Disclaimers:  The following is a work of fan fiction based on the television series, Emergency!.  It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of MARK VII LIMITED, Universal Studio or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters and settings.  I don't own the characters. Only using them for a short time and will return them in relatively the same shape as when borrowed.

 

Author notes:   A huge “Thanks” to Phyllis for the beta.  (Isn’t it funny how you can read something so many times that you still cannot see the errors in it yourself?!)  As always, any errors or inconsistencies are of my doing and do not in any way reflect on those assisting me.

 

Feedback is always appreciated and answered. 

 

 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

Unexpected Results

By krh

 

 

Trying to shake off the ringing in his ears and comprehend why he was face down on the floor of the warehouse he and his partner were searching, Los Angeles Paramedic Firefighter John Gage pulled himself to his hands and knees.  There had to have been an explosion somewhere to throw him off his feet was the only thing the firefighter could determine.  

 

“Roy?  You okay?” Gage called out, brushing dirt from around his nose and mouth so as to not aspirate any more of it.  Not hearing an answer, he called “Roy?” as he spun on his knees to look behind him where his partner had been following him.    The sight that came into his view jolted him to the core.  

 

“No…No… No!  “ Gage whispered desperately as he gathered himself off the floor and scrambled across the debris strewn floor.  Sliding to a halt beside the form of a half buried man, he desperately began throwing chunks of concrete and boards off his partner and friend, Roy DeSoto. 

 

 “Roy?” John called as he dug.  “Roy, can you hear me?’  Receiving no response, he paused long enough to scan the area for any sign of the handy talky.  Unable to locate it in the dust filled darkened area, he yelled for help.

 

“MARCO! CHET!  ANYBODY” Gage screamed at the top of his lungs over his shoulder.  “I NEED HELP OVER HERE…. ROY’S DOWN!”   Not waiting for a response to his call, John threw his weight into trying to move a metal support beam from across Roy’s chest.  Unable to move it more than an inch or so, he abandoned the effort, instead shifting his focus to the materials blocking his view of face and head.  Shoving a sheet of drywall out of the way, he mentally cataloged that Roy’s shoulder and arm were buried under a massive slab of concrete.  

 

“Roy?” John called again, pushing a board away and pressing his fingers to his neck. Blowing out a breath at the faint pounding, he muttered, “Hang in there. I’ll get you out of here.”   
 

Lightly running his hands over the parts of Roy’s body showing in the rubble, John felt the edges of the broken ribs as he passed.  Pausing long enough to rest a hand on Roy’s abdomen, he estimated in his head the length of 15 seconds as he counted the number of times it rose.  A little over two… only 8 to 10 breaths per minute.  Not good.   And they were shallow, making John wonder if Roy’s lungs were having problems expanding with the weight pressing on them.

 

Running his hands down the rest of Roy’s left side, he came back up the right looking for more injuries.  Reaching his shoulder area, John tried unsuccessfully to feel under the concrete slab for a pulse in the trapped limb.  Transferring his attention to Roy’s head, he gently probed what he could.  Feeling a slick, wet spot on the right side, he sucked in a sharp breath.  

 

‘Not good.’   John could hear Roy’s voice in his head saying these words like he had so many times before after the assessment of a badly injured man.  The memory seemed to make the moment even more painful.

 

Looking back over his shoulder, Gage grimaced when he did not see or hear anyone coming to assist him.  Marco and Kelly had been on the floor earlier.  He just hoped their absence now did not mean they were trapped also.

 

Looking back at this friend and mentally assessing the other possible injuries he could have sustained from all the trauma his body had just endured, Gage knew he didn’t have much time nor many options.  “Roy, man, I gotta get some help.  You hang on.  I’ll be right back.”  

 

Pausing only long enough to squelch the fear that his friend would be dead by the time he got back, Johnny dashed away from the debris pile and into the hallway that would take him to the stairwell and help.   As he reached the metal door leading to the stairs, his training kicked in and forced him to pause.  He pressed the back of his hand on the door, checking for heat.  Feeling none, he pulled the door open and scrambled down the flight of stairs.  Absentmindedly, he noticed the smell of smoke drifting from the lower floor, getting stronger with each step down.  By the time he reached the first floor, it was thick enough that it made him cough.   The feel of it burned his lungs, already taxed by the dust and dirt in them from the collapse.

