Unexpected

By Caressa

 

 

 

Chapter 1:  Unexpected

 

 

 

 

He never saw it coming. 
 

She was old.  She was grey.  She clutched a little-old-lady-handbag.   The last thing John Gage expected was for her to swing a Ruger to his temple, and yank back the hammer.   
 

It was cold against his skin, which quickly slickened with anxious sweat.  His eyes narrowed to slits, darting from her face to the gun. He saw her expression shift.   Dull green eyes stared at him.  Johnny was silenced by fear.

Her wrinkles deepened.  She studied his incredulous expression and nodded, as if sharing a secret with a friend. 

 

 “It’s the only way to get attention these days.” 
 

Her voice was surprisingly sharp, sending a prickling chill over his chest.  Crazy, he thought.  Hot sweat streaked his cheeks, dripping from his chin splashing to the floor.   Johnny’s eyes shifted to the dirty tile and back to the old woman.
 

“I don’t understand,” he said gently. “I came here to help you.” 
 

“Sorry Son, but I don’t need your kind of help.  I’m going to help myself. Through you.”   She leaned forward and studied his eyes for a moment, easing the gun’s pressure.   “Nice brown eyes.  Speckly.  I like that.”
 

The muzzle again pressed firmly to his temple, then suddenly shifted to his left eye. The black steel ring hovered a mere paper’s width from contact.   He could feel his heart thumping heavily in his chest, beating his aching throat, rendering him vaguely lightheaded.  Johnny’s eyes shifted toward the door, then slipped back to the gun, which shook with new vigor.  Her tremor became course, and her finger twitched against the trigger.  The dark hollow of the barrel bore down, blurring in his vision. Johnny didn’t dare close his eyes.
 

“Hey!”  She yelled at him, her stale breath filling the air. The gun jerked to his forehead, paused, and lurched back to his left eye.  
 

Though he thought he should be embarrassed by nervous sweat dripping from his chin, the blurry vision of the cool metal stilled the thought.   All the result of an old lady I could blow over with a deep breath.  He knew, given the chance, he could easily overpower her.   Her wasted body was barely half his weight, without an inch of muscle gracing her spindly arms. 
 

But the hollow outline of the muzzle along with her stolid expression stilled the thought. Studying her eyes, he knew that one move would result in searing pain, if he even had the chance to feel the bullet ravage his brain. The gun advanced. He leaned back imperceptibly. The muzzle’s glinting ring was merely a hair’s breadth from his left eye. The warning was clear.  The trigger would be half way to bloody hell with one breath too deep. 
 

If he wasn’t in such deep trouble, the shocked expression on Roy’s face would have been laughable.  Roy immediately schooled his surprise, and stepped back from the doorway.  Johnny could hear the soft squelch of the HT, as Roy whispered for the cops and back up.  Johnny felt momentarily chagrined at thought of their arrival.   Hopefully, he thought, I’ll live long enough to blush.
 

Roy returned to the doorway, peeking around the frame, his brows raised in unspoken question.  Johnny offered a slight shrug, his eyes never wavering from the gun.  The sudden sound of Roy’s voice startled him, and evidently the woman as well.  Her eyes shot over to Roy, but the gun never wavered from his chest.
 

“Ma’am.  I’m Roy DeSoto with the Fire Department.  We are Paramedics, we’re Firemen, and we were called here to assist an ill person.  Are you injured?”
 

She studied him suspiciously.  “No.  But yes.  I just need help.”
 

Roy shifted; the uneasiness in his voice was clearly evident to Johnny. 
 

“Ma’am, you have my partner, a firefighter there, a Paramedic, who came here to help you.  We are happy to do so, but I need you to put the gun down before anyone gets hurt.”
 

Her eyes squinted down at Johnny.  He could sense her grip tighten on the gun.
 

“This ain’t gonna work,” she said quietly. 
 

Roy watched the woman slowly lower the gun.  He released the breath he was holding. 

 

Roy shuttered at the unexpected crack, instinctively crouching to the ground.
 

Johnny screamed.
 

Roy startled at the bright red blood furiously flowing from Gage’s right thigh.  It poured over the tile, frighteningly copious and as red as a freshly washed Engine.   Roy barreled into the old woman, knocking her to the ground. He scrambled for the gun and lifted the HT.
 

“LA Squad 51, we have shooting at our location.  Paramedic shot.  Firearm has been secured.  We need police, an ambulance, and a second squad.” 
 

Roy threw the HT to the ground, and immediately applied pressure to the wound, attempting to still Johnny  as he squirmed away from the pain. 

 

“Johnny be still! I need to hold pressure. Stop pulling away, stop moving! Bleeding’s bad, stop moving, John!”

 

Johnny rolled to his side, his head thrown back, face contorted in agony.  “Burning, burning, ahhh, ahhh!”

 

Roy wished he could console his friend, but the blood was flowing in swirls like a mighty river. Roy was chilled.  Frightened, Roy pressed his bare hands over the bloody fountain and leaned into the wound.
 

Gage squirmed wildly under his hands.  Roy struggled to maintain pressure on the wound.   Sweat poured from Roy’s face and his hands were slick red, making it difficult to keep steady pressure. Warm red blood bubbled between his fingers, and he feared Gage would bleed to death before help arrived.  A frigid chill crept over him, and with it, Gage’s struggle suddenly ended. Johnny’s pale sweat-slick body lay motionless.
 

Shocked by the stillness, Roy hesitated, his breath stuck in the sudden thickness of his throat.  He studied Johnny’s slack features and stark white complexion.  Roy laid trembling fingers over his partner’s carotid, and felt weak at the realization that Gage wasn’t dead.  But as soon as relief filled him, the thready thump of Gage’s pulse was lost.
 

“No, no . . . not now,” he whispered to himself, and swiftly raised Johnny’s legs, propping them up on a nearby chair, while pressing firmly on the wound. Roy held his breath as his fingers pressed against his partner’s carotid with his free hand.  Roy’s head dropped suddenly to his chest.  He let out a long held breath, and closed his eyes in relief. 
 

The patio fell silent.
 

“Is he dead?”  The crackly voice called out.
 

The voice was enough to shoot Roy to his feet, sending him barreling toward the old women, who fell to the ground startled.  Roy grabbed the gun, engaged the safety, and shoved it in his belt.
 

“Don’t even think about moving!  I don’t care how old you are, one move and I’ll tie you up!”
 

Roy immediately pulled off his belt and shirt.  Folding his shirt he pressed it to Johnny’s wound stemming the flow of blood.  Roy leaned on the makeshift bandage, and strapped the fabric firmly in place with his belt.  He pulled off Gage’s shoe, and felt for a pedal pulse.  He sat back in relief.  It was faint, but there.   He bought a little time.  Roy hoped it was enough.  A vision of Johnny limping one legged pushed burning bile to his throat.  His eyes scanned the scene.  Blood was everywhere, on the walls, the floor, his hands, his uniform.  Johnny was bathed in it.  Roy knew he had little time left.
 

When Captain Stanley burst through the door flanked by Officer Vince Howard, who was throwing expletives at Stanley’s lack of caution, he stopped short at the rivers of blood splashed throughout the kitchen.  The Captain approached Roy, and froze when he looked at Gage’s face. Dead, he thought. His throat narrowed, strangling his voice.
 

“Roy,” the Captain’s hushed voice whispered, “is he...”
 

Roy cut him off with a sharp ‘No.’ He pressed deeper into the wound.  Blood continued to bubble around his fingers.  He swallowed back hot vomit burning his throat.

 

“But I don’t know how long that’s gonna last. Get the IV kit and the drug box!  Call Rampart.  Tell ‘em I’m starting two lines of saline, wide open. I need the cuff.  And I need a damn ambulance!  Speed is the only thing that will save him. I can’t do much.”
 

Roy pulled out his scissors and sliced open the rent in John’s uniform pants, exposing the edges of the wound.  He felt for an exit, but found none.  Roy lifted the bandage. The bleeding slowed, but continued to flow.  Roy immediately looked to Gage’s face.
 

It was still as silent death.
 

Roy’s trembling fingers pressed hesitantly to Johnny’s carotid.  His skin was chilled and slick and Roy shut his eyes hoping to feel a beat under his fingers.  Roy swung around to the Officer. 
 

“No ambulance here?”
 

 Vince shook his head. 
 

“We’re taking your car.  Right now.  There’s no time left.”
 

Roy reached down and lifted Johnny up, struggling to his feet with the dead weight.  Vince took a step toward him, but Roy barked at him.
 

“Grab the boxes and get to the car!  Chet!  Pull the defibrillator and throw it in the Vince’s car!  Follow in the Squad in case I need something else.  Cap, notify Rampart to be waiting in the bay!  Lets go! Lets go!”
 

Captain Stanley stood silently watching the Police car and Squad sweep around the corner. He looked down at his feet, and then at his bloody hands.  Nausea churned in his gut.  When he looked up, the vehicles were gone from sight. He watched for another moment, knowing he had expected this day would come.
 

He’d lost a firefighter.
 

A young one to boot.
 

Hank was frozen in place, staring at the empty road, his mind swirling with memories of lost men and long rows of firefighters in dress uniform.  Dammit Johnny, he thought, how the hell did this happen?
 

 

Chapter 2:  Flight

 

 

 

“Left turn!”  Vince called out without looking away from the road before him. 
 

Roy could feel the car surge into the turn, skidding around a sharp corner.    A quick glance ahead confirmed their location.  Two minutes, he thought.   He looked down at John, pressing his fingers to the carotid.   Roy could barely feel the thready pulse racing under his fingers.  He studied John’s appearance. Still. Sallow. Slick. Anguish flooded his throat.  Tears swelled to his eyes.  Nausea swirled his stomach.   The car leaned into the familiar turn and surged ahead.  Roy jerked forward with the slam of the brakes. Vince skidded to a stop.  The doors flew open. 

 

Brackett grabbed Johnny’s shoulders, yanking him from the car and lifted him onto the waiting stretcher, which was pulling forward before Johnny’s body brushed the bed.  Roy could hear Brackett barking orders as they raced through the entrance.  The timber was urgent, but controlled, and Roy felt brief relief to have the burden of Johnny’s life lifted from his shoulders.  Brackett stopped in the hall, and a team of doctors and nurses converged on the stretcher.  An ET was dropped and an Ambu bag rhythmically forced oxygen into Johnny’s lungs. Saline was replaced by units of blood, and a nurse squeezed the bag, forcing the life preserving cells into his veins.  The rapid ring of the EKG, while frightening, reassured Roy that Johnny still had a chance. 
 

“Okay, let’s go! Move, move, move, people!”  Brackett yelled, shoving the stretcher forward, and racing along side to an elevator held open by a nurse.  She pulled the foot of the bed in, and the door slid closed as the last of the team piled in.
 

Roy stood in the hallway staring at the elevator door, the swift swish soft as it rose.  He watched the dial stall on the second floor.  Surgery, he thought.   Johnny’s fate was beyond his reach.  Dread pressured his chest, stalling in his throat.  Tears threatened his eyes.  He couldn’t believe what had happened in the last 10 minutes.  Roy looked up at the dial, still stalled on the second floor.   After a few moments, the elevator began to descend.   Roy hung his head wearily.   The scent of fresh blood drove bile to his throat, propelling him to the restroom.  He vomited over and over, until dry heaves burned in his chest.  He washed his hands and face, but no amount of scrubbing could rinse away the slickness and scent of Johnny’s blood.   Roy returned to the stall, vomiting once again.  Exhausted, he slid to the floor and rested his head on his knees.  In the lonely silence of the bathroom stall, tears spilled from Roy’s eyes for the first time in 10 years. 
 

Fifteen minutes later, the door slowly swept open, and a worn pair of black boots stepped in front of open stall and paused.  Roy recognized those shoes immediately, which normally would drive him to his feet.  But this time, the soiled floor held his gaze.  It was a full minute before he could speak.
 

“Is it over Cap?"
 

“I don’t know.  No word.  Suppose that’s a good thing.”
 

“Maybe,” Roy answered automatically.  He knew neither of them believed it.
 

The Captain stood quietly for a few moments, then without a word, he reached out, offering Roy his hand.

 

Roy looked up at his Captain, who eyed him sorrowfully.
 

“We should be with him, Roy, when the time comes. You know he’d be there for any of us.   We owe him that.”

 

Roy nodding thoughtfully.  He reached for Hank’s hand, and was pulled to his feet.  The men stood silently, neither wanting to hear Johnny’s fate.   
 

The Captain squared his shoulders, and placed a hand on Roy’s back, leading him to the hallway.   When the door to the elevator opened, Dixie was briskly walking down the hall.
 

“Roy, Captain.  I’ve been looking for you. He’s alive, but not doing well.  We’re pouring in blood and plasma in as fast as we can.”  She paused noting Roy’s stricken expression.   “Kel sent me to find you.  He thought you might want to see him, before...”
 

Dixie’s voice broke, and eyes flooded.  She took a deep breath, and steeled her expression. 
 

 “Let’s go, Roy.”
 

She turned quickly, and Roy and Hank followed her down the hall, stalling as she approached the swinging doors.   She looked back when she heard the footfalls cease.
 

“Roy?”
 

He was stock still, his expression full of unconcealed grief. 
 

Dixie stepped towards him, her expression softening. She lightly held his arm.  “He wouldn’t leave you alone Roy, if Jo wasn’t here.  He’d make sure you didn’t die alone.  We need to help him be at peace, if things don’t go our way.  I don’t want him to be among strangers.”
 

Roy nodded, swallowed back his grief, and stepped forward.  Whatever he had expected in the recovery room, it wasn’t what he actually saw.    He expected the stark white skin spattered with blood. But while still deathly pale, Johnny’s skin was smooth and unblemished, and the rivers of blood and sweat were gone.  He was intubated.  He won’t like that, Roy thought fleetingly.  He reached out at Dixie’s encouragement, and laid his hand on the cool skin of John’s forearm. 
 

