cap, we have to go.” He paused, then added, “Johnny wouldn’t hesitate if it were one of us.”

Hank took in a deep breath, knowing before Mike even spoke that they had no choice. “Let’s go.”

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

Johnny carried the girl through the crowd of people and set her down a safe distance away near the building next door. Sirens whined in the far distance. Placing his hands on either side of her blood-smeared face, he scrutinized it. He didn’t see anything that wasn’t superficial. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

She spoke through tears. “No, I…my face hurts, and my back and side, but I think it’s just cuts and bruises. What is happening?!” she sobbed. “How could the bar catch on – oh my God! Where’s Shelly?” Frantically, she strained to spot her friend.

“Who’s Shelly? Is she the girl who was with you at the bar?”

“Yes. Shelly!” she called again.

Johnny spun around, craning his neck to see, trying to spot not only her friend, but Michaela. When he saw neither, he stood up in alarm, searching for either.

Moments later, the girl’s friend appeared. A joyful reunion ensued when they spotted one another and the redheaded girl embraced the brunette. “Linda! Thank God you got out!”

Linda looked up at Johnny. “He saved me.” She pointed to the paramedic, who now was frantic to find Michaela.

He turned to Shelly, desperation in his eyes. “Did either of you see if the other woman at the bar got out, the one with the long dark hair?”

The red-headed girl frowned at him, remembering seeing Johnny kiss her. “Yeah, I saw her a while ago. She was out here pretending to be a doctor or something, trying to help someone who got hurt.”

Johnny glared at her. “She IS a doctor. Do you know where she is now?”

Shelly scowled. “Yeah. I saw her run back inside. She was pushing her way past everyone else who had sense to get out. Stupid chick.”

Johnny stared at her aghast. “She went back inside?”

“Yeah, a while ago I guess – ”

Johnny took off, sprinting for the door he’d come through only a few minutes ago as both girls yelled, ‘wait!’

He knew he had only seconds. Crimson flames were already shooting up from the roof. If Michaela or anyone else was in there, they’d be dead by the time any firemen got to them.

Smoke poured through the doorway; no one else was attempting to get out. The engines were rolling up to the site, but Gage knew there wouldn’t be enough time for them to get their gear, suit up and get inside. Those few seconds meant the difference between life and death. He was here now. He was ready.

Johnny was well aware of what fire was capable of. It would have to be in and out quick; he’d have only a minute or two to find her before he would succumb himself. Just before he entered, John tore off his shirt, took a deep breath, and covered his face with the fabric.

The heat was formidable, blasting him the moment he stepped through the doorway. A sheen of sweat blossomed instantly on his body.

Only small patches of fire were visible, but Johnny knew it raged behind the walls and ceiling. He operated on rote, his mind programmed to rescue mode. Sweeping his free hand in front of him, he felt his way forward as he staggered through the thick haze.

A half pitcher of soda sat untouched on a table and he dunked his shirt into it, then held it over his nose and mouth. He couldn’t see anything and the smoke was killing his eyes. Dropping to a crawl, he traversed to where he thought she might be and the air might be clearer. Pulling the shirt away from his face for a moment, he yelled for her several times, but received no answer. He made a turn toward the stage; perhaps Michaela had been trying to help the guitarist. Johnny cursed the man under his breath.

Stopping every few seconds to raise the shirt to his mouth and take a breath, he dragged his body across the sticky floor. It smelled of stale beer and burnt popcorn. He hit his knee hard on an overturned table that was invisible through the smoke. 

Tears streamed down his face as the smoke tortured his eyes. He began coughing and as he struggled for breath, he knew he had to get out. One last time he called for her, his hands flailing about on the floor for her body even as he crawled, picking up speed now as fear filled his entire body. An agonized sob tore from him as he realized he’d never find her. God, why hadn’t he made sure she was out?

Suddenly he bumped up against something soft and realized it was a body. Elation flooded him but died at its onset when he clasped onto the arm of the person on the floor. It was a man, not a woman, and as Johnny hovered over his face, he saw that it was the guitarist.

Groping his neck, Johnny found no carotid. Disheartened and devastated, he turned to get out. In the distance he could dimly see a hazy light coming from the direction of the doorway. His lungs were filled with smoke now and he began to get light-headed. If he could just get one breath, he thought he might be able to get up and make a run for the door.

Laying his head on the floor, he sucked in a tiny bit of air, then stood up shakily, clutching the damp shirt to his face. Hunched over, he stumbled toward the exit.

Up above, the ceiling buckled with an ominous groan, and a wooden beam broke loose. Sailing down vertically, the end of it just missed Johnny’s head. Had it hit, he would have been killed instantly. Instead, it skimmed the side of his head, nearly tearing his ear off before slamming into his shoulder. Johnny’s knees buckled instantly as he was driven to the floor.