 

Again checking the door, he found it warm.  For a moment he considered trying to find another way out.   The image of Roy popping into his mind eliminated that thought.    There simply wasn’t time.   Cautiously he opened the door, ducking down in case flames danced into the new space seeking a source of oxygen it had not already consumed.    Realizing the flames were still on the other side of the building, Gage darted into the smoke filled room heading for the exit. 

 

“JOHN!” Firefighter Chet Kelly yelled in relief as the two men collided near the door the firefighter had just entered pulling a hose.  “You alright, man?  Where’s Roy?” he asked dropping the hose and pulling Gage’s arm over his own shoulders to help him out.    

 

“Trapped,” John coughed out, his lungs trying to expel the foreign objects from its being.  Breaking into the sunlight that blinded him, Gage relied on Chet to take him to where he needed to be. 

 

“CAP!”  Chet yelled, pulling his own mask off. “Oxygen!” 

 

“Stoker!” Captain Hank Stanley yelled, directing the engineer to grab the tank from the squad.  Darting up, he grabbed John’s other arm and helped him to the side of the tanker and eased him down.  Accepting the mask Engineer Mike Stoker handed him, he pressed it to the coughing man’s face.  “Deep breathes,” he directed reassuringly.   

 

Tossing a look at Chet’s anxious face, Cap asked tersely, “Where’s DeSoto?” 

 

Pulling his face away from the mask being pressed into it, Johnny wheezed out,  “Trapped.  Whole section came down on him.  Gonna need pry bars and porta power.”   Squinting to see Stanley in the sunshine, he added,  “He’s in bad shape.” 

 

The tension in Gage’s low tenor, stoked Stanley into action.  “LA,” he snapped after raising the handy talky to his face, “I have a CODE I.  Send an ambulance and another unit to my location to assist with the operation.”  Shoving the antenna back down, he looked at Chet.  “Get the porta power, ropes, and pry bars.”  Turning his eyes to Gage, he looked at the younger paramedic.  “Where’s Roy trapped at, exactly?”

 

Tossing the oxygen aside, John started for his feet.  There was no way he was sitting out here and waiting.  “Third floor, southeast corner.  Let me get my gear.”  

 

Grabbing John by the arm and pulling him upright, Stanley peered intently into his face assessing if he was really okay and ready to go back in.   Looking into steel brown eyes, he read the determination that yelled he would not be excluded from helping his friend regardless of any injury he may be shielding or order he may be given.  Nodding once to let Gage know he had received the message, Cap stepped back.

 

“Mike, help John with his gear,” he said quietly.  Watching as Stoker trotted back to the squad with Gage, Stanley pulled the antenna back out on the radio.   “Engine 110, 51.   You take over.  We’ve got a man trapped on the third floor, southeast corner.  Find Lopez and have him bring up a line for cover.” 

 

As the other firefighters joined him, he took the portable oxygen tank and biophone from Mike, leaving him with the drug and splints boxes.  Assessing that Chet and John were handling the other tools with no problems, the men started back into the warehouse. 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

As some level of consciousness filtered into Roy DeSoto’s mind, the first thing that came into his awareness was pain.  Intense pain seemed to be radiating from his body in multiple locations.   The second perception he had was of not being able to breath.   Primordial panic coursed through his body and mind.  His only thought was to escape, but for some reason, his body did not seem to be listening to what his mind was telling it.  Instead, it simply wanted to stay where it was, bidding his mind to stop yelling for him to run.  

 

Roy could feel heavy weight pressing on his chest and shoulder.   Oddly, though, the feeling changed as it moved down his arm, until it dissolved into nothing.  He could feel nothing below his bicep.  

 

A familiar and welcomed voice filtered through the haze and seemed to seep into his soul, easing, at least momentarily, the panic that was there.  Although he heard the tone of Johnny’s voice, the words didn’t seem to make any sense to him.   It didn’t matter to Roy though.  It was enough to know that he had succeeded in pushing him clear from the ceiling and wall as they came down.    

 

He could accept his own death knowing this.  Willingly he let go of the slender thread of awareness and sank into the darkness that called to him.

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

“Jesus,” Captain Hank Stanley breathed as the light from his flashlight fell on the still form of his senior paramedic.   The sound of a sharply drawn breathes from beside him told him that the others were as shocked as he was at the sight before them.   Moving to Roy’s side, Hank held his breath as Johnny laid his hand against Roy’s neck, searching for a pulse. 