“Johnny,” he whispered, his voice catching as emotion seized his throat. His head dropped to his chest, attempting to stall the tears flooding his eyes.  Roy grip tightened on his partner’s arm. “I’m here, Johnny.” he whispered. “Don’t die.  Please don’t die.”
 

Dixie laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Roy stood quietly, his gaze fixed on his friend.   Dixie spoke softly.

 

 “He’s gotten 12 units packed cells, along with plasma.  A bag of platelets is hanging too.  Kel’s on top of it.  He’s pretty upset too.”
 

Roy nodded silently, slowly scanning the outline of John’s body, stalling at the thick bandages firmly taped to his chest. His eyes were wide when he looked up at her, the invasion, while understandable, turning his stomach. “They cracked his chest?”
 

“Yes.  No other choice.  Defib didn’t work. He was dead on arrival in the OR.” 
 

Roy nodded slowly, well aware of that fact, but shuddered upon hearing it out loud. 
 

“Want to go, Roy?  You okay?” she whispered.
 

Roy stared at Johnny for a long moment, then nodded, but stalled when Dixie took his arm. 
 

“Roy?  Let’s go.  He needs quiet.”  When they left the room, a nurse was waiting outside to enter.
 

“Sharon, call me immediately if anything changes, no matter how small.” 
 

Sharon’s eyes were flooded with unshed tears. “I promise.  I’ll take good care of him.  Brackett wants one-on-one for the foreseeable future.”  She turned to Roy. “I’m watching him like a hawk.  I’ll call you immediately if anything changes.”
 

Roy looked up at the nurse.  “I’ll be down the hall.”

 

She stared at him for a moment, a sad expression softening her features. “He’s in good hands, Roy.  We all care about Johnny.”

 

 

Chapter 3:  Pauses

 

 

  If Roy thought he would hear news, good or otherwise, he was mistaken. Dixie, and even Brackett had stopped by the lounge long enough only to pour a strong cup of black coffee.  Obviously weary and uncharacteristically silent, Brackett caught Roy’s eyes for long moment. He looked away toward the door, and Roy thought he might leave without word.
 

  But Brackett turned back, wearing a grim, weary expression.  When he finally spoke, his voice was hushed, and Roy felt chill scraping over his skin.  The timber reminded him of the cautious whispers used when viewing the dead.

   “I’m sorry Roy, no news.”  He turned and walked out of the lounge, his steps slow and shoulders stooped heavily amid the responsibility for Johnny’s life.
 

Roy was taken aback.  In past situations, Brackett was full of fight, flush with bravado. Old phrases spoken by the Doctor drifted through his mind.  He’s strong Roy.  You know he’s a fighter.  He’ll make it through the next 24 hours.  If I have anything to do with it, he’ll be okay.   Roy heard none of the usual boldness Brackett was known for when snatching a life back from the clutches of the dead.  And that, to Roy, was a most disturbing thought. 

 

Unable to handle the implications, Roy felt the sudden need to flee the lounge.  He raced to the stairwell, the quick tap of his boots on the cement stairs calming his spiraling emotions.  When he broke through the door on the first floor, he walked quickly through the ER without looking up.  He couldn’t stand to see teary-eyed nurses casting sympathetic glances at him.   They all knew Johnny.  They’d been through a lot together over the years.  Johnny may have driven every eligible woman in that ER crazy, hell maybe in the whole hospital, but he was loved regardless, admired for his medical acumen and revered for his undeniable bravery.  As a result, the nurses were fiercely protective of him when he was injured.
 

Roy broke through the doors to the ambulance bay.  The day was bright and clear, and the sun warm on his skin.  He was suddenly struck by the lightness of the day, in contrast to the grave weight of the ICU. 
 

Anger surged through him and he grabbed the trashcan and threw it across the ambulance bay, strewing debris over the pavement.  A bottle rolled away from the mess and tapped his boot.  He immediately crushed it with his heavy boot, sending fragments spraying over the driveway.  He bunched a tight fist, ready to drive it into the wall, but hesitated in his swing, when Joanne’s furrowed brow flashed through his mind.
 

I’ve lost it. I really have. What if he dies?  What could I have done? I should have barreled that old dame over when I had the chance.  Johnny was far too close, but I easily could have stopped it. 
 

The sound of the shot rang out, startling him.  Roy immediately crouched to the ground, frantically scanning the area. He swore he could smell gunpowder.  And blood.  Lots of lots of blood.
 

A blaring siren and revving engine turning in the driveway broke the trance, and Roy stood up on shaky legs.  He backed against the wall of the bay, watching the ambulance and Squad 45 back in.  Deke jumped out to assist the crew, but stopped short when he saw Roy.  He stalled, signaled to his partner, and then walked slowly over to Roy.
 

“Roy?”  He asked tentatively. “You okay?”
 

When he received no answer, his breath caught, thinking that Johnny had died. 

  

“Roy, is Johnny?” he whispered.  
 

Roy looked up, and Deke was alarmed by his blank look.  Roy didn’t answer, but slid down the wall, wrapped his arms tightly around his legs, and dropped an unfocused gaze to the ground.  Deke slowly approached him, and crouched to meet his eyes. “Roy?”
 

“He’s alive, but not for long.”  Roy looked away, choking on his words, too tired and too sorrowful to worry about the tears spilling over his cheeks.   He buried his head in his hands, and rested on his knees.  “I can’t believe this happened. I just can’t believe it.”
 

“Roy, when is the last time you slept?”
 

Roy shook his head in response.
 

“Thought so.”  Deke paused for a moment, letting Roy collect his emotions. When Roy calmed, Deke leaned in and spoke softly.
 

“Don’t give up on him Roy.  All the guys are broken up about Gage.  There’re crews getting kicked out of the hallways every shift.  He’s not alone, and Brackett’s doing everything possible.  Brackett won’t let him go easily.  And Gage is a fighter... everybody knows that guy’s good in a dogfight, mainly ‘cuz he doesn’t back out.  Ever.  Never has, never will.  Don’t you give up on ‘em Roy, ‘cuz of everybody here, he needs you most.  He needs you to tell him he’ll get better, man.  That’s what partners do. And it’s what he needs you, to do for him. ”
 

Roy swiped his arm across his eyes, averting his gaze. Slowly, he gained control, finally looking up at Deke.  He stared for a long moment, drawing strength from his friend, and finally nodded slowly.
 

Deke stood and offered a hand.  Roy considered it for a moment, hesitant to return to the sorrow that he knew lay waiting in the ICU.   With a long sigh, he reached for Deke, and was pulled to his feet.
 

Deke placed his hand on Roy’s shoulder and slugged it lightly with the other.
 

“You’re a good partner, Roy.  A good friend.   Johnny always said he was a lucky guy.  There’s no way either of you could have anticipated that an old lady with a warped mind would have a loaded Ruger ready and waiting.  Hell, I saw her.  She looks like my Grandma!  And you can bet after this, that I’m not sitting next to ol’ Grammy at Thanksgiving this year. Gives me the creeps.”
 

Roy smirked at Deke outrageous comparison, but it was enough to break the spiral, at least until he walked through the ER doors and made his way to the elevator leading to ICU.  Deke stuck with him, signing to his partner that he was going up with Roy.  Davis understood immediately, nodded back, signaling support with a cross of his fingers.

 

When they reached the glass doors, Deke hung back, allowing Roy to enter.  But Roy stopped abruptly before the entrance.  He glanced back at the firefighter, and although he didn’t know him well, he was comforted that Deke was a friend of Johnny’s and that he wasn’t facing this alone.
 

“I’ll hang back Roy, and give you a few minutes.”
 

So much for company, Roy thought. Drawing a steadying breath, he pushed through the door.
 

He was greeted by Angie, who was a bit ragged herself.  Her usual ‘neat as a pin’ appearance was lost to a wrinkled uniform and unruly springs of hair disobeying the pins that had been carefully placed hours before.

 

“Hang on a second Roy, we’re changing his dressings.”
 

Roy felt a shock run through him, sending weakness through his legs when his mind imagined the gruesome wound.  He couldn’t envision how Johnny, admittedly vain as he was, would handle the sizable scar.  Could go either way, he thought, hide it or flaunt it.  He hoped it was the latter for John’s sake.
 

Angie returned in a few minutes, at some point having replacing the stray strands of hair that had escaped her barrettes.
 

“Roy, “ she said softly.  “ You want to see Johnny?  Brackett’s only allowing 5 minutes per hour.  He doesn’t want him upset or in any way disturbed.  If you are quiet, I’ll let you stay a few minutes longer.”
 

Roy nodded with understanding.  How could it be worse than I thought? He shuddered, understanding exactly what ‘worse’ would be.  His throat tightened, and a flood of anger swelled in a wave he could barely contain.  Roy’s eyes darted to the doorway.  
 

“I’ll be back in few minutes.” 
 

He turned around abruptly, the unexpected surge of anger roiled, threatening to spill over into physical action. Retreating down the hallway, he roughly pushed through the door of the men’s room, and was met with silence.  When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he wound up his fist and cocked his arm.  The swing was short-lived though, as his anger waned quickly, and his sense returned.  He envisioned his wife’s expression of disapproval, silently chastising his lack of control.  This melded with Cap’s exasperation at his impulsive expression of anger.  His arm dropped, and as it did, he was overwhelmed by sorrow.  His eyes welled for the second time that day, and in this quiet moment, the heaviness of his heart melded with swirls of sorrow.  This time, Roy didn’t try and stop the tears.

 

 

Chapter  4:   Realizations:  

 

 

The lights in the ICU were dim, and the halls silent and still.  When Roy had finally gathered his emotions, he slowly walked back to the unit.  Sharon looked up when he entered, and he could hear the sympathy in her voice when she quietly greeted him. 
 

“Roy, you can go in.”
 

Roy looked up at her, nodded, and without a word turned toward Johnny’s room.  He slipped in quietly and sat in the metal chair pulled to the side of the bed.  Roy’s gaze was firmly on the floor, unready to accept Johnny’s condition.

His head jerked upward at the soft humming moan.  Roy leaned over, and met Johnny’s heavy lidded eyes. 

 

Johnny’s gaze floated away in random directions occasionally squinting, in what Roy interpreted as pain.  John’s eyes fluttered down in sleep. But once closed, Roy heard Johnny take a startled breath, and his eyes opening widely with an expression that Roy could only interpret as fear.
 

He laid a hand on Johnny’s forearm, in the only area that wasn’t bruised by punctures from IVs and blood draws.  He paused there, watching him, and offering what he hoped was silent strength.
 

Johnny calmed at the connection, his breathing stabilizing into a soft easy pace.  The mask was clouded, and Roy could see him squirm against it. Roy watched him closely, and finally finding his voice, he whispered to his friend.
 

“Johnny, you’re gonna be okay.  Rest up and do what the nurses say.  It’s hard now, but you’re on the mend.”

 

Roy choked on his words, his throat flooding with pained emotion.  The first look at his friend, in a dark room with lines and tubes running everywhere, confirmed his worse fears.  There was a good chance that Johnny wouldn’t live through the next few days.  He placed a hand on John’s shoulder, which seemed like the only place that wasn’t punctured by a clear plastic tube.  He could see Johnny’s eyes open, shifting to his face and stall there before floating away, but otherwise he saw no expression of recognition.  He was encouraged however, when the furrows marring Johnny’s face somewhat smoothed over time.  Johnny’s gaze shifted again, and while his pained expression didn’t change, Roy could feel Johnny relax, and hear his heart monitor settle into a gentle cadence for the first time since he arrived.
 

Roy sat quietly, studying his friend.  He was frightened by the severity of his injury.  At this moment, he wasn’t worried about Johnny returning to the job.  He only prayed that he would live, and if he did, that it would be a life Johnny could be happy with.
 

Angie quietly entered giving Roy the signal that it was time to go.  Her expert eyes scanned the monitors, reassuring her that Roy’s visit didn’t have an adverse effect on her patient.    Angie smiled sadly.  “You’re a good friend, Roy.  Johnny always said he was the lucky one on the team.”
 

“I think he was wrong.”
 

Angie offered a sympathetic smile, and nodded in understanding.  “I’ll take good care of him Roy.  I’m watching him closely.  I promise, nothing will get by me.”
 

 Roy nodded and walked slowly out of Johnny’s room into the hallway.  The thought of leaving John alone left him full of sorrow.  He looked up at Angie and she met his gaze.
 

“I’m worried,” he said, his voice catching, “that he’ll die alone.  I . . . I don’t want him to be alone when . . . I need to be here . . .”  Roy choked on his words, unable to continue.
 

“He needs his rest, Roy.  If someone is nearby, he’ll be distracted, and sleep won’t come easily.  I promise, if something turns and I’m worried, I’ll call you right after I call Brackett.  You have my word.”
 

Roy nodded his thanks, unable to form words though the tightness in his throat.  He looked back through the glass at his friend.  He looks comfortable, Roy thought.  I’ll be back tomorrow, Johnny. Please be here.
 

Roy turned slowly and headed out of the ICU.  He took a deep breath once he reached the main hallway.  Deke was waiting.

 

Deke watched Roy closely, which Roy noted and was relieved that the medic wasn’t immediately peppering him with questions, but rather left him to his thoughts and walked quietly beside him down the hallway.
 

They waited in silence by the elevator, and didn’t speak until they reached the Squad.
 

“How’s he doing Roy?”
 

Roy’s stared at the steering wheel.  “He’s suffering, but still fighting.”
 