A huge trapeze of light fixtures and cables overhead lost their support and came crashing down, followed by a deluge of ceiling fragments, burying Johnny under the pile.

Johnny didn’t even feel it at first. But the second he moved, an excruciating pain tore from his shoulder where his clavicle had snapped, to his back where two long screws from the lighting structure above had been driven deep into his flesh. His scream turned into a gag as the smoke in his lungs choked him.

Almost simultaneously, another agony sent waves of fresh pain over his back as his flesh began burning. In too much pain to reason that one of the hot spotlights had crashed down upon him, he struggled frantically in an effort to end the torture. A super heated halogen lamp, its thick glass lens cracked, pressed into his back, scalding his flesh like a calf being branded.

Fingers crusted with soot and dust clawed fruitlessly at the chunks of wood and metal that had him imprisoned under their weight. Blood seeped from the inside of his mouth and the side of his head, plugging his ear as his face pressed mercilessly into a metal grate on the floor. Aside from the men who would later pull him out, it was the only thing that saved his life. For by chance he had managed to fall atop an air conditioning vent on the floor, which provided a fresh source of air. Temporarily, at least.

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

Captain Raymond Flores’ eyes followed Engine 51 as it swung by the other fire vehicles and parked around the corner and to the side of the building. A shaggy brow arched briefly before his attention was diverted back to the fire. He had his men stationed around the building to battle the fire, while the other fire company employed their snorkel truck to put out the roof blaze. A deluge of water was now dousing the blazing structure.

Chet had catapulted off the engine before it completely stopped, running into the crowd. Hank trotted to Flores to find out the situation.

Tall like Stanley, Flores had a bushy gray mustache and deep wrinkles etched in his forehead that made him look older than his fifty-two years.

He regarded Captain Stanley with some surprise as the dark-haired captain approached. “Hank, I didn’t hear the call for 51’s.”

Hank skirted the inquest. He was only focused on one thing. “Did everyone get out, Ray?”

Flores frowned. “No. There’s at least two left inside, according to the owner. I can’t send anyone in yet; this place is a cinder box. The roof is beginning to collapse. I almost lost a man who started inside to search.”

Hank looked hopeful. “You talked to the owner? He got out?”

“Yeah, barely. He’s over there with the others.”

Hank glanced to his right and saw Chet and his brother together. Kelly was grasping Patrick’s shoulders as they talked. He didn’t see Johnny anywhere. He turned back to Captain Flores. “Ray,” he swallowed, “who’s still inside?”

“The owner mentioned a guitarist from the band, and another man – one of the bartenders.”

Hank’s eyes widened and he swore through gritted teeth. He turned then, running toward Chet and Patrick, as Ray Flores called out to him.

“Hank, go ahead and get another inch and a half on the west side of the building. I’ll send some men in as soon as it’s possible.”

Stanley threw his arm up in a wave to acknowledge he’d heard, but didn’t turn around. He reached Chet’s side.

Marco and Mike trotted up to join them.

Chet’s blue eyes were wide with panic. “Cap, Johnny didn’t get out! Pat says he went back inside to help evacuate.”

Deeply shocked, Patrick was shaking his head, his face blackened with soot. “He told me to get out, man. I saw him carry one of the customers out, a girl, then he ran back in. I’ve been watching for him; he never came out!” Shaky fingers wove their way through his brown hair. He turned to Chet. “He knew what was happening. He tried to keep everyone calm and get them out; then he ends up being the one…” Pat stopped when he saw Chet’s stricken face.

Patrick glanced backward at the deluge of firemen working on the building. “They’ll get him out, Chester. I mean, he’s a fireman; he knows what to do to stay safe, right?”

Hank and Mike glanced at the building and exchanged grave glances.

Chet couldn’t stand still another moment, and ran to the engine and began putting his SCBA gear on. The rest of them caught up with him.

“Kelly, what the hell are you doing?”

Chet tightened the strap over his shoulder. “I’m going in after him, Cap. Someone’s got to.”

“No you’re not. The order is no one is to risk a search until the west side is knocked down.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take that risk, Cap.”

Hank grabbed Chet’s face mask as he began to pull it over his face. “Kelly, you’re to stay here and that’s an order.”

Now Mike protested.  “Cap, Chet’s right.” He looked at the building forebodingly. “Someone’s got to get in there now or it’s going to be too late. It may already be.”

Hank’s mouth twisted in frustration. “Yes, that’s right Mike.” He hastily reached into the engine to retrieve his own SCBA gear and began shrugging it on. “That’s why if anyone goes in there, it’s going to be me.”