 

“He’s still alive,” Johnny announced, motioning for the oxygen.  Taking the mask handed to him, he said. “Ten liters, Mike,” before bending over to ease it onto Roy’s face.   Adjusting it so the mask securely covered his nose and mouth, John pulled his penlight and checked Roy’s pupils before sitting back up. 

 

“Let’s get some of this pressure off of him first,” Cap said, resting his hand on the steel I-beam across Roy.  

 

“That’ll help but we still have to figure out how to get his arm free,” Johnny said, yanking off his air mask before opening the biophone and twisting the antenna into place.   “Rampart, this is Squad 51.  How do you read?”

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

The sound of the incoming call buzzer and flashing light outside of the base station room at Rampart General Hospital caused Emergency Room Head Nurse Dixie McCall to abandon the paperwork she was working on and enter the room.  “Unit calling in, this is Rampart.  Go ahead,” she said into the speaker after snapping on the recorder. 

 

“Rampart, Squad 51.  We have a fireman trapped under a collapsed building.  He has a large steel beam pressing into his chest, probable broken ribs, a large abrasion on his right occipital lobe, possible skull fracture, and his right shoulder and arm are trapped under a slab of concrete.  He is unconscious, Rampart.  We have him on ten liters of O2.  Stand by for vitals.”

 

“10-4, 51,” Dixie answered before reaching for the phone on the wall.  Dialing zero, she said, “Page Doctor Bracket to the base station, stat.” 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

“Can I get in there, Cap?” Johnny asked stepping to Roy’s left side, waiting only long enough for his superior to move, before dropping down to take Roy’s blood pressure.  

 

“Sure,” Cap said, as he stepped out of the way.  “Mike, while Chet’s getting the porta power set up, take a look at that hunk of cement and see what you think.”

 

“Sure thing, Cap,” Mike said, moving up to shine a light around the large stone block to assess how it could be moved.  

 

The sharp intake of Johnny’s breath drew Stanley’s attention down to his younger paramedic.  “John?” he asked, fearing that Roy had slipped away.

 

Shaking his head, John pulled the stethoscope from his ears.   “BP’s crap, lungs are sluggish,” he muttered, hopping across Roy’s legs to get to the radio.    “How long before that’s ready?” he asked, nodding to the porta power.  

 

“In just a minute,” Chet answered sharply, putting cords together to connect the two parts. 

 

“Rampart, this is Squad 51.” 

 

“We read you, 51.  Go ahead,” Kelly Bracket answered, releasing the button and looking at Dix.  He could tell it was John Gage on the line, but his voice sounded unusually tense. 

 

“Rampart, BP is 70 over 30.  Respirations are 8; pulse 50 and thready.   Eyes are sluggish, but equal.  Diminished breath sounds in both lungs,” John recited, jotting down his notes as he said them on the phone.  “He’s cyanotic, hypoxic, and clammy.  Request permission to start an I.V.” 

 

“51, 10-4 on the I.V.  Have you checked the ears and nose for fluid?”  Kelly asked, his mind trying to go through a mental checklist to better prepare himself for what he would have to prioritize once the patient arrived. 

 

“10-4, Rampart.  Ears are negative.   There is a slight amount of blood in the nose but that could be due to debris hitting his face.” 

 

“10-4.  Any sign of internal bleeding?” the doctor asked.  “Also, what about his arm?  Any indication of excessive bleeding?”

 

Wiping the sweat running down the side of his face, John shook his head.  “Unknown Rampart.  His arm is inaccessible,” he answered while he watched Kelly begin to pump the porta power.  “Abdomen is soft at this time.” 

 

Indicating to Dixie that that was at least one thing in the fireman’s favor, Kel leaned toward the radio again.  “51, how long until you transport?” 

 

“Unknown, Rampart,” glancing at his watch, and jotting down the time.  “He’s still trapped under….” 

 

“Johnny!” Chet’s frantic call snapped Johnny’s full attention back to the others. 

 

Dropping the phone, Johnny leaned around the firefighter to look at Roy. It was then that he heard the gurgling from Roy’s throat.  “Help me turn him as much as we can,” Johnny exclaimed, jumping to Roy’s left side.  Sliding his hands under Roy’s shoulder, he eased him upward, trying to raise him enough to allow whatever fluid that was trying to come out, to succeed.   “Easy… watch his shoulder,” John warned.  “Move the O2,” John snapped, not wanting to contaminate the mask in case it was something more than water. 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

When the communication abruptly end, Kelly shared a concerned look with Dixie before jabbing the talk button on the base station.  “51, you’re breaking up.  Repeat your last transmission,” he ordered. 