Deke’s head dropped to his chest.  He remained quiet, eventually averting his gaze out the passenger side window.  He wanted to offer some soothing reassurance, but instead continued to stare at the bay.   He had glimpsed Gage through the glass doors.  Roy was far braver than he was.  Deke well aware of his shortcomings:  he couldn’t handle seeing Gage so broken.  It was selfish, he knew, but seeing his long time friend so fragile, frightened him.  The facade of invincibility was broken with Gage’s senseless shooting.  He doesn’t deserve this, he thought.  He’s a hero.    He shouldn’t be dying because of a crazy broad with a gun.  There’s no glory. Just suffering.  For absolutely nothing.
 

A surge of anger flashed through him, and along with it, his fists connected with the dash.  “Dammit Roy!  Damn that crazy broad!  Gage has literally walked through fire and braved rescues that other guys wouldn’t even give a second thought of trying.  For what?  A bullet to the femoral?  From a freaking out-of her-mind-old-lady! Hell, Roy, I just can’t believe it!  Dammit-to-hell!” He continued to pound the dash with his fist, his anger spent in a quick flash, quickly draining into silence.  Deke slumped in his seat, averting his gaze.
 

Roy paused for a moment, and then revved the engine.  Pulling out of the bay, he didn’t give Deke a second look.  He pealed into traffic giving little notice to the screeching horns  of cut off cars.  The heck with you, he thought, accelerating around the gathering traffic.
 

 

Chapter 5:  Awakening

 

 

Dixie stood quietly by his bedside, studying the furrow of his brow.  She was concerned he was in pain. She had to admit though, that he looked better than he had the day before.  And while an outsider evaluating John for the first time might disagree, she had studied him closely for days, and felt a tinge of hope.  A small one, but it was something nonetheless.
 

Dixie brushed back unruly hair from his brow, fleetingly wondering when the last time he got it cut.  She smoothed the covers blanketing his still form, and looked up when she heard a soft sigh. 
 

His eyes were bleary but open, and moved in an unfocused pattern, finally settling on her face.  He stared at her, and she felt his hand shift under hers.    Dixie smiled widely.
 

“Bout time you paid attention to me, mister,” she whispered gently.
 

Johnny continued staring at her, his mouth moving soundlessly.
 

She leaned over, and finally she heard the soft sound he was working so hard to say.
 

“Dix-ee.”
 

She smiled widely, her heart soaring at the soft sound of his voice, and more so, she was buoyed by his ability to recognize her.  Dixie placed a gentle hand on his chest and smile broadly.
 

“You’re going to be fine, Johnny.  Just rest, and know you are getting better.  Brackett’s watching you like a hawk.  You’ll feel better soon.  You know Kel always gets his way.”
 

Johnny looked confused, and his eyes closed for a full minute. She watched him closely, and pressed her fingers to his wrist, reassured by the regular thrum of his pulse.   When she let go of his hand, his eyes flew open and he drew a startled breath.
 

She grasped his hand immediately and gently leaned down and whispered to him softly.
 

“Johnny, it’s Dixie, you’re in the hospital.  You’re okay. I’m right here. You’re safe.  You’re safe, Johnny.  Look at me, I’m right here with you and I’m not going anywhere.”
 

Johnny continued to stare at her.  He blinked a few times, and his eyes fluttered closed.  When he opened them a few minutes later, she heard him whisper breathlessly. 
 

“Dix.” 
 

Hearing him speak her name, Dixie smiled broadly and leaned in close.

 

 “I’m right here, Johnny.”
 

He blinked a few times.  “Chest.”
 

“Are you in pain, John?”  Her eyes skirted up to the EKG, and she scanned the tracing, relaxing at the normal sinus rhythm.
 

He nodded slowly, as if he wasn’t sure of the question. 
 

“Where is the pain, Johnny?”
 

Steeling herself for action, she expected him to complain of chest pain.
 

Johnny’s eyes wandered lazily around the room, and then returned to her. 
 

Dixie leaned toward him, gently resting her hand on his chest.  She smiled in recognition of his trademark mischievous expression.  It was short-lived however, and his eyes squinted closed, his lips white as they pressed tightly together.
 

   “Johnny, where are you hurting?”
 

He closed his eyes tightly.   “M’leg. M’chest. Wha... happened?”
 

Dixie wasn’t necessarily surprised by the question, given the days he had spent in the ICU, induced into a haze by myriad drugs.
 

“You were hurt on the job.”
 

His eyes widened.  “ Burns?”
 

“No Johnny.  There was no fire.  You don’t have any burns.”
 

“Leg feels fire.”
 

“I know it does Johnny.  I might be able to get you more medicine for pain, now that you are awake.”
 

“What happened?”
 

Dixie wasn’t sure what to say.  “You were shot on a call.  In the leg.  Lost a bit of blood, but you are doing fine now.”
 

His eyes widened. “Roy?”
 

Dixie smiled.  “Roy and the crew are fine. No one else was hurt.”
 

She watched Johnny’s eyes flutter closed.  His breathing evened out, and she thought he was asleep.  No sooner had she taken a step back from the bed, when Johnny jerked upward, eyes wide and breathing hard.  High pitch alarms sounds from the monitor. Dizzy by the sudden movement, he fell back onto the pillows, and his eyes clamped shut. 
 

Dixie was immediately alarmed.  “Carlene!  Call Dr. Brackett!  I need him here now!”
 

Dixie turned back to Johnny, laying a firm hand on his chest. She spied the EKG, which showed tachycardia, but otherwise the tracing appeared normal.
 

  “John!  Johnny! It’s Dixie, you’re okay.  You’re okay. Are you in pain?  John, I need you to tell me what’s happening.”

 

He looked up at her, his eyes wild with panic.
 

“Johnny, you’re okay, you’re safe.  Are you in pain?”
 

“Remember.”
 

“Remember?  What do you remember, Johnny?”
 

“My mother.”
 

“Your mom?”
 

He nodded. “She was there.”
 

“Here? Where John?”
 

“The House.”
 

“The house?”
 

Johnny nodded slowly. “Where I got shot.”
 

Chilled, Dixie realized how close Johnny had been to death.
 

“What happened John?”
 

“She whispered to me. Held me.  She left. Wanted her to stay. Wanted to go with her.”
 

Dixie couldn’t stem the tears flooding her eyes.  “I’m glad you’re here with me, Johnny,” she said softly, brushing his stray bangs away from his eyes.  She held his hand in hers.
 

Johnny’s eyes fluttered closed, his head lolling to the side.  Dixie’s eyes darted to the monitor, which resumed a steady regular rhythm. She let the breath she was holding slowly escape.  Squeezing his hand tightly, she wished that for his sake, that his mother could be here to comfort him. 

 

 

Chapter 6:  Watching
 

 

Brackett burst in to the unit, grabbed the chart from the awaiting nurse and walked directly to Dixie.  When he saw John, looking comfortable and without distress, he was confused.
 

“What happened, Dix?”
 

“I’m not sure Kel, it might be a false alarm. When I first came in, he was clutching his chest, told me he had pain, and looked like he had trouble catching his breath. Then he...” 
 

She paused for a moment and the crack in her voice was not lost on Brackett.
 

“He what?”  Brackett asked, quickly becoming impatient.  
 

“He told me he saw his mother and that he wanted to go with her.”
 

Brackett’s mouth was a thin line.  He wasn’t one to speculate and usually attributed such visions to delirium versus a visitation.
 

“Has he complained of chest pain before?”
 

“No, Carol said he hasn’t spoken a word until now, and gave no indication of chest discomfort.  She said his EKG has been running all along, and there’s only been one alarm three hours ago, which was attributed to a loose lead.” 
 

 “I want to see that EKG.”
 

He paused thoughtfully, and asked quietly,  “Do you know what happened to his parents?  He never mentions them.”
 

She shook her head.  “I only know he lived on a reservation for a time, and was close to his elderly Aunt Eileen, who died about a year ago.  That’s all.  The rest,” she paused with a shrug, “is an enigma.   Asked Roy about it once.  He said of all the talking Johnny does, family information has always been kept close to the vest.  Roy knows very little.  He said he never pried, because he understood from the pieces Johnny told him one time or another, was that his early life was rough, and his parents died years ago. Not sure what happened to his Aunt, but Roy remembered about a year or so ago Johnny was pretty down and quiet, and took some time off.  Roy thinks that she died.  Johnny’s family is never part of any conversation.  Roy thinks he might not have any family members left. ”
 

Brackett nodded silently, studying the EKG strip closely.  His brow wrinkled.  “Dix, get another 12 lead EKG.”
 

“What are you seeing Kel?”
 

“He has an inverted T-wave in lead three. No abnormal Q or S waves. Get a chest x-ray as well.”
 

“Sure, Kel. You want them right now?”
 

He nodded absently while he continued to study the strip.  “Yes, right away.”
 

Dixie prepared the order and returned to Brackett’s side, who had his stethoscope pressed to Johnny’s chest.    He closed his eyes, listening closely to the steady rhythm.  He finished, and looked up at Dixie.  “Sounds good.”
 

Dixie frowned.  “He’s better, right?”
 

Brackett nodded.  “He’s moving in the right direction, just a bit slower than I’d like. Call me immediately with the results.  I’ll be waiting in my office.”

 

Dixie smoothed the covers of his bed.   He stirred lightly, settling down when she laid her hand gently on his chest.  She had never seen him so pale and weak, and the revelation of his mother’s visitation was both chilling and comforting at the same time.  He was better, but his improvement had stalled in the last two days, and while she welcomed the small advances in his health, the delay concerned her.  She knew Brackett was confident he would continue to improve, but Dixie had a bad feeling she couldn’t shake.  She rested her hand on his arm, and then brushed a stray lock of unruly hair from his eyes.  She smiled at his disarray, thinking of the messy mop he proudly refused to trim.  Dixie turned away and headed to the nurses station.
 

“Carol, Dr. Brackett wants a 12 - lead for Johnny, STAT.”
 

Carol’s brow furrowed.  “Was there something on the EKG I missed?  It looked okay.” She fumbled with the copies, pulling the strips out to examine.
 

“Brackett saw a T-wave inversion in one lead and after auscultating, he wants the full 12-lead.  He’s being cautious.”
 

She nodded, and set about the task.  “I’ll do it right now and page him when it’s complete.”
 

“Sounds good. Do you need any help?”
 

“No, Liza is on the way back down, so I’ll have plenty.”   Carol looked over at Johnny and frowned.  “Its hard when you know them.”
 

Dixie’s brow rose slightly.  She glanced at Johnny and then back to her nurse, who looked momentarily sorrowful. “It is difficult.  Are you okay with this?  I can always get another unit nurse to take over.” 
 

“No, no, Dix.  I really want to take care of him.  It’s just sad.  Johnny can be a handful sometimes, but under the bluster, he’s a really good guy.  Its tough to see him suffer like this.  So senseless.”  Carol turned away, paused for a moment, and Dixie could tell she was upset.
 

“I just don’t want him to die here.  On me.  It’s scary.  I’m watching him every minute, but, I don’t know,” she shrugged her shoulders.  “I think I must be tired or something.”
 

Dixie reached out laying her hand over her nurse’s.  “You’re not the only one having hard time, Carol.  He’s a friend, and a good man. We know him well.  And its particularly difficult that it was a trap, a senseless act of violence during a rescue.  But we are nurses, and we will do our job, and cry later.   He’s a courageous man.  We need to be courageous as well.  We owe him the best we can give him.”

 

Carol nodded quietly, pausing a moment to find her voice before she reached for the phone.  “Thanks for the pep talk, Dix. I needed it.”
 

“No worries Carol.  It was as much for me as it was for you.”
 

Dixie turned away after one last glance at the paramedic.  He was laying quietly, his face averted. The gentle rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he was resting easily for now.   
 

 

Chapter 7:   Waiting

 

Brackett returned to the ICU about thirty minutes later.  Carol held out the tracing of the 12-lead that the tech completed a few minutes before.  Dixie arrived moments later, and leaned over his shoulder as he reviewed the strip. 
 

Dixie was silent, closely watching Brackett’s expression, hoping to see an indication of what the tracing revealed.  Brackett was studying ECG closely, pulling out his calipers and rechecking the rhythm.  He sat back, his arms crossed, a thoughtful frown on his face.
 

“Kel?”
 

His gaze snapped up to the nurse, as if he had been concentrating so hard, he didn’t realize she was beside him.
 

“Yeah, Dix?”
 

“You’re frowning.  What’s wrong? What did you find?”
 

“Something, and nothing.”
 

She looked at him quizzically.
 

“It confirms a T-wave anomaly in one lead.  Could be an odd variant.  Considered normal.  It’s an early repolarization. Occurs in younger males who are athletically active.  It’s typically benign.  I don’t remember it before though.  It likely has nothing to do with his condition.  I’m just surprised it wasn’t caught at some point.  I’m sure he had an EKG when he got hit by that car.  Lets pull his old record.  I curious if it was there before, or if it’s new.  The Fire Department requires an EKG as part of their initial physical, so that should be in his chart as well.”
 

“You want me to see the Fire Department has one on record?”
 

“No, no.” He shook his head. “He would have had it here if there was one, and honestly, I don’t want them to misinterpret the finding, and give Johnny a hard time.”
 

“Could it disqualify him from the fire service?”
 

“It’s curious, but likely benign.”
 

Dixie nodded, relieved by Brackett’s assessment. She was worried enough about the paramedic, and while she trusted Brackett implicitly, she couldn’t help having an uneasy feeling about the young paramedic. 
 

Carol approached Dixie.
 

“Dr. Brackett, Dix?  He’s awake.  Thought you might like to see him.  How does the strip look?”
 

Brackett looked up at Carol.  “It looks good.  No problems.”
 

Carol smiled, relieved for the paramedic. “I’m glad to hear it.”
 

Dixie reached Johnny’s bedside first, gently calling his name and taking his hand in hers.
 