“Cap, you can’t go in there alone. We’ll do it – ”

Hank would have none of it. “No way. I’m not sending you guys in there. It’s too dangerous. I won’t have your deaths on my conscience.” I already almost lost two men; I’m not taking any more chances.

Mike, Marco, and Chet regarded one another. With a quick short nod from Mike, the three of them suited up. Breaking records for speed, Chet was all business as he pulled on his gear.

Stanley stared them down. “What? You guys gonna immitate Gage in his belligerence now?” 

“We learned from the best, Cap,” Mike quipped with a sparkle in his eye.

Chet slapped his captain on the forearm. “Hey, we’re Station 51, right? All for one, and one for all. Right?”

“Right!” Marco and Mike answered together, smiling.

Hank’s jaw stiffened and clenched; he hesitated only a half a second longer. With a quick wave of his arm, he set things in motion. “Kelly, Lopez, grab an inch and a half. We’re going in through the back.” He glanced regretfully at Mike. “Stoker, stay here and man the engine.”

“But Cap – ” He didn’t have time to argue, and didn’t want to anyway. There could be no more delay. “If you need me – ” he called after them.

“We’ll call!” Stanley shouted.

The three fireteers ran around the back of the building. A “Hey!” was heard from behind them as they entered the burning building, but no one turned back.

The inside was a scene from hell. Thick black smoke billowed in the air while patches of fire blazed from crevices fed by pockets of oxygen. Pieces of ceiling and walls dropped like bombs every few seconds, making it sound like a war zone.

There’s no way… Hank thought dismally, but refused to let the thought take hold. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, his gaze sweeping the area for any sign of Gage or the guitarist.

Chet and Marco pressed forward with the fire hose, their captain beside them, his palm pressing into Marco’s back to steady him. Three sets of shoulders were hunched up in anticipation of falling debris. Spray rebounded at them as it hit the wreckage; beads of water ran down their masks making it even more difficult to see.

It was Chet who spotted the shape of what appeared to be a foot protruding from a pile of rubble, and he hurried forward, tugging on the hose, urging his comrades on. “I think I see something!”

Hank lunged forward. His foot caught on some debris and he lost his balance, falling forward, his arms extended to catch himself. The others heard him yell as he went down. Chet and Marco crowded around him; his eyes were scrunched closed in pain through the mask. Slowly he lifted his gloved hand, dangling it limply. Blood poured from a gash made in the glove, and Hank bent at the waist, coping with the pain.

Marco grasped his wrist and pulled it to his face mask to survey the damage, asking if he was all right even though he knew he wasn’t.

“Shit!” Hank cussed, reaching up to cradle the hand with his other.

“Cap, we’ve got to get you out of here,” Marco called over the blaze.

“NO!” His eyes settled on the object Chet had seen. “Look!”

About five feet in front of him was a brown shoe-clad foot sticking out from under a pile of debris.

Seconds later, the three of them frantically converged on the debris, ripping it away and hefting it to the side, piece by piece. Hank used one hand, keeping the injured one tucked into his pocket. Water pooled on the brim of his helmet and rolled off onto his knees. He glanced up. Water was leaking through the broken ceiling making it even more unstable.

Soon they uncovered a hand, and then an arm. They dug until most of the body had been uncovered, except for the back. The victim was lying face down, but there was no mistaking who the shaggy mop of dark hair belonged to.

“Johnny!” Chet called urgently, and was rewarded with the sight of the prone man’s fingers slowly curling. “He’s alive!” he said victoriously. Bending over him, he laid his hand on the back of Gage’s head. “Gage? You hear me? If you can hear me, buddy, don’t worry; we’re gonna get you outta here.”

Buoyed by the news that Gage was alive, Marco and Captain Stanley hurried to remove the crumpled remains of a metal light fixture housing from Johnny’s back, which seemed not to want to budge. With a great heave, Marco grasped onto the stubborn piece and pulled, prying it somewhat loose.

Chet’s eyes widened as Johnny came to life, raising his head, his mouth opening in a silent scream. The most he could muster was a strangled gag. The paramedic’s fingers clawed fruitlessly backward against the dirty floor in a weak struggle, reminding Chet of a turtle stuck on its back.

“Stop!” Chet yelled. He bent low and what he saw turned his stomach. Blood was now bubbling from a wound in Johnny’s bare back where a long screw had just been forcefully extracted. A second screw was still partially embedded in Gage’s lower back, holding the frame of the light fixture captive there. “Marco, look,” he pointed.

Marco saw and stared up at Chet through his mask, cussing in Spanish.