 

Silence met his request.   Frowning, Brackett tried again.  “Squad 51, do you read?”  Concern radiated from the doctor as he turned to look at the nurse beside him.  “I don’t like it Dix.  I’ve got a bad feeling about this situation,” he confessed. 

 

“I know what you mean,” Dixie agreed softly.  “Johnny sounds…” she paused looking for the right word.  “Uptight.”

 

“Yeah,” Kel agreed, reaching for the button again.  “51, what’s happening?” Bracket demanded.  “51, report.”   The doctor breathed a sigh when the sound of Captain Stanley came on the line.

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

“Rampart, Squad 51.  Patient expelled contents of stomach.  Hold on Rampart... what was that John?  Right.  Rampart, respirations are down to six.  Request permission to insert esophageal airway.”  Stanley relayed, making a note on John’s pad of the change in respirations, more out of habit than conscious thought. 

 

“Negative 51.  I don’t want to unless we absolutely have to or until we can determine how much damage has been done to his chest and lungs. Ventilate him as best you can,” the reply came back.

 

“Mike, can you give me that respirator?”  Taking it, John quickly switched the connection and placed it back on Roy’s face, forcing the air into his lungs.   “Take this,” Gage ordered, looking up at Mike. 

 

Releasing the O2, Gage tore open the I.V. kit and slid the needle into Roy’s arm.  Adjusting the drip, he set it wide open to push the fluid, hoping to bring Roy’s blood pressure to a better level. 

 

“Madre de Dios,” Marco Lopez uttered, finally arriving at the group’s location.  “Johnny?” he asked, wanting to know if it was really as bad as it looked for their crewmate.   A sharp nod from Johnny confirmed the worse. 
 

“How’s it going out there?” Captain Stanley asked, waiting for Johnny to indicate he was ready to make the next report to the hospital. 

 

“Er…,” Marco stuttered, having a hard time forcing himself to refocus on the Captain’s question.  “The fire’s out.  They’re still ventilating the north side of the building,” he finally managed.  

 

“Well, that’s some good news finally,” Cap sighed.  “Marco, take over for Mike there.  Stoker, get back to work on that slab,” he added, catching Johnny’s signal.    

 

“IV is established, Rampart.  Stand by,” Cap said, laying down the phone to assist Kelly. 

 

“Easy…easy,” Hank encouraged, his eyes darting between Chet slowing pumping the porta power, Roy’s face for any sign that the movement was affecting him, and the piles of debris connected to the beam.  The last thing anyone needed was to have more debris rain down on them.  Leaning down and putting his hand under the beam, he ordered Chet to halt.  “That’s a good five inches clearance.  Let’s not push our luck.”

 

Pumping back up the blood pressure cuff, Johnny listened to the pounding in his ears as he watched the dial.  As the cuff deflated, he found himself muttering “come on, come on” in his head as if he could will the numbers to be better.  It didn’t happen. 

 

Clenching his jaw to force himself to stay focused, he checked Roy’s pulse and respiration again, before moving back to the biophone to give an update.  “Rampart, Squad 51.” 

 

“Go ahead 51.”

 

“Rampart, patient’s bp is now 50 stotalic, respirations are almost totally assisted, pulse is weak.   Request permission to start a second IV.”  

 

Johnny’s voice was flat and harsh as it came across the speaker.  Sharing a concerned look with Dixie at the evident strain in Gage’s voice, Bracket okayed the request.  “51, 10-4 on second IV.”  Playing a hunch, Kel paused a moment before continuing.  “51, do you have the name of the firefighter?”

 

Silence met his question.   Bracket was about to ask it again when he heard the quiet reply.  “Doc, it’s Roy.”

 

Brackett’s eyes darted to Dixie’s.  He was sure the same shock and horror on her face was mirrored on his.  “10-4,” Kelly answered slowly.  Pausing a moment to compose himself, he pushed the button on the base station.  “Hang in there, Johnny.  He’s a fighter and he’s got the best man available working on him.  How are you coming with getting him free?” 