“Dix.”
 

She smiled, despite the whisper of his voice. She leaned toward him.  “How are you feeling, tiger?”
 

Johnny rolled his eyes, but a slight smile betrayed his feigned annoyance.
 

Her smile widened at the familiar expression.
 

“I’m okay,” he whispered.  “When can I get out of here?”
 

Dixie laughed. “Music to my ears Johnny, music to my ears.”
 

Brackett stepped forward.  “John, good to see you awake.  I want to listen to your heart and lungs.”
 

Johnny nodded, and settled back in the bed, closing his eyes. 
 

Brackett laid the stethoscope to Gage’s chest, and listened thoughtfully.  Pulling it way, he nodded.  “Sounds good Johnny.  Do you think you could sit up?  I’d like to listen to your lungs.”
 

Dixie placed her arm around Johnny’s back, helping him sit up.  He was unstable, and she didn’t miss the snapping shut of his eyes when he was finally upright.

 

“Johnny, you lightheaded?”

 

“No, I’m okay.”
 

Brackett studied him for a moment. “Anything else bothering you?  Any pain, anything at all? No trouble breathing, no pain in your legs?”  Brackett watched John closely contemplate his questions.
 

“Just tired.  Just want to sleep.”

 

Brackett nodded, helping Dixie ease him back onto the bed. “And this isn’t exactly a place to get a lot of sleep.”  He turned to Carol. 
 

“Change his vitals to q 3 hours for overnight.  If they remain stable, I’ll spread them out.  Get some rest Johnny.  I’ll see you in the morning.”
 

Johnny’s eyes had fallen closed, but he raised his hand in reply.
 

Brackett turned to Dixie.  “Time for you to go home too.  He’s in good hands.  They know to call me at home if anything changes, no matter how small. Go home Dix. He’s doing well.”
 

She looked at Johnny, whose eyes had fluttered closed and was resting quietly. She nodded to Kel, and then to Carol. “Guess I’ll see you in the morning. Night.”
 

Brackett picked up Johnny’s record. “I have to check on one other patient before I go. So I’ll see you tomorrow, Dix.  Carol, I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
 

Dixie nodded and turned to the night nurse.
 

“Carol...”
 

“I know Dix, if something comes up, I’ll call right after I call Brackett. Promise. I’ll take good care of him.”
 

“I know you will, Carol.  I appreciate your extra TLC.”
 

Carol smiled.  “He grows on you.”
 

Dixie laughed softly.  “He certainly does.” Dixie paused, her smile falling as she studied the paramedic. Senseless.  Dixie shook her head to clear her mind before sorrow chased its way into her thoughts.  “See you tomorrow.”
 

Carol watched Dixie exit the Unit and then she turned to Johnny’s bedside.
 

“Good night Johnny.  I’ll be here if you need me.”
 

She hoped he might reply, but when she looked down, his eyes were closed, and he was dozing comfortably.  The soft regular tone of the monitor was reassuring.   “Sweet dreams,” she whispered and left his bedside, watching over her shoulder to be sure he remained settled as she left the room. 

 

Chapter 8:   Struggling

 

 

When Johnny woke up the next morning, his eyes were heavy with fatigue.  His throat was scratchy, and the dry hospital air left him parched.   He wondered how he could feel so tired after laying flat for days.  The details were still fuzzy, and while he knew he had been shot, the particulars of the event were honed down to the relentless throbbing of his leg.  His chest ached with every breath. That coupled with a nagging back ache from laying in the same position for so long. His eyes drifted from the ceiling, sliding closed with the heaviness of fatigue, finally giving in once more to sleep.
 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he emerged from slumber, summoned by the gentle hand brushing his hair from his eyes, and smoothing the sheets he had crumpled in restless moments of sleep.   Finally able to open his eyes, he found a welcome sight:  Dixie was back, fretting over his covers and checking the medical paraphernalia surrounding him.
 

“Hey Dix,” he whispered.
 

Her ministrations immediately ceased, and she smiled tentatively, obviously surprised, but pleased he was awake and recognized her.
 

“Johnny,” she whispered, gently resting her hand on his arm. “How are you feeling this morning?”
 

John closed his eyes and quietly contemplated her question.  Just when Dixie thought he had fallen back to sleep, she heard his soft voice.
 

“I think I’m hungry.”
 

She offered a soft laugh and a gentle smile.  “I think we can fix that pretty easily.  Any wishes?”
 

“Coffee.”
 

“Ah yes, sign of an authentic fireman.  You must be pretty lost without it by now.”
 

Suddenly overtaken by fatigue, Johnny’s eye drifted closed.   He shifted, squinting in discomfort.

 

Dixie hadn’t missed his pained expression.  “Johnny, do you need some pain medication?”
 

His eyes remained closed for a full minute, and when Dixie was about to turn away, thinking he had fallen asleep, she heard his soft voice.
 

“Leg’s hurtin’ pretty good.  Coffee should fix it.”
 

“I’ll get you some, and maybe a little something to take off the edge.”
 

He nodded, his eyes again drifting away.   His body sagged in the bed, accompanied by a deep sigh.
 

“Johnny?”  she asked, “You sure you’re okay?”
 

She didn’t receive an answer, but watched the lines of his face smoothing as he fell deeper into sleep.  Dixie couldn’t help but smile. 
 

He was better, and a small edge of her worry receded for the moment.
 

Dixie entered the ICU break room and poured a cup of coffee for herself.  Today she’d drink it black, hoping the strong scent would stir her from lethargy.  She hadn’t slept well since the paramedic was admitted, and her sleep was still disturbed by the memory of his arrival in the ER.  She had awoken nightly to the image of his face, sheet-white and slack in unconsciousness, peppered with blood. She had thought he was dead when she first saw him. And if it weren’t for the rapid beeping of the monitor mirroring his frantic heartbeat, she would have been frozen in place.  Dixie was certainly used to seeing copious blood, but the drenching slick metallic scent that was Johnny’s blood returned to her at the oddest moments.  She put down her coffee, overcome by swirling hot nausea.  Her stomach burned to her throat.  Not one prone to reacting to vicious injuries after all these years in the ER, the thought of Johnny’s injury immediately quelled any appetite she might have.  Not that she’d had one, or much sleep for that matter, since the young man had arrived at Rampart, a soft breath away from death when she had met him at the ER doors.
 

Dixie couldn’t stem the tears that unexpectedly trailed down her cheeks. Her throat was tight, and she felt unexpectedly weak.  She slid into a chair, and dropped her head into her hands.  She hadn’t cried in years, but the pain and frightening trauma of Johnny’s injury swelled tightly in her throat. 
 

Grateful for the silent privacy of the lounge, she didn’t try and stem her anguish.  Johnny’s arrival in the ER, white as death, slick with shock, and blue with hypoxia was a frightening scene, one she had witnessed in strangers in the past with professional abstraction, but the personal attachment to his man shattered that protection.  She leaned over, her face in her hands, and allowed the waves of tears to flow that she had closely hidden each day and night since his injury.   

 

When Dixie finally returned to the unit forty-five minutes later, bearing a hot cup of hospital coffee, Katie was reviewing the chart outside his room.
“Katie, is everything okay?”
 

“Yes, Miss McCall. Johnny was awake briefly about twenty minutes ago.  He was in pain, although he wouldn’t admit it, but finally consented to medicine.   He’s resting quietly now, lightly dozing, but a bit restless.  I think...” Katie paused, hesitating to continue.
 

“What do you think?”
 

“I think he might be having flashbacks to the shooting.”
 

Dixie’s brow rose.  It was something she could easily understand. She shook her head at the senselessness of the incident, and then addressed her nurse.  “What makes you think that?”
 

 “He gets spells during sleep, where he’s restless, and tachycardic, up to about 110, and his breathing quickens. He startles, and then stays wide awake.  I talked to him for awhile, and eventually he visibly relaxes and vitals fall back to normal.”
 

“ Does Brackett know?”
 

“Yes, I spoke with him this morning after the first and second episode. He looked at the telemetry for the last 24 hours, and while there were a few episodes of tachycardia, he didn’t feel there was anything structurally wrong with his heart.    He thinks he’s becoming more aware and unfortunately, remembers bits and pieces of the shooting.  Once he’s more coherent, Dr. Brackett wants the trauma counselor to see him, just in case.”
 

Dixie nodded thoughtfully.  “The crews on the call are going through critical incident debriefing.  They’re having a hard time too.”  Dixie paused.  “We all are,” she admitted.  “It was a tough thing to witness.”
 

Katie watched Dixie for a moment. “You doing okay, Ms. McCall?  I know Johnny is a friend, you’ve known him a long time. Must have been tough to be there.”

 

Dixie tried to conceal her feelings with a smile, but her eyes filled, thinking of shooting.  “I’m doing fine, Katie.   John is a friend, and it’s rough to see him suffer senselessly.”
 

Katie nodded, uncomfortable with the silence between them. “I guess I’ll go check on him.”
 

“Don’t worry about it Katie, I’m headed that way.”
 

“Yes Ms. McCall, I appreciate the help.”
 

Dixie nodded, and picked up the coffee cup.  She paused for a moment in the room, pushing back the flood of emotions that had been plaguing her since Johnny arrived in the bay.  She looked at the coffee, a small swirl of steam rising from the cup. Dixie straightened and walked forward toward his room, the firm click of her heels reassuring her that she was in charge, not only of her nurses, but her emotions as well.
 

When Dixie reached his bedside, she never expected his brown eyes to meet her.
 

“You’re awake sleepyhead,” she whispered affectionately.  “How are you feeling?  Are you in pain?”
 

Johnny’s gaze floated around the room before refocusing on her face.
 

“Dix.”
 

“Hey Johnny,” she smiled, taking in the squinted eyes. “You okay?”
 

“Terrible.”
 

Dixie’s brow furrowed. “What’s bothering you?”
 

His paused and closed his eyes. “Leg. Throbbing. Headache. Can’t get a deep breath.”
 

Dixie frowned.  “Let me look at when you last meds were.  Do you feel like you need to cough?  Do you have chest pain?”
 

He rubbed his chest, and then shook his head.  “No.”  His eyes slid shut for a moment. When they opened, she could tell he was working to focus on her face. “You look tired, Dix.”
 

“It’s been a hell of a few days, Johnny.  One of my favorite paramedics was shot.  Lost a lot of blood, and scared the heck out of me.  Sleep doesn’t always come easy.”
 

Johnny stared at her for a long moment.  He then nodded to himself.  “Hell of way to die, I’ll tell ya.”
 

“You’re going to be okay Johnny. Your blood levels are much better.  If we can get you to eat soon, that will help too.”
 

Johnny shut his eyes and leaned back, tensing suddenly with a pained expression.  He let out a long breath.  “I almost died in that police car.”
 

Dixie averted her gaze.  “Yes, it was close.”
 

“Don’t remember much.  Other than the pain.  And the feeling.”
 

“The feeling?”  She hesitated, not sure she really wanted to know the implication of the phrase.
 

“Same feeling I got when I blew my spleen getting hit by that car.  Guess I got a penchant for bleeding to death.”
 

“That’s not even funny, Johnny.”
 

“I wasn’t trying to be funny, Dix.  Just the facts as I see ‘em.”
 

Dixie felt an odd sense of anger,  that quickly drained into concern.
 

“Johnny, what are you thinking?”
 

He looked up at her, his gaze wandering, finally setting on her eyes.
 

“I just got the feeling this isn’t over.”
 

A chill prickled over her.  “What do you mean?”
 

“Not sure.  Let’s just say, I’m making sure I’m at peace.”
 

Dixie felt dread settle in her chest.  His premonition was unsettling, given his condition. “You’re going to be okay, Johnny.  You’re recovering well. Your levels are good, you’re awake and coherent, and you’re starting to look more like yourself. We’ll take good care of you.”

 

He nodded, but she could detect a sense of skepticism. 

 

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Johnny?  Something going on?”
 

Johnny stared at her for a long moment, then turned away and closed his eyes.
 

 “Guess I’m just tired is all.  I’m gonna try and sleep.”
 

Dixie nodded.  Placing a gentle hand on his arm, she leaned in close and whispered.  “Don’t give up Johnny, I know the pain can be bad, but you’re rounding the bend, and you’re going to be fine. I’ll let you rest, then I’ll be back, and we’ll talk some more.”
 

Dixie backed away slowly and started walking toward the door, but she continued to look back at the medic.  She couldn’t help but frown, and the worry that had been plaguing her for some time, surged. 
 

She immediately sought out Brackett.  Something bad was going on, and she wasn’t about to wait and let it surprise them at a critical moment.
 

She found Kelly Brackett about 15 minutes later hunched over, his nose not two inches from a x-ray hung on the view box. His brow was bunched in the center, reflecting his intense concentration.
 

“Kel?  Sorry to disturb you.”
 

He paused a moment more, tracing a white line on the film with his finger, then nodded to himself.  He straightened.  “What’s up Dix?”
 

Dixie paused for a moment, unsure how to explain in a way that Brackett wouldn’t brush off her concern.

 

“I’m worried about Johnny,” she started.
 

Brackett frowned, immediately alert.  “Did something change?”  He pulled out his pager to check for missed calls.
 

“Yes and no.” She watched Brackett’s brow rise in confusion.
 

He leaned forward.  “Which is it, Dix?”
 

“He’s saying things, and . . .”  Dixie choked up, her eyes involuntarily filling.  She paused, took a steadying breath and continued.  “He basically told me he has a feeling it’s not over, and that he’s going to die.  He said he made peace with it.”
 

Brackett looked uncharacteristically surprised by the revelation.
 