The sound of gasping brought their attention back to their victim. Johnny was having difficulty breathing. Uncovering him had allowed the smoke to surround him, the slight bit of air wafting up from the vent no longer providing enough oxygen.

Next to them, Hank pulled his mask from his face and fitted it over Johnny’s.

“What are we gonna do?” Marco asked.

Speaking through his own pain, Hank answered tightly. “We gotta get him, and ourselves outta here, now! This ceiling is gonna drop any second. Chet, try cutting that screw off at the tip. You don’t want to tear another one out. We don’t know what it may be embedded in.” Bringing the mask to his face, he took a breath, then returned it to John’s face.

Chet nodded, his eyes narrowing. Removing a bolt cutter from his turnout, he struggled to fit it under the metal and get it around the screw to sever it.

Johnny moaned loudly and struggled weakly. Blood was running down his side and was forming a small puddle on the floor. He blinked and squinted as blood from his head snaked across his eye and over his nose.

“Hold still, Johnny,” Chet warned, preparing to snap off the screw. “We’re gonna get this shit offa you.” He glanced up at Marco, his eyes expression preparing him for what Gage’s reaction might be. Slowly, he squeezed the bolt cutters. Nothing happened at first except that Johnny stiffened noticeably. Chet glanced over at Gage’s hand and saw his fingers clenched around a piece of splintered wood.

Sweat dribbled down Chet’s face and pooled at the bottom of his mask. As gently as he could, Chet squeezed harder and finally the screw snapped off about a half inch above Johnny’s back. Once again, Gage’s head lifted off the floor and the same awful sound came out of his mouth. His breath came in short coughing gasps through the mask. Hank kept the air mask steady, taking a breath for himself every so often.

“Done!” Chet called, lifting the freed metal and flinging it angrily from Johnny’s back. It was then that it registered that Gage didn’t have a shirt on, and he cringed at the damage to the paramedic’s back.

“Let’s go!” Hank urged, and with his one hand, awkwardly covered John’s face with the mask while he motioned for the other two men to pick up the fallen paramedic.

They all knew it was dangerous to move Johnny, not knowing what other injuries he may have sustained, but there was no choice. Any moment they could all be buried there. Leaving him in the position he lay on his stomach, Chet scooped his hands under John’s arms while Marco took the legs, carrying him face down. The moment they lifted him up, there was a choked cry of pain, then Johnny’s head slumped downward, dangling in front of his chest.

Chet saw the distortion in John’s clavicle and knew it was broken. He tried to move him as gently as possible, supporting the spot the best he could, but it was impossible to do that and move quickly. They desperately needed a backboard or a stokes.

They’d traveled about ten feet when suddenly Chet’s foot broke through the weakened floorboards, tipping him off balance. He howled in pain as he felt his ankle forced sideways. Johnny’s still form slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a thud.

At that point there was a lot cursing. And struggling. Struggling to tend to Gage, to see if he had been further injured by the fall and to make sure he had air. And struggling to extract Chet’s leg from the tight splintering hole it had crashed through.

With only one hand, Hank was almost useless to them. His pocket was wet with blood that was still pulsing from the wound in his hand. He began to feel dizzy and sick, and a fear filled him that they might not make it out alive.

Marco was doing his best to help all three of them, but alone he was woefully inadequate. He considered throwing Gage over his shoulder and carrying him out, then returning for the others when he heard his captain speaking on the HT.

“Engine 51, this is HT 51. We need help. We found Gage. But we now have two more code I’s. I’m gonna need you to come in – fast. Bring a saw and a pry bar. I repeat, I need you ASAP. Do you copy?”

Mike’s voice came over the HT, only the slight edge to his voice displaying the angst that had just enveloped him. “I copy HT51. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Ray Flores’ eyes narrowed as he watched 51’s engineer shrug into his SBCA gear. Several minutes ago one of his men had come up to him and asked when the order had been given to search and rescue.

“It hasn’t,” he’d responded.

His man had looked confused, and then had told him that 51’s had already gone in. He’d been in the process of confirming that when the bar’s owner, Patrick Kelly, intercepted him and anxiously asked if they’d been able to find the missing men yet. It was then that Captain Flores found out exactly who it was they’d gone in to rescue. Then he understood – why Station 51 had shown up uninvited, and why they’d gone against not only orders, but protocol.

Chief McConnike jogged up to Flores’ side. “Did I hear you right? Fifty-one’s entered the building?”

“That’s correct,” Ray answered, still watching Stoker as he pulled his mask over his face.

McConnike was stunned. “Who ordered them in?”

“I believe it was Hank Stanley, Sir.”

“What? Is he crazy?”