 

John had to clear his throat before he could speak.  “Hold on, Rampart,” Johnny came back, thankful for the support and the thread of normalcy Brackett had just given him to hold onto.  Rising to check on the efforts, he called out,  “Cap? Rampart wants to know how long.” 

 

“Stoker?” Stanley asked, the one word enough to let the engineer know what he was wanting.

 

“It’s too big to move with pry bars, Cap, but I think if I had the K12, I could cut this side,” Mike said, motioned to the part of the wall away from Roy, “and then we’ll be able to manage it.”

 

Pulling out his radio, Stanley spoke into it.  “This is Captain of 51.  I need a K12 on the third floor, southeast side, on the double.  Bring extra blades and an asbestos blanket. And a stokes,” he added. 

 

“Cap?” John asked again, still waiting for a time frame to tell the hospital.

 

“I don’t know, John.  Fifteen, at least,” Hank said evenly, steeling himself from responding to the flinch crossing Johnny’s face at the news.   

 

Not responding to his superior, John turned back to the biophone.  “Rampart, fifteen minutes at a minimum,” he relayed. 

 

Kelly grimaced.  From the sounds of it, Roy was sinking fast.  “10-4.  51, are his feet elevated?” grasping at any little thing that could buy them some time.

 

“Negative, Rampart.” 

 

“Elevate patient’s feet to help with shock,” Brackett ordered.  “Also, administer 5 cc of atropine and one cc of soproterenol to assist his breathing.” Turning to Dixie, he added, “You better set up four and alert O.R. and orthopedics that we’re going to need them.  And see who’s on call in neurology.”

 

“Right,” McCall said, heading to door.  Pausing she turned back to the doctor.  “Kel, can Roy make it that long?” 

 

“I don’t know Dix,” Brackett replied softly, listening to Johnny’s acknowledgment of his orders.  “I just don’t know.” 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

Huddled under the blanket with Roy, Johnny winced at the sound of the big saw chewing up the concrete.  Normally, he could block the sound or it would simply be one in a loud kaleidoscope of noises associated with a fire.  

 

Today - at this minute, however – it grated on raw, overwrought nerves.  And there was no way to escape it. 

 

Almost as bad was the sound of the respirator as he continued to push air into his friend’s lungs to sustain him. A fleeting moment of panic crossed Johnny’s mind. What if cutting the concrete didn’t work?  Then what?  Cut off Roy’s arm?   He wasn’t sure he could do it.  It would mean the end of Roy’s career. That thought alone tore the paramedic up inside.  Trouble was, he knew that Roy couldn’t make it much longer where he was and that was something that Johnny could not live with.

 

Slipping his free hand into Roy’s and squeezing it, Johnny wished with all of his might that there was some way that he could turn back time and make it so that he had been the one following; that he had been the one injured.   

 

The sound of the saw shutting off brought Gage out from under the blanket. “Cap?” 

 

“About ready.   Mike, Marco, you two get a bite with those bars.  Kelly, take over for John there, pal.  I’ll keep an eye out for things falling,” Stanley said, pulling his gloves back on.  

 

Grabbing a tourniquet from the drug box in case he needed it, John knelt beside Roy on his right side.  It was close quarters, but if Mike and Marco could lift the slab up a little bit, John was determined to do whatever it took to pull Roy’s arm free.  Mentally, he hoped he didn’t do any more damage to it than had already been inflicted. 

 

“Everyone ready?” Stanley asked, looking at each in turn.  Seeing they were set, he said, “On my mark… one, two, now.”  

 

Holding his breath, Johnny’s eyes were glued to Roy’s shoulder, waiting for any indication the concrete was moving.   After what seemed to be an eternity, a small gap between Roy’s coat and the cement appeared. “Keep going… keep going,” he encouraged.  “ A little bit more,” he added, slipping his hand and arm behind the slab. 

 

Lightly running his hand down Roy’s arm, he could feel the broken bones poking into the sleeve of his turnout.  “Kelly,” Johnny threw over his shoulder.  “Can you slide him towards you?”  

 

“I’ll try,” Chet said, grabbing Roy’s waistband and pulling. 

 

“Slowly,” Johnny snapped, picking up the sleeve covering the injured arm.  “Cap, can you help him?” he threw back, twisting himself a little more to keep Roy’s arm as straight as possible.  

 

“Hurry, guys,” Marco hissed, strain evident in his voice. 