“Every indication is that he is improving, Dix.  His blood levels are definitely low, but much better, his electrolytes are stable, and renal function has returned to normal.  It all looks good.”  Brackett paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  “It’s a big trauma Dix, It’s not unusual to develop temporary depressive symptoms, or maybe even post-traumatic stress.  It’s common.  I’ll go talk with him in a little while. I’m due to check in on him.”
 

Brackett started to turn away, when Dixie caught his arm.  Brackett’s brow furrowed in confusion.
 

“I’m really worried, Kel. I’ve never seen him like this.  I’ve got a bad feeling.”

 

“I’ll head over in a minute, Dix.  I promise.”
 

“Thanks, Kel.”  Brackett watched thoughtfully as she walked away. He didn’t miss the hint of sadness in her gait. 

 

After completing the patient’s chart, Brackett headed to the ICU.  When he entered, the nurse was waiting with John’s chart.  He smiled briefly. Thanks Dix, he thought.  He gestured to John’s nurse. 
 

“How is he doing?” he asked.
 

Gail paused.  “He’s having a rough time, Dr. Brackett.  No appetite.  Said he was too tired and achy to think about food. Gets lightheaded when he sits up.”
 

Brackett nodded, rechecked the chart, and headed over to John’s bedside.
 

“John, it’s Dr. Brackett.”  Brackett laid his hand on Johnny’s shoulder, rousing him from sleep.
 

Johnny’s eyes slowly opened. “Hey Doc.”
 

“I want listen to your heart and lungs.”
 

“Sure.”
 

Brackett listened closely, pausing and queuing Johnny when to breathe.  When he was done, Brackett pocketed his stethoscope and frowned.

 

“John, I can hear some mild congestion in your left lower lobe. I reviewed your x-ray, and you likely have an early pneumonia.  I’ll take another x-ray later, and I’m going to start some antibiotics today.”
 

Johnny lay back in the bed, his face averted. “I don’t know, Doc.”
 

“What do you mean, John?”
 

Johnny looked down at the covers and picked at imaginary lint.  “Not sure I want any antibiotics. Or an x-ray.”
 

Brackett was astonished at his refusal.  He studied the paramedic for a long moment, then went to the end of the bed, pulled the chart, flipping the pages until he found the one he was looking for.   Brackett’s frown clearly displayed his dissatisfaction.
 

“John, you haven’t been eating much. Why?”
 

Johnny avoided the Doctor’s steady stare. He could feel Brackett’s disapproval without looking up.
 

“Just not hungry.”
 

“Are you sure that’s all?”
 

“Yep.”
 

Brackett folded his arms over his chest and sighed, contemplating what to do next.
 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, John.”
 

“I’ll be here.”
 

Brackett held Johnny’s gaze for a moment, feeling an odd unspoken challenge in the man’s words.  Brackett turned away and headed for the door.
 

“I’ll be right back,” he promised. 
 

Johnny didn’t reply.
 

When Brackett left the ICU, he found Dixie and Roy in the lounge pouring coffee.  Both looked haggard from lack of sleep.  They were concerned, and today, Brackett was kicking himself for assuming Gage’s recovery would be easy and quick.  He had expected the medic to bounce back as he had in the past, with enviable resilience and hard work.   This time though, while his lethargy was understandable after such significant blood loss and trauma, it was as if he was slowly climbing a tall mountain, fraught with setbacks. Brackett had to admit that Dixie’s concern was well founded, despite his initially ignoring her unease.  He realized that Gage didn’t think he would recover.  Brackett knew it would be a haul, including at least another week or two in the hospital along with weeks to months of physical therapy.  He was confident that if he could keep Johnny improving and avoid complications, then he would recover well over the next few months.  The small pulmonary consolidation  on x-ray was worrisome, however it wasn’t unusual in an ICU patient who had been tubed and had altered mental status for a period of time. He’d hit him hard with IV antibiotics, and switch to PO as quickly as feasible.  Physical therapy might raise his spirits and strength as well.
 

The nurse left to prepare John for his infusion.  Brackett was surprised when she returned only moments later, and stood in front of him waiting for him to finish writing.
 

Brackett looked up at the nurse noting her clearly evident concern.
 

“What’s wrong?”
 

“He’s refusing.”
 

“What?”
 

“He told me ‘he’s not up for it, and he doesn’t want them.’ “  She paused.  “There was a big period at the end of his sentence.”
 

Brackett entered the orders.  “Well, I’ll talk to him in a few minutes, and see what he’s thinking.”  Brackett headed directly to the lounge.   When he entered, he found Dixie and Roy sitting at the table, silently sipping coffee.

 

“Dix, you were right to be concerned about his mood. He’s refusing antibiotics.   Did he say anything to you about his injury?”
 

“Honestly, Kel,” She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I got the impression that he thinks he’s going to die.  I’ve seen that look before.” She turned to Roy, who nodded in agreement.  “We both have,” she continued,  “I’m really worried.”
 

“Roy, do you think he might talk to you?  I need to know what he’s thinking. Aside from his x-ray, which shows a minimal consolidation, he looks better on paper, but I’m concerned he’s not telling me everything.”
 

“I can try, but honestly, I think Dix has the better chance.  She may not have gotten much, but he’s talked more to her than to me or the guys. ”
 

Dixie signed and stared at her cup for a few moments.  “Okay, I’ll try.  What’s your plan?”
 

Brackett outlined the medications and felt he should start some therapy.  “We’ll get him moving slowly.  I don’t want him in the unit for long, but I think he still needs close monitoring, particularly because of the slow rise of his hematocrit and  his x-ray.  I think getting him moving as soon as possible will be important for him. I’ll talk with one of the trauma therapists as well.  Let’s face it, this was a significant, violent event, and very unexpected.  It’s humbling, and would make anyone feel helpless.  Who would have expected that old woman to have a gun with the intent to kill, for no reason at all?”
 

Brackett looked up at the two of them, and noted Roy’s sudden paleness. He wanted to slap himself in the head, for not even thinking about Roy’s well being after the incident.
 

“Roy, it might be good for you to talk with the counselor as well, as you can add insight into what happened.”
 

Roy looked up with wide-eyes, and was about to object, but then his head suddenly hung down, and he nodded slowly.  “Okay, Doc.”
 

Dixie headed for the ICU, piecing together what she could say to help motivate the paramedic.  At the moment, she was at a loss.  She hoped for an epiphany in the next few minutes.
 

Fortunately or not, she was spared her concern, as the nurse let her know that Johnny was fast asleep.  Dixie stood in the doorway.  She was pleased that he looked comfortable, without the hallmarks of pain she had witnessed over the past few days.  He was breathing easily. She backed away, and asked his nurse to call her when he was awake.

 

Relieved, she left the ICU and returned to the ER.  For once, the mayhem was comforting to her, allowing her a few moments to forget the pain and shock of Johnny’s shooting.

 

 

Chapter  9:   Healing

 

It was a few hours later when Dixie entered Johnny’s room.  She watched him quietly resting for a moment, deciding whether to disturb him.  Just when she was about to leave, she heard Johnny’s voice whisper to her.
 

“Hey Dix.”
 

“Johnny,” she smiled.  “I’m glad you’re awake.  How are you feeling?”
 

“Pretty good right now.”
 

“No trouble breathing?”
 

“No, pain’s better too.”  Johnny paused for a moment, and she could feel his apprehension. “I really want to get out of this bed, though, even if it’s only for a few minutes.”
 

She was surprised, given his mood earlier in the morning.  Dixie smiled widely. “You seem better this afternoon.”
 

Johnny looked down at his hands, a frown marring his face.  “Yeah, ‘guess I’ve been kinda down. The x-ray really got to me.  I just want to get out of here. Figure now I’ll be stuck here even longer. ”  He picked at the blanket covering his legs.  “I just want to go home.”
 

Dixie nodded thoughtfully, and sat down on the edge of his bed.  “Its understandable.  It was a terrible thing that happened.”
 

John was silent for a long moment, nodding thoughtfully.  “Still can’t believe it.  That gun came out of nowhere.  She was a freaking old lady ... she looked so....I don’t know... grandmotherly.  Not someone you’d expect to pull a Ruger and take you down with one bullet.”
 

Johnny paused, catching his breath.  He lay back for a moment, and stared at the ceiling.  His voice was hushed as he continued.  “When she shot me, I was lightheaded in seconds.  Couldn’t believe all that blood. It was a fountain. Couldn’t believe it was mine.  It was like...”
 

“Like what Johnny?” 
 

He shook his head, averting his eyes.  He took a few shallow breaths, falling silent.
 

Dix tipped her head and leaned forward.  She could tell her question weighted heavily on him.
 

“I didn’t even know what happened at first.  The blood was literally spouting a few feet in the air.  It burned so bad, the pain was incredible. And you know I’ve had it pretty bad before.” Johnny paused to catch his breath.
 

 “I can’t stop seein’ Roy’s expression. He’s always Mr. Cool, you know?  Poker face.  I’m the one that gives stuff away.  But one look at him, and I knew.  I was dying.  Right there on that old lady’s carpet.”
 

John turned away when his voice cracked, and he covered his eyes with his hand.  Dixie could tell he was attempting to control his emotions, which was likely the opposite of what he needed.   She sat on the edge of his bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Her head rested on his.  She could feel him struggling for control.
 

“Johnny, when times are rough for me, it helps to let it out.  I hope you trust me enough to know it wouldn’t go further than you and me.”
 

 Face averted, Johnny leaned into her.  She held him as his shoulders trembled, silently supporting him as emotion surged beyond his control. 
 

She sat with him until he fell asleep, straightening his blankets to be sure he was comfortable.  She felt a rush of anger at his situation, in contrast to a sense of innocence that she could feel as he slept.
 

While Dixie knew he had a ways to go medically, the most difficult parts of his recovery were not over.  She recognized that eventually the wound would heal, and he would be able to physically return to work.  What she wasn’t sure of was how the broken trust of a well-intentioned rescuer would change him.  She’s seen it in the War, where kindhearted tough guys scarred by similar incidents were never the same.  They lost a their basic sense of trust, which lead to a hardened heart, and a tough edge.  She prayed that wouldn’t be Johnny’s fate. She hoped he would eventually be able to accept the randomness of the assault, and move on. 
 

Trouble was, she understood how tough that would be for him.  And how many who tried to climb their way back didn’t make it.  Dixie took one last glance at his sleeping figure, his innocence clear in slumber.  She prayed it remained when he awakened.
 

Brackett entered the ICU for a quick check of labs he had ordered the hour before.   The nurse, aware he was coming, stood with her hand out offering him the results. “How is he doing, Carol?” he asked, scanning the analysis.
 

“Better Dr. Brackett.  He was awake for about 45 minutes and talked with Dixie.  He didn’t eat much, but tried.  Had a glass of milk and some crackers.”
 

Brackett’s eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.
 

“Milk’s his favorite,” she replied with a smile.
 

Brackett smirked and shook his head.  “Better than whiskey, I guess.”
 

“Definitely better than a quite a few of the firefighters I’ve met.”
 

Brackett nodded, but didn’t reply.  It was a quiet truth that a number of firefighters and police were tipplers, and sadly, a few were outright alcoholic.   He was glad that Johnny didn’t fall in either group, as it would have complicated his recovery immensely.
 

“Has he asked for pain medication?”
 

“He won’t ask.  I bring it to him q4 hours and if he looks uncomfortable, I encourage him to take it.”
 

Brackett smirked. “Encourage, huh?”
 

“We all have free will, Dr. Brackett.  I just let him know my reasons with an outline of the benefits of adherence and the consequences of refusal.  Most patient’s see things my way, once they are fully informed, of course.”
 

“And I thought you were nice.”
 

Carol laughed. “I’ve been a nurse a long time.  I just offer my opinion.  He ultimately makes the decision.”
 

“Ah huh.”  Brackett said with a smirk, glanced over at Johnny.  “He’s doing better, quicker than I anticipated.”  He paused, rubbing his chin, deep in thought.  “Not sure how well he’s going to deal with this.  It was an unexpected, violent scene.  Roy and Vince are having a pretty rough time of it.”
 

“He hasn’t asked about the old woman.”
 

“Don’t tell him unless he asks.”
 

“Yes Doctor.”
 

“Sounds like you don’t agree.”
 

Carol paused, a pensive expression lining her face.
 

“Sounds crazy, but even though this was an old woman, maybe he’d feel better knowing she was gone, that he likely won’t need to worry about extensive police interviews, depositions and the like.   He can just heal, and move on.”

Brackett nodded.  “I hadn’t thought of that.  You might be right. I’ll think about how to broach this tomorrow if he continues to improve.”
 

“Don’t wait too long.  He’s skirted around the subject, but I’ve avoided it.  He was out of it, so I don’t think he caught on, but he’s sharper today.   He’ll know the truth if everyone avoids  answering the question.”
 

“Thanks Carol.  I’ll speak with Dix to get her insight, as she spent a lot of time with him. We’ll take care of it today if he continues to improve.”

 

“Sounds like a good plan, but I have to admit, I’m not looking forward to it.  I just don’t know how he will react.”

 

Brackett nodded, pondering her concern.  “It likely won’t be good.”
 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
 

 

 

 Chapter 10 - Truths 

 

 

  Dammit, she thought, I should have gone home when I had the chance.  Carol straightened the covers and pulled back a wrinkle in Johnny’s blanket.

 

He looked at her with sharp brown eyes, as the cloudy confusion of the past week withered away.  She could sense what was coming.
 

“Hey Johnny, how are you feeling?  You look better today.”
 

Johnny looked down thoughtfully. “Tired. Pain’s better.”
 

Carol tucked in the edge his covers, “Good, we have to make sure we stay ahead of it, so we’ll keep to the new schedule then, okay?”
 

“Yeah,” he replied, shifting his back. 
 

Carol didn’t miss his wince. 
 

“You okay?” she asked, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.
 