“Possibly.”

McConnike’s eyes followed Flores’s and watched as Stoker abandoned the engine and ran toward the building. “Is that Mike Stoker?!”

Flores nodded slowly. “Yep.”

Aghast, McConnike took a couple of steps forward and stopped . “What the hell is he doing?! Ray, do you care to enlighten me as to why Hank Stanley would order his men into this deathtrap?”

Ray sighed and turned toward his chief. “Chief, they went in to rescue one of their men.”

“What? You mean Stanley had already sent someone in there?”

“Not exactly. Chief, they went in to rescue John Gage. He was working in the bar tonight and is one of the two victims.”

Still dumbfounded, McConnike could only stare in astonishment.

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

The photograph the news media snapped of Station 51’s crew exiting the building that evening would appear on the front page of the paper the next morning with rave headlines, along with a gutwrenching story telling of pure heroics. The news photographers who shot it compared it to the famous photograph of the five U.S. Marines who raised the American flag at Iwo Jima in 1945, boasting that it was so good he could be a candidate to win the Pulitzer Prize.

The sight everyone saw was breathtaking to say the least. The entire crew of Station 51, save the two on-duty paramedics, materialized through a cloud of black smoke and into the night linked together as one unit. John Gage’s limp form was in the center. Face up now, bare-chested and spread-eagled, his upper half was supported by Marco Lopez, who struggled to keep his air mask over his comrade’s face while he carried him to safety, which wasn’t easy with Gage’s head sagging backward lifelessly. Behind Marco and barely holding on to Johnny’s right leg was Captain Stanley, who staggered drunkenly alongside his engineer, his wounded right hand now awkwardly extended for balance and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Mike Stoker carried Chet Kelly, who had broken his ankle and possibly fractured his leg, over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, while somehow managing to maintain a support hold on Johnny’s left leg one handedly. Covered in a combination of black soot and blood, all five of them looked like they had just come through the gates of hell.

Everyone watched in stunned awe for several seconds before a crowd of firemen converged on them, relieving them of their burdens and ushering them to medical attention. It was quite a sight.

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

Roy DeSoto took a tentative sniff of the coffee he’d just poured himself from the base station at Rampart. His nose wrinkled at the burnt smell of the old oily brew, but he ventured a sip anyway, for lack of anything better to do while he waited for his partner. He shuddered. That’s what you get when you drink hospital coffee this late in the day, DeSoto. How can Johnny drink this stuff black?

After procrastinating for as long as he could, Roy had finally returned to work a few weeks ago.  At first, Roy had been surprised at how out of sync he felt. It didn’t take long to figure out why. His partner – his real partner was absent. He and Johnny had become so intertwined with one another that it was almost hard to be fully functional without him. It sometimes felt like working without one of his limbs, or maybe only half his brain. Roy wondered if Johnny had experienced the same problem working without him; he didn’t have to think too hard to come up with the answer.

Roy sighed while he waited for Gil, who’d gone to visit a nurse he’d been dating. As familiar as the scenario was, the flavor of the scene tasted entirely different than when he’d been partnered with Johnny. Nothing about this job will probably ever feel the same again, he mused sadly.

Roy liked Gil, and he was easy to work with, easy to get along with. He’d gained a lot more confidence in himself since the time he’d spent with Gage and DeSoto during training. He was a good partner. But he wasn’t Johnny. More than once Roy played with the idea of whether he would stay on at 51’s if Johnny didn’t return. He still really didn’t know what Johnny intended to do.

Glancing at his watch, Roy fidgeted, a little disappointed that there was no one to talk to. Apparently the ER staff was busy with patients; they usually were on the weekend nights. The few nurses he saw in the hallways seemed to be in a hurry, and the base station had been empty since he’d arrived.

Less than twenty seconds later the hall filled with the controlled commotion of several patients being brought in. Ankles crossed and leaning against the front of the counter, Roy watched as a gurney approached, stumbling forward in shock as the identity of the man on the gurney whizzing by him became recognizable. “Cap?!”

Lee Mason didn’t even notice Roy until the paramedic spoke. “Hey Roy,” he said in a tight voice, not slowing down.

Roy took a couple of steps alongside the gurney as it rolled toward the exam room. He looked down at Hank Stanley’s blackened face. The Cap’s eyes were closed, his mouth drawn in to a thin line. An IV snaked out from under his sheet where his bloody hand lay hidden. When his captain didn’t respond, Roy tried again. “Cap?” He looked up at Lee questioningly. “What happened?”

“Cut his hand pretty bad, Roy. At that bar fire.” He nodded as if Roy knew exactly what he was talking about. “Half your crew’s Code I’s.” He met Roy’s stare with a worried look. “Including Gage. We’ll talk in a minute.” He disappeared through the ER door.