 

Shifting, Johnny ran a quick hand over Roy’s shoulder.  Not feeling any separation of bones, he pulled Roy’s arm upward at the same time that Cap and Kelly were pulling him away from the barricade.  “Hold it,” Gage yelled once Roy was free. 

 

Easing his arm downward, he grimaced at the sound of grating bones.   Behind him, he could hear the bang of the cement as it was dropped back down.  “Somebody get a B.P.,” Johnny ordered as he began working Roy’s coat from under him so as to get access to his arm.  “Marco, I’m gonna need a splint.”   

 

“60 over 20,” Mike reported, pulling off the stethoscope and putting it back in the drug box. 

 

“Can somebody get on the phone to Rampart?” Gage asked, easing the coat off Roy’s hand.  “Tell them Roy’s free.  He’s got at least three breaks in his arm, one of them compound.  Skin is cool to the touch and ashen in color.  Bleeding has stopped.”  Moving to his shoulder, he pressed lightly on the area.  “Possible broken clavicle, also.”

 

Behind him, Johnny could hear Stanley mimicking the words he was saying to the hospital.   Reaching back, he grabbed the splint that was ready for him and slipped it under Roy’s arm.   “How’s his pulse?” he asked, as he wrapped curlex around the splint to keep it in place.  

 

“Faint,” Kelly said, taking his hand from Roy’s throat, and sharing a worried look with Marco.   

 

“John, Rampart wants to know how long before he’s ready to transport.”  

 

“In just a few minutes, Cap,” Gage answered, standing up and motioning for the others to get ready.  “Okay, guys, we’re going to have to slide him out from under this beam,” he instructed.   “Hand me those I.V.s,” John said, threading them under the beam, before giving them to the Captain to hold.  Grabbing Roy’s belt with one hand and steadying Roy’s broken limb with the other, he said, “Go,” lifting with the other men and sliding him gently from under the beam that had held him down. 

 

Pausing only long enough to reposition the respirator once Roy’s head was clear of the beam, Johnny pulled the stokes that Mike had gotten ready for him closer and set it parallel to the injured man.  On Johnny’s mark, the men lifted the senior paramedic into the metal stretcher.  Tucking in the blanket that had been unwrapped, Gage saw that by the time he had secured the IVs, the equipment boxes were shut and ready to move.  

 

“Ambulance here?” Johnny asked, picking up one corner of the stretcher.

 

“Just outside,” Captain Stanley assured him. 

 

Hustling outside, the men of Station 51 gently set the stokes on the gurney and loaded it into the ambulance.   Putting the biophone and drug box into the ambulance, Stanley nodded to Johnny.  “We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he assured the young paramedic.  

 

“Marco, you take the Squad to Rampart,” Cap ordered, slapping the closed doors of the ambulance to signal them it was safe to go. 

 

Watching the ambulance pull away, sirens blaring, Hank pushed his helmet back and ran a shaky hand over his face.  This was one day he wasn’t going to forget for a long, long time. 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

Hustling away from the desk, Dixie McCall scanned the hallway as she moved towards the emergency room entrance.  Spotting the person she was looking for, she raised her voice to catch his attention.  “Kel, ambulance is here,” she said, slowing long enough for him to fall into step with her.  

 

Stepping through the automatic doors, the ambulance was barely stopped before Bracket yanked open the rear doors.  “Any change, Johnny?” he asked, pulling the gurney from the back of the ambulance. 

 

“Not much, Doc,” Johnny said soberly.  “His respirations are still assisted and his pulse weak,” Gage reported as the others set the gurney on the ground. 

 

Yanking a stethoscope from his pocket, Bracket quickly put it on Roy’s chest.  “Hold it,” he ordered looking at Johnny, before lowering his head to listen to the air as is moved through Roy’s lungs.   He then moved it slightly to listen to the heart tones.  After a moment, he said  “Okay,” indicating that Johnny should begin again.  “Let’s get him into Treatment One,” the doctor ordered, hustling everyone through the doorway.

 

On the way in, Kel spewed orders.  “Dix, I want that portable x-ray machine down here now,” he stressed.   “I want a type and cross drawn and let orthopedics and neurology know he’s here.  And make sure the OR is ready also.” 

 

Stopping next to the examination table, Johnny, Brackett and the ambulance personnel quickly moved Roy over to the exam table where he was descended upon by doctors and nurses from all sides.  Still operating the respirator, Johnny felt the adrenaline begin to leave his limbs, leaving him shaky.   The weight of being the sole person responsible for whether Roy lived or died had been taken from him.   It left him both relieved and desperate. 