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
 

Carol was stunned to silence by the unexpected question.  Why me, she thought. She studied him for a long moment. “Yes, she died at here, at Rampart.”
 

His reaction was instant, his expression contorted with emotional pain, and his voice cracked as he spoke.
 

“Tell me no one hurt her. Oh God, Carol, tell me Vince didn’t shoot her.”
 

His breath quickened and she could see his eyes welling up. 
 

“No, no, Johnny, nothing like that,” she said, sitting down on the edge of his bed, laying a gentle hand on his arm.  “She was brought to Rampart for evaluation, and hours later, she suffered a massive stroke and died. Dr. Brackett thinks she had a series of small strokes leading up to her death.”
 

Johnny fell back onto his pillow and took deep breaths to steady his emotions.
 

 “Do they think that’s why she did it?”
 

Carol could feel a sense of hopefulness in his voice, as if he were looking for a plausible reason why a seemingly harmless elderly woman would suddenly act so frighteningly violent.  She understood he was seeking an answer that would offer him understanding and a sense of peace.  
 

“We’ll never really know, but Brackett thinks it’s a strong possibility.”
 

He stared off in the distance and nodded, his expression blank.  He was quiet for a long while, and suddenly closed his eyes and settled back onto his pillow.
 

“You okay?” she asked, concerned about the effect the news may have on him.
 

“I’m pretty wiped out.”
 

She studied him closely, troubled by the downturn in his mood.  She rested her hand on his arm, and saw a whisper of a fleeting smile cross his lips.  He was struggling for control, and she knew it.
 

“Thanks, Carol,” he whispered roughly, “see you tomorrow.”
 

Carol gently squeezed his forearm, silently placing a box of tissues within his reach. “Try and sleep Johnny. I’ll see you in the morning.”
 

Carol walked away slowly, pausing beyond his door to glance back at the medic. His eyes were wide open, his chest trembling in despair.  Her heart ached when he threw his arm across his eyes in an attempt to conceal his fragility.

 

Carol yearned to go to his side, but recognized, after years of knowing Johnny, that emotional displays were a measure of weakness to him, regardless of his wearing his heart on his sleeve.  She stepped away from the entry, and continued her rounds, knowing Johnny was the one patient that she would revisit before she left for the day.

 

After leaving the unit, Carol detoured through the ER on her way to the parking lot. She felt a small sense of relief when she left, that Johnny’s eyes were closed, and while she knew he wasn’t sleeping, at least he was resting comfortably.  She paused before Dixie, who was in the midst of completing a chart, but looked up when she approached.
 

“Carol, is everything okay?”
 

She looked at Dixie for a long moment. “Well, yes and no.”
 

Dixie’s brow furrowed with concern. “What happened?”
 

Carol paused again, her eyes becoming misty.  “He asked about the woman.  I had to tell him she died.” Carol paused, her words caught by aching emotion tightening her throat.   
 

“He was distraught, thinking the police officer shot her to death.  It must have been wearing on him.  I’ve never seen him so upset, Dix.  I told him she died of a stroke after she arrived here.  He’s not taking it well. Won’t talk.  When I left...” Carol’s voice dropped to a whisper.
 

“What happened?”
 

“Let’s just say ... he was pretty upset. I’ve never seen him like this in all the years I’ve known him.   I know he’s easy to read sometimes, but Dix, he was having a pretty rough moment.”
 

“Did you go back?”
 

“No.  I figured he needed to grieve, not only for what happened to her, but for what happened to himself too.  I thought if I tried to comfort him, he’d shut down because he wouldn’t want to appear weak.  He’s having a hard enough time depending on the nurses as it is.  I cherry-picked who’s assigned to him to make it easier on him.”

 

“I noticed you’ve been picking up extra shifts in the unit. Is that why?”
 

Carol looked down for a long moment. “Yes and no.  I need to buy a new car, and well I...”
 

“You want to make sure he’s well cared for.”  Dixie finished her sentence and paused.
 

  “Yeah, something like that.”
 

“Is it getting to be too much for you?”  Dixie asked.
 

“No, no it’s not,” she said, shaking her head.  “He’s a good patient.  I just feel badly, I guess.  He’s been pretty emotional, and I’ve just never seen him that way the other times he was hurt.”
 

Dixie thoughtfully tapped her pencil on the counter. “Do you think it would help if I go see him in a while?”
 

Carol stood silently for a moment. She contemplated returning herself, but understood he would likely benefit from Dixie’s help.  Carol knew she’d be back in about 10 hours, as well.  Both she and Johnny needed sleep.  Hopefully Dixie could help him so he could rest.
 

“I think that would be great, Dixie.  Thanks.  I just feel badly for him. I’ve never seen him like this, not that it doesn't’ make sense, but its a horrible injury, and . . . “  Carol’s voice tailed off, her eyes flooding with tears.
 

“I think I’m tired, Dix, and I just need to go home.” She struggled a smile for her mentor.
 

“I promise I’ll take good care of him, Carol.  He’s a pretty special guy, but don’t tell the other paramedics I said that.”
 

Carol laughed lightly.  “They’d be crushed. Thanks, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
 

“Night Carol.”
 

Dixie watched Carol walk slowly out of the ER. She could tell her nurse was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.  She wondered whether she should talk with the nurse manager in the ICU and have Carol rotated to other patients, but the thought was fleeting, as she knew that it was unlikely to benefit John, who felt comfortable being honest with Carol, while he typically glossed over discomfort with other nurses.  The last thing he needed was to worry about anything other than his recovery.  Carol was a solid nurse. Dixie was confident if she had increasing difficulty handling the situation, she would let her know.

 

“Cam,” Dixie called, “I’m going to take a break.  I’ll be up in the ICU if need me.”
 

“Okay, Dix.  How’s Johnny doing?”
 

“Better.  Slowly improving.”
 

“Glad to hear it.  Its terrifying to think how it could have turned out for him.”
 

Dixie nodded, wrapping her sweater around herself tightly in response to a sudden chill whispering over her shoulders.
 

When she entered the ICU a few minutes later, she was quietly greeted by Jessica.  “Hi, Dix.  Here to check on Johnny?”
 

Dixie smiled and nodded.  “How’s he doing?”
 

Jessica’s brow wrinkled. “Well, he dozed off for about a half-hour. When he woke up, he tried to sit up...himself...and got lightheaded. Good thing the side rails were up.”
 

Dixie frowned.  “I bet he’s not taking that well.”
 

Jessica shook her head.  “He hasn’t said more than ‘no’ to anything I’ve asked him.   He refused his 7 o’clock pain meds. I’m pretty sure he needs them, too. Won’t eat, won’t drink. He’s on some sort of strike.”
 

With a sigh, Dixie reviewed Johnny’s chart.  She studied Carol’s careful notes.  She frowned at Jessica’s entry. 

 

“Jessica, you documented that Johnny was ‘uncooperative’.   What exactly did you mean by that?”
 

Jessica paused.  “Well, he refused everything, food and medicine, even when he clearly was in significant pain.”

 

Dixie paused, her disapproval clear on her face. “Did he give you a hard time?  Did he throw the medicine back at you?  Did he yell at you when you brought his meds?”
 

The nurse, wide-eyed, shook her head. “Well, no.”
 

“Then what exactly was uncooperative about his behavior?”
 

Jessica shrunk back from the head nurse.  “Well, like I said, he wouldn’t take his medication.”
 

“I think, when a patient, who clearly understands his medications and makes a decision, that’s called a “choice”, rather than “uncooperative,” regardless of what we think about the decision.  Did you ask him why?”
 

Jessica avoided looking at Dixie directly.  “No.”
 

Dixie nodded slowly.   “Jessica, making a choice, even if it’s unwise or emotional, is not necessarily uncooperative, rather, we need to find out the reason why the patient refused.  The reason may actually make sense, for example, if the medication makes him feel queazy or dizzy.  You need to ask why,  Jessica, as the answer may have very important implications.”
 

Jessica’s head hung down and she studied the floor for a moment.  “I’m sorry, Miss McCall, I just really wanted him to take his pills because I could tell he’s in a lot of pain, and it would have helped him. I feel badly he’s in pain.” 
 

Dixie could see Jessica’s eyes filling.  “I can forgive it this time, Jessica.  Next time, I want you to think about finding out the real reason behind the patient’s emotions, which for him, could include sadness and even anger at his situation.  It also could have something to do with the effects of their medication.  Okay?  Next time, let him settle down and then go back and reframe the conversation.   You will put an addendum to your note in his chart explaining what occurred.  I’ll go see him now, okay?”
 

“Yes, Miss McCall, thank you for the advice.”
 

“You’re welcome, Jessica.  Thanks for caring about him.”  Dixie pulled his chart, reviewed the lab tests and notes, and turned the file over to Jessica.   “Lets can see how far I get.”
 

When Dixie approached Johnny’s room, her steps slowed.  Johnny’s face was averted, but there was no mistaking the tension in his jaw, and the shallow quick breaths he drew.  The tremor of his shoulders caused her to pause in the doorway.  She waited a few minutes until the tremor smoothed out, and she saw him swipe his arm over his eyes.
 

“Johnny?  You doing okay?” she whispered softly.
 

Johnny didn’t turn toward her, but shook his head negatively.  
 

Dixie stepped closer to him.  “You’re having a rough time.”
 

He was silent, but nodded. 
 

Dixie approached, “Mind if I sit down for a minute?”  Dixie lowered the side rail and sat on the edge of the bed.   She softly rested her hand on his arm. 
 

He averted his eyes and shrugged, but didn’t pull away.
 

She sat quietly, her hand resting on his, allowing him to gather his emotions. After a few minutes of silence, Dixie heard his soft whisper.
 

“Thanks, Dix.”
 

She nodded and squeezed his hand.  “You want to talk about it?”
 

Johnny picked at the blanket.  “Not really. I just...”
 

She held his hand tightly as his eyes filled again, and his face contorted in pain.   She sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and held him silently until the tremor of his body finally subsided.
 

He pulled tissues from the box, and scrubbed his eyes.  “Sorry,” he said, he voice cracking with emotion.
 

“No need for apologies Johnny.  Its been a hell of a bad time.  Who would expect an 89 year old woman to pull a gun, much less shoot the paramedic who came to help her?  She obviously was out of touch. Likely from a stroke.  Sad way for her to end a good life.”
 

“Can you tell me about her?”
 

“She was a grandmother of five, had two daughters.  She’s never had any problems.  Active in helping in the community.  Her husband died a few years ago, and she’s been declining since, but still getting out as much as she could.  Her daughter told me she had some trouble talking the day before, but passed it off as fatigue.  Her mother told her she wasn’t sleeping well and had headaches.  Kel’s pretty sure she had a few recent TIAs.  He thinks that what led to her behavior.”
 

Johnny nodded thoughtfully.  “Why’d she have a gun?”
 

“I guess her husband bought it years ago after a break in.”

 

Johnny closed his eyes and settled back in his pillows, wincing at the movement.
 

“You okay?”
 

“Sad.”
 

Dixie nodded.  “It is sad, Johnny.  Especially for a woman to be remembered this way, when she actually led a very good, kind life.”
 

Johnny’s eyes filled again and he turned away.
 

Dixie gently squeezed his arm. “What are you thinking?”
 

“I’m tired, Dix. Tired of being here.  Tired of nurses taking care of me.  Tired of feeling weak. And tired of being upset.  It’s getting to me. Frustrated, angry, and ....
 

Johnny let out a long breath, his head falling back on his pillow.  His eyes filled and his chest heaved.  He felt suddenly overwhelmed by sadness, and the trauma of the event shoved tears to his eyes, which overflowed freely for the first time in years.
 

Dixie was silent.  She laid a gentle hand on his arm, while he wept, quietly  allowing him collect himself before continuing.
 

“I was a wreck for days thinking Vince shot her. I couldn’t imagine shooting a poor lonely old woman. Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t on my top ten friend list, but its pretty sad her life ended that way.”
 

Dixie’s throat swelled with emotion, thinking that John’s life nearly ended in the same tragic moment.  She lowered her eyes.
 

“Dix, what’s wrong?”
 

She looked up, and could see Johnny’s concern.
 

“Dix, you’re crying.”
 

Dixie looked away, struggling to tuck away her emotions, and brushing away stray tears.  For some odd reason, when she looked back at him, his worried expression struck her as funny, given he was the one in the ICU bed.

She couldn’t control the erupting snicker, and reached out to him, cupping his chin, and looking straight into his eyes.
 

“I’m so glad you’re doing better, Johnny.”
 

His brow wrinkled in confusion, as he heard her laugh for the first time in a very long while.
 

“Dix, you’ve lost it.”
 

Dixie’s gentle laughter continued, her tears flowing easily, eventually stemmed by his smile.  She relished the sight.  Days ago, she had never thought she would see its brightness again.
 

 

  Chapter 11 - Recovery

 

 

  “I can do it, I can do it!”
 

Dixie snickered as she walked down the hall to see Johnny clearly ‘not doing it’ as a therapist attempted to steady his stumbling gait.
 

“Why do I need this thing anyway,” he complained, shoving the walker forward.  “I’m not a hundred years old!”   Johnny wavered on his feet and Dixie jumped to his side and grabbed his arm.  She threw him an exasperated look, and Johnny  at least looked a bit chagrined. 
 

“If you fall, you’ll be back at square one, my friend.”
 

Dixie’s admonishment was enough to stop his tirade.  Johnny stared at her for a long moment.  His expression was unreadable.
 

He glanced over his shoulder at the therapist.  “I’m done,” he whispered,  and dropped down into the wheelchair she was rolling behind him. He didn’t look up again, and the therapist slowly pushed him toward his room without a word.  She looked back at Dixie, and the slight shake of her head confirmed that Johnny was at his breaking point, and the upheaval was stalling his progress.
 