Just as Roy was preparing to follow him in, a rather slurred, “Hey Roy,” came from behind him. Whirling around, the paramedic was astonished to see Chet being wheeled toward another exam room on a second gurney. Chet’s eyes were glassy, the look one usually had when they were loaded up with pain killers.

Before Roy could ask, Chet reached out to him, waving his hand to get his attention. “Roy, let me know how Johnny is, will ya?”

“Johnny? Chet, what happened?” When Chet didn’t seem sensate enough to answer, Roy’s questioning eyes found Antonio Bianco, the paramedic bringing Chet in.

“You didn’t hear? That bar Chet’s brother owns burned down. Gage was working there tonight. Almost got himself killed.” He nodded once at Roy, then he too disappeared through another swinging treatment room door, leaving Roy standing there agape.

DeSoto wasn’t sure whether Tony was talking about Chet or Johnny when he referred to one of them almost getting killed. As his mind filled with questions, he didn’t know which way to turn. How seriously were Chet and Captain Stanley injured? And was Johnny here too?

Before he could react, Dixie appeared in a flurry, her hands filled with a tray of blood samples. She was on her way to the lab but saw Roy and headed toward him.

Dixie blew a stand of hair away from her face. “Roy, I’m glad you’re here.”

“What’s going on Dixie? Apparently half my station’s crew is here and – ”

She nudged him with her elbow as she continued walking. “I’ve got to get this to the lab. C’mon with me and I’ll tell you everything.

“Okay,” Roy walked beside her as she headed toward the lab. “Dixie, is Johnny here?”

Her blue eyes were wide and serious as she threw a sideways look at him. “Yeah, he’s here. They brought him in about fifteen minutes ago.”

I must have just missed him!

Dixie explained everything as they walked, including what she knew about each of the men’s injuries, then turned to him just before she pushed the lab door open. “Johnny’s in three. They’re prepping him for surgery.”

Roy swallowed and nodded, then ran toward room three.

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

Gage was curled on his side on the exam table, his face toward the door when Roy entered. Johnny’s bloody jeans, underwear, and shoes lay discarded on the floor in the corner of the room.

Roy took slow steps toward his friend, nodding at Mike Morton as he approached, who was examining Johnny’s back.

Johnny’s eyes were closed and an oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth. He, like his comrades, was covered in soot, but the blackness was mixed with the red of his own blood, which seemed to be smeared over most of his upper body and face.

What was really disconcerting to Roy was Johnny’s ear. It had overflowed with blood, the top of it torn and mangled. Above the ear it looked as if someone had taken a butcher knife to the side of his head, for the hair there had been ripped away; vertical gashes seeped jagged lines of blood. Roy didn’t know if the blood was coming from inside the ear as a result of a head injury, or from the cuts on John’s head or the top of the ear itself.

Below, where Johnny’s collarbone had snapped, his skin was turning purple. His arm was taped to his side to prevent movement.

Roy leaned down a bit, gently touching Johnny on his forearm. “Hey, Johnny? It’s me. Roy. You hear me?”

Semi-conscious, Johnny was shocky from blood loss and pain. His eyes opened halfway but he didn’t seem to register anything around him, including Roy’s presence. He was groaning softly, his body convulsing every so often when the smoke in his lungs forced him to cough.

Roy bent closer when it appeared Johnny was trying to say something, but all he heard was a soft, “Mi…Mi…”

Gage was obviously agitated about something, and when Johnny’s hand weakly lifted an inch, Roy placed his own on top of it, intuitively preventing any movement that might make things worse.

 Mike fitted his stethoscope into his ears and reached around to Johnny’s chest to listen to his lungs. He checked John’s wrist once more. “Rate’s 110,” he said to no one in particular. After what seemed like an eternity to Roy, Mike finally looked up at him.

“How is he?” Roy asked softly.

Mike’s mouth twisted as he took another glance at John’s back. “Well he’s not too good right now, and you’ll know why if you take a look at his back.”

Roy gently released Johnny’s limp hand and walked around to his other side. In the center of his back was a nasty looking red blistering burn about the size of a lid from a coffee can. “Oh,” he whispered on an exhale, his brows caving together. “How bad?”

“Mid-dermal second degree surrounded by first degree. If he’s lucky it won’t leave too bad a scar.”

Roy gestured toward two bloody gouges in Gage’s upper and lower back, suddenly noticing a metal screw protruding from one of them. “What the hell happened there?”

“A metal light fixture fell on him. Apparently he had a matched set of these,” he gestured toward the embedded screw, “until his rescuers unwittingly performed in-the-field surgery and tore one of them out while they were unburying him. I just hope this one hasn’t punctured a kidney.”

Roy’s eyes widened a bit, and he glanced down at the grisly sight of the remaining screw protruding from a jagged tear in Johnny’s skin.

A nurse deflated the cuff around Johnny’s arm. “BP’s 150 over 90. Respiration’s 28 and labored, doctor.”

Roy’s head snapped around when he heard another pain-filled moan. The oxygen mask covering John’s nose and mouth was fogged with his quick breaths. “Doc, has he had any pain meds?”

“Nuh-uh, unless you want to count Tylenol.”

The look in Roy’s eyes indicated that he wasn’t happy about his friend’s suffering. “Doctor Morton – ”

“DeSoto, you ever hear of second impact syndrome?”

Roy’s gaze moved to Gage’s bloody head and his shoulders slumped in realization. “Yeah.” Johnny could easily die from a second concussion if the one he’d suffered recently hadn’t healed enough.

“I thought so. So unless you want your friend to suffer fatal cerebral edema, I can’t give him anything until I know how bad this head injury is.”

Roy hesitated. “What about his ear? Do you think – ”

Just then a nurse appeared at Morton’s side with an envelope in her hands. “X-rays, Doctor.”

Mike thanked her, then ordered a surgical room be prepared. After that, he gestured Roy over to the lighted screen to view the x-rays.

As he slapped the films into place, Mike explained that he suspected the bloody ear was from the wound above it, and not because of a head injury.

Leaning in, Mike studied the films. Roy stayed silent by his side, glancing back at Johnny as he heard another groan.

“He’s lucky,” Morton said somberly.

“Everything’s okay?” Roy asked with relief.

“Well, far from that, but it could be a lot worse. Brain looks normal.” He arched a sarcastic eyebrow. “He’s got a minor concussion…” He studied the film of Johnny’s torso and narrowed his eyes, “…looks like the screw missed the kidney. The clavicle break should heal in a few months.” He turned toward a nurse tending Johnny and ordered Meperedine. “We’ll get him up to surgery in a few minutes. We’ll start debridement tomorrow; Dr. Grimes’ll be treating his burn. His back is the main thing I’m concerned about right now.” Mike’s face was taut, his arms crossed.

Roy walked back over to Johnny. The nurse was administering the Meperedine. He glanced over at Mike just as a gurney was wheeled into the room. “Dr. Morton, do you know anything about what happened?”

“Yeah, somewhat.” He let out a long, tired breath of air. “Gage was just doing what comes naturally to him.” Mike moved the IV stand out of the way. “Unfortunately, once again, playing the part of a hero comes with a price.” Instead of the admonishment Roy expected to hear in Morton’s voice, his undertone was one of respect. “Someone should remind him that if he wants to fight fires, he needs to wear his turnout gear.”

“I’ll tell him that,” Roy answered somberly.

Roy didn’t have many details; Dixie had mentioned that Johnny had been trying to help the customers escape. While it wasn’t like Johnny to take careless chances, he never hesitated to put a victim first, even if it meant risking a possible consequence to himself. Roy knew that in those cases Johnny truly believed he would get out unscathed, or he wouldn’t make the attempt. He wasn’t stupid.

As to how or why the other members of his crew had been injured, Roy hadn’t a clue. Captain Stanley was a by-the-book guy, so for several of the crew to have been injured was extremely unusual, but maybe if he had been trying to help Johnny…

They were preparing to move John to the gurney. Roy stepped up to help, positioning himself at his friend’s head.

“Easy,” Morton instructed. “Keep him on his side…watch that shoulder! Good…that’s it…”

Despite their gentleness, John’s face contorted in pain and he let out a tortured, “Agh.” After that, his mantra of, “Mi…Mi…commenced.

Then they were wheeling him out.

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

Roy watched as the elevator swallowed up Johnny and his entourage. Just as he turned, he saw his captain being wheeled out of his exam room and toward the same elevator. He walked toward him.

Hank’s eyes were half opened now and as he passed Roy, he reached out and snagged Roy’s shirt with his good hand. “DeSoto,” he murmured.

Roy walked along side the gurney as it proceeded down the hallway. “Hey, Cap. Take it easy.”

“DeSoto,” Stanley slurred as if his mouth was full of maple syrup.

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Tell McConnike…sssorry…’bout his hat.”

A corner of Roy’s mouth lifted in a smile. “I’ll tell him, Cap. Don’t worry.”

“Good. Good.” Hank closed his eyes now.

The elevator doors opened and Gil walked out. He did a double take when he saw who was lying on the gurney. Stepping aside, he gawked first at Stanley, then at Roy. “Captain Stanley! What happened?”