Dixie was saddened by the young man’s struggle.  He was physically improving, but his impatience with slow progress was wearing him down.  His mood had diminished remarkably in the past few days, to the point she considered speaking with Dr. Early about ways to help him to deal with the trauma of the shooting and the lengthy recovery.
 

Dixie watched the therapist push his wheelchair down the hallway.  Lost in thought, she was startled by Joe Early’s voice.
 

“What’s up, Dixie?  You look pretty pensive.”
 

She sighed continuing to look down the hallway.  Johnny and the Therapist rounded the corner and were out of sight.
 

“Johnny.”
 

The one word was enough for Early to nod his head.  “He’s having a rough time of it.”
 

“I’m not sure what’s holding him back.”
 

“Being shot is an unfathomable trauma, Dix.  I’m sure it stripped him of the ‘invincibility cloak’ he’s so well known for.”
 

“I think it’s the way she died.”
 

Dr. Early nodded in understanding.  “Its hard to reconcile a shooting by a elderly woman.  To think he suffered initially thinking she was shot to death must have been horrible for him.  Regardless, her death left him without answers. So under the circumstances, I guess it’s understandable.  Vince said  her attempt at a second shot was point blank to Johnny’s head.”
 

Dixie paused, startled by the revelation. She paused a long moment.
 

“It makes even more sense that Roy’s not taking things very well either. I can tell he’s not sleeping. Looks like the proverbial cat dragged him in. He’s a Veteran too, and that can help in these situations, or hurt.  I suspect it might be the latter.”
 

“Johnny’s stubborn independence isn’t helping.”
 

 “No, no it’s not at the moment.” Dixie laughed softly.  “Wish it had kicked in a little later.”
 

“Want me to go talk to him?” Dr. Early asked.
 

“Joe, that might be a good idea. He trusts you, and lets face it, Kel can be a bit impatient and to the point.  Those two are too much alike for this conversation to go well.”
 

Joe’s looked to the floor, hiding a smirk.  “I’m happy to go talk to him.  I’ll let him settle in a for a few minutes first.”

 

“Thanks Joe.  I hope it helps him.”
 

“I’ll do my best, Dix,” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “He may be pretty upset, but he’s strong mentally and physically.   I’m sure he just doesn’t feel that way at the moment.  We just have to get him through the trauma of the event and get him to believe that his current dependence is temporary. He may benefit from talking with one of the therapists.”
 

“He won’t like that one bit.”
 

“Let’s see how our conversation goes first.  You know I recently read a journal article about critical incident debriefing techniques for emergency workers following significant traumatic events. It’s interesting.  Might think about setting something like that up here.  This is certainly one of those times where understanding the common effects of the trauma among colleagues, including police, fire, ambulance and ER could be therapeutic.  Johnny’s not the only one having a hard time with the shooting.  Something to think about.”
 

Dixie nodded silently.  “Well, let me know how your visit goes, and if there is anything else I can do for him”
 

“You bet Dix.”  Joe paused for a moment.  “We’ll get him through, don’t worry.”
 

Dixie watched Joe walking down the hall.  She turned back to the nurse’s station when he disappeared around the corner.  I hope so, she thought.  I really hope so.
 

An hour later, Joe Early pushed open the door to Room 406.  Johnny was laying on his side, eyes open, but appeared to be resting comfortably.
 

“Penny for your thoughts,  John.”
 

Johnny was momentarily startled.  “Oh, hey Doc.” He slowly shifted his position, and slowly pushed himself upright. 

 

Joe didn’t miss the discomfort clearly evident with each movement.  Joe gestured to the chair by his bed.  “Mind if I sit for a few minutes?”
 

“No, no, go right ahead.” Johnny slowly shifted, and sat up. 
 

Dr. Early settled down in the bedside chair.  “Huh,” he said, shifting about. “This one is unusually comfortable.” 
 

The comment drew a half smile from Johnny. “Yeah, they’re not famous for luxury around here.”
 

“How’s the pain,  John?”
 

“It’s okay right now.  But that’s not why you’re here.”
 

Dr. Early frowned thoughtfully and looked down at his hands, measuring his words.
 

 “No, no you’re right.  That’s not why I’m here.”  He shifted his chair closer to the bed, and leaned forward.

 

“I want to know how you really are, John.  Not an automatic ‘I’m fine’.  By definition, no one is fine after being shot.  Nobody’s fine after almost bleeding to death on a stranger’s floor.  Many a strong man has been brought to their knees, as least temporarily, by a bullet.”
 

Johnny took a deep breath, and stared at his hands for a long while.  “Well, I know that’s true.”
 

Joe watched him closely, waiting for Johnny to continue. Johnny remained silent for a long while, until Joe started to wonder if he would speak. 
 

“I keep thinking about her.  I heard she had a stroke.”
 

“She did.  Looks like she had a series of TIAs prior to the incident.  She lived alone, had no family.  Her apartment was not well kept. She was frail. Looks like she’s been having difficulty for a while.”
 

“Anybody know where she got the gun?”
 

“It was her husband’s.  He died a year and a half ago.  He was a Marine.”
 

“No family?”
 

Joe shook his head.  “No.  A neighbor used to help her get some groceries and such, but recently moved away. She had no one.”
 

Johnny suddenly turned away from the doctor.  Joe watched him closely, realizing that this bit of information was disturbing to the paramedic.
 

“Johnny?”  he asked quietly.
 

John didn’t reply right way.  One hand covered his eyes, and Dr. Early could tell he was struggling for control.  At this moment, he wished Dixie was here, as Johnny would be more likely to express his feelings in front of her than anyone else.
 

Johnny’s shoulders trembled and his hands shook as he wrapped his arms over his chest.  He took a deep breath and held it, hoping to stem the flooding anguish that threatened to overtake him.
 

“Doc, I don’t wanna talk anymore,” he whispered, “Not now. ”
 

Dr. Early laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Johnny, now is the time.”
 

Johnny lay back, his face everted, chest shuddering for control.
 

Joe waited patiently and eventually Johnny settled back down in his bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

 

“I can’t even sit up without feeling dizzy.”
 

Joe frowned slightly, recognizing Johnny’s attempt to divert the conversation to safer ground.
 

“You’re hematocrit is up to 33.  Which is still  pretty low for you.  You have a ways to go.  Since you’re young and in good shape, and your bone marrow is responding quickly, I’m going to wait and try to avoid more transfusions.  Less risky that way.  You’ll feel lightheaded for a bit, but I’d bet within two to three weeks, you’ll feel a lot better.”

 

Johnny nodded in reply. There was a long silence before he spoke.
 

“I thought Vince shot her.”
 

Dr. Early nodded in response.
 

“Her place was a mess.  It was obvious she couldn’t handle being alone.”
 

Joe nodded again. “She may have had depression or early dementia.  Hard to know.  She hadn’t see a doctor in well over a year.”
 

Johnny glanced at Joe.  “From what I can remember, she kept her place pretty good. A bit messy, but nothing unusual.  Still had a pretty sad feeling to it though.”  Johnny paused thoughtfully.  “I had no idea what was coming. I don’t know what we missed.  It was so out of the blue.  I don’t know what to think. At first, I didn’t realize why I was on the floor.”  John looked up at Dr. Early. His worry was clear. “I just hope I get better and can get back to firefighting.”
 

Joe sat quietly for a long moment.
 

“Physically Johnny, you can expect quite a few more weeks until you begin to feel like yourself again. You’ll need more intensive physical rehabilitation after that.  My main concern, is how this will effect you overall.  The wound is easier to fix. The effects of the event, not so simple.”
 

John nodded silently.  “Yeah, I imagine so.”
 

“I asked a friend of mine,  a trauma specialist to visit you for a debriefing.  He has talked with Roy and your crew.  Are you willing to talk with him?  He’s actually a retired firefighter.  Stopped working 10 years ago.  His leg was crushed in a building collapse in San Francisco.”
 

“You think I won’t be able to get back to work?” Johnny’s face paled.
 

“I think you have a good chance to work your way back. It depends on a lot of things.  I do believe you’ll physically heal well.  The question is if the effects of the shooting will interfere with your work.  It’s not the first time you’ve been on the wrong side of gun.  Might not be the last.”
 

John quietly studied his hands, rubbing at an old scar on his palm from a cut incurred years ago at an MVA.  

 

“The guys met with him?”
 

Dr. Early nodded. “A lot of people are having a hard time with this.”
 

“Roy?”
 

Early nodded.
 

Johnny stared at Joe for a long moment, then nodded.  “I guess so.”
 

“Good.  It will help your recovery, and get back to work.”
 

Johnny averted his gaze to the blanket covering his legs.  He picked at the blanket unconsciously.  “You think I’ll be able to?  Go back, I mean?”
 

Joe leaned forward.  “Your leg will heal well, John.  I don’t expect any residual physical problems.  I just want to be sure your head is in the game.  To be sure you are comfortable.  Being a hair’s breath from dying is a big deal. I know you’ve been there before, but this time is different.  Especially since it was a deliberate and very unexpected act.  No one can recover from that alone, but I have little doubt that with his help, you’ll be set by the time you’re physically well again.”
 

Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll take your word for it, Doc.”
 

“I appreciate that John.  We won’t let you down.”
 

Dr. Early stood and offered his hand, which John firmly shook.
 

“You’ll get through this, Johnny.  And we’ll will be with you every step. I hope you know you can talk to me at any time.   Don’t forget that when you get discouraged.”
 

Johnny nodded.  “Thanks Doc.  It’s good to think of getting out of here someday.”
 

“Well as a prelude, I’ll sneak you in some Chili later this week when your appetite is better.”
 

Johnny smiled.  “Sound great, Doc.  Thanks again.”

 

“My pleasure.  See you in while.”  Dr. Early offered a wave goodbye on his way out the door.
 

Johnny watched the door swing slowly closed.
 

I hope you’re right, he thought. Johnny settled back into the pillows and closed his eyes.  For first time since his arrival, he easily drifted off to sleep, unencumbered by the sharp sound of the shot that led him to the ICU.
 

 

 Chapter  12:  Challenges

 

He would only admit it to himself, but he missed Carol.  Finally discharged from the ICU, he stepped down to a regular unit.  He did notice that they positioned him in a room close to the nurse’s station.  He wasn’t sure if that was because they felt he was still at risk, or if he would be a pain asking for things constantly.   Hoped it was the latter.
 

Shelly was an unfamiliar face, and was his assigned nurse for the day.  She was nice enough, but there was a cold edge to her that made him keep his distance. He was careful not to ask for anything that wasn’t necessary and as a result, he was late for his medication.  The dull ache in his leg intensified.  He stared at the call button for a long moment, considered the consequences of pressing it, and settled back in his bed.  While he needed relief, he was tired. Tired of not being able to do things himself.  Tired of the four walls that were quickly tightening around him.  Tired of worry and endless days and nights that all felt the same.  He had thought when he arrived on the floor that they would start therapy, allowing him to leave the confines of the four dull walls that caged him, but unfortunately, the move had only changed the color of the four dull walls, leaving him bored and a bit depressed by his lot.

 

Wide awake, Johnny closed his eyes tightly, hoping he could draw his thoughts elsewhere to distract him from his growing discomfort.  Unfortunately the stillness fed the fiery pain despite his stubborn resolve.  When he couldn’t bear the pounding discomfort, he searched for the call bell, the near-frantic movement exacerbating his pain. Frustration grew when he realized the device had escaped the bed during his sleep, and the cord disappeared from reach. He sat back in a huff, feeling quite sorry for himself.  He certainly wasn’t one to shed a tear.  He had always tried to avoid shows of weakness.  After all, firefighters, particularly paramedics, were cut of a tough cloth, and he wouldn’t sully his reputation in a moment of weakness.
 

He rethought the value of his stoic image about thirty minutes later, when the pulsing pricking pain in his leg reached into his abdomen leaving him breathless.  Sweat broke out and covered him with a thin sheen of moisture, and he could feel the fluid trickling down his chest.  Worse, his stomach roiled,  turning in his gut and threatening his throat .  He closed his eyes tightly, trying to breath slowly to ease the burning bile.
 

“Johnny, I...”  Dixie’s voice halted abruptly and she immediately grasped his wrist in hers, and the other reached for his forehead.  “You’re in pain.”
 

He nodded slowly trying not to exacerbate his growing nausea. In the distance, he heard her page Dr. Early, and then call for his nurse.  When Shelley inevitably burst through the doorway, Dixie was already taking vitals.  She looked up at the nurse, her sharp scowl causing Shelly to wince.
 

“Get me a basin and a cool cloth, right now.  When was his pain medication due?”
 

Shelly looked fearfully at the head nurse. “A few hours ago.”
 

“Get what I asked for.  I paged Dr. Early, tell him I asked for him immediately.”  

 

Dixie turned back to Johnny, gently placing a BP cuff on his arm and measured his blood pressure. “Johnny, you with me?”
 

Johnny didn’t mistake the concern in her voice.  “Yeah,” he said, albeit breathlessly. “I’m okay, don’t worry.”
 

“You missed your medication.”
 

“My fault.  Trying not to be a pest, you know.”
 

Dixie looked at him closely.  The frown clearly evident as the air bled from the cuff. She gently took his wrist and checked his pulse.
 

“I’m okay, Dix, just....a little... uncomfortable.”
 

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m sorry this happened Johnny.  Shelly should have stayed on top of it.  How come didn’t you call?”
 

He lifted his arm, gesturing toward the call button resting on a floor, well out of reach.
 

Her frown deepened into a scowl.  “Oh,  Johnny.  This never should have happened, especially after everything you’ve been through.” 
 

Johnny was surprised at the break in Dixie’s voice.
 

“Awww, it’s okay, Dix.” He paused for a long moment, tightly closing his eyes against obvious pain. He took a deep breath. “I’m not...that bad.”
 