The elevator doors closed and they were gone.

“Roy, what’s going on?”

“You miss a lot when you go off to flirt with girls.”

Gil frowned and Roy filled him in. Gil was incredulous but like Roy, wanted to know more details. As it happened, they wouldn’t get any answers until morning. Before Roy could say a word, they got a call.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roy and Gil walked through the doors into Rampart’s ER, their gait arduous after a long night of runs. Now in street clothes, they had returned to see how their comrades were, and – to get some answers.

Harold Porter and Greg Brehm from Station 45 were just leaving the base station and spotted the paramedic pair.

Greg approached them as they walked. “Hey Roy, Gil. Come to visit your crew?”

Roy pressed his lips together then answered. “Yeah. Have you heard anything?”

“We just got here, so, no.”

Disappointed, Roy looked around for Dixie.

Greg shoved his hands into his pocket. “You missed a bad scene last night.”

“What do you know about it?” Gil asked.

“Pretty much everything,” Harold said, “since we were there.”

Roy perked up in interest. “You were? Can you tell us what happened?”

The two paramedics from Station 45 explained how 51’s engine had arrived unannounced.

Roy wasn’t too surprised, given that the bar belonged to Chet’s brother. He figured Stanley probably called in a 10-8 to Dispatch, putting them into service at the scene. He was wrong. Stanley had instead called them ‘out of service’, which surprised Roy.

It was when 45’s paramedics told how Captain Stanley had disobeyed orders to stay clear of the building and entered anyway – and took the rest of his crew with him, thereby exposing them to peril – that Roy was a little shocked.

Then Harold went on in an animated tone how Mike Stoker had actually left the engine to go in and rescue them on his own when they’d gotten into trouble inside.

Without hearing both sides of the story, Roy couldn’t think of anything to say. He could only conclude that the situation must have dire. 

 “The Chief was pissed,” Harold said gravely. “You guys may not have a captain when Headquarters gets done with him. As a matter of fact, you may not have anyone left in your crew. They’re all in trouble.”

“What are you talking about?” Roy asked tensely.

“Well, word is already going around about HQ dismissing Stanley – ”

“Dismissing!” Gil exclaimed.

“Well he’s going to get some disciplinary action, possibly a reduction in rank or a suspension at the very least. I guess we all know why he went in – to rescue Gage, but to order the rest of his crew go with him and endanger them too?”

“Maybe the guys volunteered to go in,” Gil almost growled out in defense.

“Maybe. But what was Gage doing inside a burning building, without any gear, trying to pull off a one man rescue when we were almost there? I mean, no offense Roy, but it sure seems like Johnny’s judgment is a little off the track these days.

DeSoto’s jaw hardened. “Yeah, kind of like how off track he was when he kept searching for me when I was missing, right Harold?”

Harold’s chin moved backward toward his neck and he put his hands up in defense. “Hey, DeSoto, I didn’t mean –”

“Yeah, I know what you meant. I’m beginning to see very clearly now exactly how things went while I was gone.” Before either Greg or Harold could respond further, Roy turned and walked away from them.

Gil looked at them both, his gaze unwavering. “You’re wrong about Gage. And don’t be too quick to write off Captain Stanley or the rest of the guys. They may have made some unorthodox decisions, but they came from here,” he gestured to the center of his chest, “and those are the kind of guys I’m glad I’m working with.” With that, Gil departed, catching up with Roy.

By the time Gil caught up with him, Roy was at the base station standing next to Dixie, who had just closed a metal clipboard she was holding.

“What’s the news?” Gil asked Roy.

“Both Gage and Cap had surgery, both went all right. Gage should recover with time; they don’t know yet about Cap’s hand. He had some nerve damage; he’s going to need a lot of physical therapy…” Roy sighed, remembering how upset Captain Stanley had been when he’d thought he had arthritis. Roy could only imagine how he felt now, facing the possible loss of his job due to a crippling hand injury. “Chet had his leg casted and Marco took him home.”

Dixie looked from one to the other. Both looked a little lost. “Why don’t you guys split up – one of you go see Johnny, one of you go see Captain Stanley. Roy has the room numbers.”

“That’s a good idea,” Roy agreed. He wasn’t sure which friend to go to first though. Hank knew Roy better than Gil, looked at him as more of an equal. The Cap probably needed a friend to talk to about now…but then Johnny was his best friend, and Johnny didn’t really have anyone else that close to him. Roy made his decision. “Look, I’ll go see Johnny first; why don’t you check in on the Cap?”

“Okay.” Gil nodded and they headed for the elevator together.

Part 12