“Good try.” 
 

Johnny flashed a whisper of a crooked smile.
 

“I’ll get you fixed up, then I’ll get you a better nurse.”
 

“Dix.”
 

“Don’t you ‘Dix’ me young man.”  She replied, a slight smile softening the words.
 

Johnny laid back, his lips a thin line and eyes tightly shut, silently begging the pain to dissipate, and quell his growing nausea.  He breathed slowly through pursed lips.  But as luck had not been on his side for a while, hot bile pushed to his throat and he leaned to the side, feeling Dixie’s firm grip on his arm, holding a basin while he retched what little was left in his stomach.
 

He lay back in defeat allowing her to run a cool cloth of relief over his face.  She disappeared for a moment, but the comfort remained.  His eyes shuttered closed.  He was exhausted.  She roused him from slumber a moment later.

“Johnny, I have a little water for you to rinse your mouth with, and a fresh cup if you need a sip.”
 

Johnny knew he definitely didn’t need a sip, but her voice was so kind and encouraging, he couldn’t turn her down.   He leaned forward slightly and took a small mouthful from the cup.  Johnny looked up at her and was blessed with a wide smile.  He had pleased her in exchange for her kindness, and with that, he was suddenly weary. He leaned back, and drifted gently off to sleep.  

 

 

Chapter 13:  Respite

 

When he finally woke up hours later, the peaceful feeling he had when he closed his eyes was definitely gone.  His mouth was parched, he felt hung-over from his medication, and a stick-like pain was puncturing his thigh, along with a pounding headache.  Johnny felt downright ornery.
 

This time the bell was in its rightful place in a tangle of wire poised on the bed rail.  He pressed it twice, then once again as the irritable feeling surged.  He knew pressing the call button a million times made no difference, but his frustration was minutely satisfied.  Johnny frowned thinking that Shelly would breeze in, clearly angry because of the trouble hours ago.   He was ready to give up.  If he could walk out, Johnny certainly would have, and the frustration of his inability to do just about anything independently, pulled his lips into a deep scowl.
 

Which was the exact moment that Carol walked through the door.
 

“Not quite the greeting I expected, Mr. Gage.”
 

Johnny visibly brightened, but Carol didn’t miss the dark circles around his eyes. 
 

“You haven’t been sleeping well.”
 

“Yeah,” Johnny replied softly. “It’s kind of drag around here lately.”
 

“So I heard.”  She paused, a frown flittering across her lips.  She studied him for a long moment. “How are you feeling?”
 

He didn’t even consider lying, because knew that Carol would easily recognize any attempt of shading the truth. 
 

“Pain’s better.  Tired of being here.”
 

“Feeling a bit down?”
 

“Stressed out.”
 

Her  brow raised, realizing he was holding back. “And?”  she said punctuating the question with the raising of her brow.
 

“And I guess I’m tired of being in bed. Makes yah feel...”
 

“What?”
 

“Sick.”
 

Carol could have smiled, however she well understood the  pain and stress Johnny’s injury and recovery entailed.  Never mind the thoughtless nurse who precipitated this setback.
 

Carol sat on the edge of his bed, and placed her hand gently over his.
 

“John, look at me.”
 

Johnny picked at the blankets, working to control his emotions.
 

“John?”
 

He finally looked up and stared for a long moment.
 

“I gotta get out of this bed.”
 

She nodded slowly. “Let me go see what I can do.”
 

He brightened immediately.
 

“Now don’t get your hopes up yet.  I might get shot down and chastised.  And believe me, if I do, I’m telling Dr. Early it was all your idea!”
 

Johnny snickered lightly, as if he was sharing a secret with a friend.  “He’ll never believe it.”
 

“Really?” she said, laughing easily.
 

“I guess not.”
 

The soft laughter grew, and Johnny couldn’t help but join in.  He smiled brightly for the first time in a long while.

“Well,” he said, “good luck.”

 

She laughed again.  “I don’t think I’ll need it.  This is Dr. Early.  Dr. Brackett? No way.  Dr. Early? A definite maybe.”
 

“If a another new nurse shows up, I’ll know how it went.”
 

“Yeah, well, write me a letter of recommendation, will yah?”
 

Johnny snickered. “Sure thing, Carol.”

 

Fifteen long minutes later Carol broke through the door pushing a wheelchair.  She was flanked by two orderlies and tagging along was Dr. Early.
 

Dr. Early approached Johnny while Carol and the orderlies hung back.
 

Johnny was tentatively hopeful by the arrangement.  He had a feeling a quiz was about to ensue, and if he passed, he likely had a 10 minute ticket to freedom, as limited at that may be.
 

“John, I heard you’re doing better this afternoon.”
 

“I am, Doc.”
 

“What’s your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?” 
 

Johnny paused, considering the best answer. Too tired to think, he reluctantly told the truth.  “About a 5, which is much better.”
 

Dr. Early rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “Will you let the Jeff and Dave lift you to the chair?  You’re still non-weight bearing until you start working with the therapists.”
 

Johnny’s fleeting frown revealed how he felt about the assistance, but he recognized at this point, his only hope for a five-minute escape from the room was to cooperate.  “Sounds good.”
 

Dr. Early looked fleetingly surprised, but covered it quickly.  “Good.  You need to let them do all the work.  You might be a bit lightheaded when they have you sitting upright, but it should pass quickly.  Just expect it, and sit still with your eyes closed for a few moments.  Sound good?”
 

“Sounds great, Doc. Thanks.”  He looked over at Carol who was smiling broadly.  He had passed the test, that would at least provide a a few coveted moments of limited freedom.
 

A few minutes later Johnny understood exactly what Dr. Early meant about ‘adjusting’ to sitting upright.  His head swirled, and a hint of nausea bubbled in his stomach to the pulsing discomfort in his thigh, which was currently radiating into his abdomen.
 

“You okay, John?”  Carol asked, her expression revealing her concern.
 

“Yeah,” he answered lightly, adding a smile to reassure her.  Johnny could tell she wasn’t buying it, but she remained silent while his feet were set on the footrests.
 

The orderly moved to the back of the chair and grasped the handles, when Carol interrupted him. 
 

“George, I can take care of Mr. Gage from here.  We’ll take a ten minute spin, and then we’ll need your help to get him back to bed comfortably.”
 

George looked at Johnny.  “Hey man, have a blast, see you in few.”
 

“Thanks, George, ‘preciate it.”
 

“No worries, man.”
 

“Ready, Johnny?”
 

“Absolutely.”  Johnny couldn’t believe such a small venture was rather exciting.  Carol pushed him down the hall and to the open elevator.
 

“Where are we going?”
 

“Thought you might like to get a cup of coffee.”
 

Johnny practically shook with excitement. “Man, that would be awesome!”
 

While Carol was a bit sad this small adventure held such excitement for him, she recognized the hurdles he’d been struggling against in the past week, and was glad that Dr. Early had agreed.  Johnny brightened on their exit from the elevator, as he was repeatedly greeted by lavish attention and well wishes from the staff.  She hadn’t seen him smile that brightly in a long while, and his happiness at the venture buoyed her mood.
 

She filled his cup half way, much to his dismay.  “It’s decaf,” she said as she handed him the cup.  She could see a frown deepen for a moment, and then pass quickly. 
 

“Okay.  I understand.”
 

The smile widened however, and Carol felt grateful for his forgiveness. 
 

“This feels good,” he said, “Really good.  Thank you.”
 

“You’re welcome.  Gives me a break from the floor too.  I have my motives.”
 

Johnny snickered. “This is wonderful coffee.”
 

“You really are still sick.”
 

“Nah, doing without really changes one’s attitude.”
 

“I’d bet.  I’m amazing you don’t have a roaring headache.”
 

“Me too.  Likely I do, but its out-shined by my leg.”
 

Carol frowned, and Johnny immediately regretted sharing the information. 
 

“You were telling me the truth about the pain, right?”
 

He nodded.  “Yeah, but sometimes I just don’t want to be messed up by the narcotics.  Don’t like the feeling it gives me.”
 

“You need pain relief in order to start moving around and rebuild muscle.”
 

Johnny nodded in understanding. He was lost in thought for a moment, quietly sipping his coffee.

 

“I’m not getting out of here for a while, am I?”
 

Carol swirled the spoon in her coffee.  “It will likely be another week,  week and a half.  You need to get your blood levels up, and be able to safely walk around independently.”
 

Johnny nodded.  “That’s along time.”
 

“I’m sorry, John.”
 

Johnny stared at his coffee, then smiled lifting his cup.  “Well it could be worse.”
 

Carol’s brow wrinkled.  “How so?”
 

 “Could of been dead.”
 

Carol immediately averted her eyes to her cup. Tears welled, and she remained silent, reining in her emotions.
 

“Carol?” he said softly, the bewilderment clear in his voice. “You okay?”
 

Carol nodded silently.  “Yeah,” she said. “I’m just sorry all this happened to you.”  She paused and looked as if she were about to say more, but instead nodded and remained quiet.
 

When she looked up, Johnny was focusing on his cup. “Thanks for being there for me.  Couldn’t have made it this far without you.  Would of gone crazy.”
 

Carol offered a soft smile.  “I’m sad this happened, but glad I’ve been able to help.”
 

“Me too,” he said softly, briefly resting his hand briefly over hers before pulling it back to grasp his cup.
 

“Well, my friend, Dr. Early will be looking for you, and I don’t want to take advantage of his kindness.”  Carol stood, cleared the table, and then grasped the handles of John’s wheelchair.  “Ready?”
 

“Yup.  Don’t suppose we could try a few wheelies yet, huh?”
 

Carol laughed and pushed him forward.  “Not sure that would go over well for either of us.”
 

Johnny didn’t reply, but felt a tinge of lightheartedness that he hadn’t felt in a long while.   He looked up a Carol and smiled softly.  “Thanks again,” he said quietly.
 

She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, leaning forward, whispered, “You’re most welcome.”
 

Johnny sat quietly as they rolled down the hall,  the steady movement lulling his senses. His eyes drooped in weariness, sliding closed as he settled back in the chair.  He could feel Carol’s protective hand rest on his left shoulder,  and the motion of the chair fed the fuzzy edges of sleep.  Johnny tipped to the side, slouching in the chair, his soft breathing reassuring Carol that her charge was resting comfortably. She gently rolled the wheel chair back to his room, motioning to the orderly to assist her in getting him back into his bed.  Once settled, Johnny’s eyes fluttered closed, the short venture leaving him exhausted.  Carol pulled up his covers, gently folding the edge and tucking it around his shoulders.   She studied him for a long moment, ensuring she was satisfied with his comfort.  She laid her hand on his shoulder, and whispered ‘goodnight’.
 

Johnny didn’t stir, and Carol watched him for a moment, pleased he was at ease.  It had been a long time since he had rested comfortably, and for the first time, she felt free of worry when leaving to go home.  He had improved a great degree, and would likely go home in the next few days. She was happy for him, but was reluctant to admit she would miss the lopsided smile he graced her with each morning.  She paused at the door, smiling.  “Sleep well,” she whispered, and turned away, allowing the door to slowly slide closed.
 

 

  Chapter 14 :  Freedom 

 

Johnny was chomping on the bit. He sat on the edge of his bed, fully clothed since 8 am, and watched the clock strike 9:30.  He stood slowly, steadying his hand on the bed before he stepped forward. Finally shedding the walker days ago, he settled for the dark cane he grasped in his hand to steady his gait.  He was moving well, but occasionally suffered unexpected pain where he was shot, and the cane had helped him avoid a rough fall more than once.  He learned his lesson the first time he fell, when he found himself on the floor flat out, with Carol’s frightened eyes sweeping over him for obvious injury.  It was followed by a series of x-rays, and another day of boredom confined to bed, waiting for results, ‘just to be sure’.  He certainly didn’t want to chance another set back.  He was more than ready to go home.
 

His only regret was a surprise to him,  that pulled at him in a moment of insomnia the night before his discharge.  He stood before Carol, his belongings already picked up by Chet, while Roy pulled the car around front to pick them up.

 

“Johnny, you go slow, promise?”
 

Johnny smiled and nodded. “I promise.”
 

Carol smiled brightly, but as he silently stared into her eyes, the smile softened.  She felt a bit choked up, worrying how he would fare at home alone. “Make sure you call if you need anything.  The therapist will call you tomorrow about continuing rehabilitation.  We’re always here if you are unsure about anything.”
 

Johnny smiled, reaching out to take her hand.  “Thanks for everything you’ve done to help me, Carol.  “I...” Johnny lost his voice for a moment, but for once, didn’t avert his eyes to hide his emotions. “I don’t know I could have handled it all without you.”
 

Carol smiled, her eyes teary.  “I’m just glad you’re doing well and can go home.  Call me if you need anything Johnny, anything at all.”  She pressed a small slip of paper into his hand.
 

He took her hand in his, and stared at her for a long moment.  His voice was lost, once more.  He squeezed her hand, and whispered, “I promise.”
 

Carol blessed him with a bright smile.  She held the door of Roy’s car while Johnny slid into the seat, and once settled, she closed the car door.   Carol stood at the curb as they pulled away, watching the car slowly turn the corner and drive out of sight.
 

She stood watching for a long while. The warmth of his smile lingered, and was comforting to her.  In her mind, she could hear the sweet rumble of his sleepy voice, and couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of his lighthearted banter with Roy.   She would miss him, she knew, but in her heart, she was glad he was going home, far away from the suffering he endured after the shooting. 
 

She hoped the aftermath of the event would be kind to him, and the rest of his recovery, easy and brief.  But whatever happened, Carol knew one thing for sure.  She’d be at his side to help him, anytime, day or night.  A soft smile crossed her lips, and Carol turned back and walked through the ER doors.

 

 

finit.

 

 

 

 

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