 

Scanning the room she had just entered to see what needed to be done, Dixie noticed the paleness of Johnny’s face as well as the tension and stress radiating from him.  She had seen a similar worry on Roy’s face when the positions had been reversed after Johnny was bitten by a rattlesnake and when he had been hit by a car.  Roy had needed a strong shoulder to lean on then, and she had no doubt that Johnny would need nothing less now.   

 

Stepping closer to the exam table, she positioned herself behind Brackett.  “Kel, can Carol take over for Johnny?” she asked softly, touching his back lightly to get his attention.

 

Glancing back and catching Dix’s nod toward the end of the table, Kelly switched his gaze to Johnny.  A quick assessment told him that Dix was correct:  Gage needed to get out of there. 

 

“Johnny, let Carol take over there,” Brackett remarked.  “You look like you could use a break.” 

 

Clearing his throat, Johnny shook his head.  “I’m okay,” he offered, his voice thick.  Knowing he hadn’t sounded very convincing, he tried to summon up a weak smile to prove his point.

 

Stopping his examination, Brackett pinned the paramedic with his best doctor glare.  “That wasn’t a request, Gage,” he snarled, kicking himself for not taking Gage out of the action earlier.  Feeling bad at the flinch reaction his tone caused in the paramedic, Brackett softened his voice.  “Take the blood samples down to the lab.  By the time you get back, I’ll know more.”   

 

Reluctantly, Gage relinquished the ventilator and stepped away from the bed.  Stopping a few feet away, he found himself reluctant to go any farther.   He knew what the low readings and hurried movements of the others meant.   Bottom line, the man they knew as Roy DeSoto could slip away and be gone forever.   The renewed realization paralyzed him, stealing the breath from his own chest. 

 

Watching the play of emotions over Gage’s face as he stared at his friend and partner, McCall wasn’t surprised. There was a reason medical personnel were not allowed to work on their own family members and at this moment, John Gage, was living proof of the philosophy behind it.  Moving around the bed and picking up the lab vials, she stopped beside Johnny.  “Come on,” she said softly, taking his arm.  “We’ll go to the lab and come right back,” she assured him, hoping he was too distracted to see through the lie. 

 

Feeling him start to pull his arm away in protest, Dixie tightened her grip.  “Johnny,” she said, pausing until haunted brown eyes were turned her way.  “He’ll be okay,” she murmured.  “Roy’s strong and Kel is doing all he can.”  Pushing against him with her body, she added,  “Now, come on,” as she moved them both to the door and through it.  

 

Pausing in the hallway, but making sure she was between John and the treatment room, she let go of his arm.  “Here,” she said, holding out the vials.  “Take these to the lab and tell them to put a rush on them.  When you get back, we’ll check to see how he’s doing.” 

 

“Dixie….” Johnny started, desperation in his tone. 

 

“Aahh…..” Dixie interrupted, cutting him off.   “If you want to help Roy, you take those vials to the lab and tell them to put a rush on them,” she reiterated, knowing she was going to need to be strong for both of them.   

 

Running one hand through his hair in frustration, Johnny relented.  Taking the offered vials, he moved away from the treatment room door on his way to the lab.

 

Blowing out a relieved breath, she turned to go to the desk to check on the status of the x-ray technician when she noticed a worried firefighter standing a short distance away.   “Marco,” she greeted him, meeting him half way across the distance.   “The doctors are still examining Roy,” she explained.  “Why don’t you head down to the staff lounge and I’ll have Johnny join you there in a little bit.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Marco agreed, relieved to have some place else to go so he wouldn’t be in the way. 

 

Turning, Dixie was about to leave when she stopped.  “Marco, has anyone called Roy’s wife?” 

 

Frowning at the thought of how hard this was going to be on the woman, Marco nodded his head.  “Dispatch should have, ma’am.  I could double check on it for you if you wish?” he offered. 

 

“If you would, please,” Dixie murmured.  “Roy’s going to need to go to surgery and it would be best if we had her signature beforehand.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Marco said, hurrying out to the squad to make the call.

 

 ~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

Pushing his way through the swinging doors that led back into the Emergency Department, Johnny rushed down the hallway towards the treatment room.   Reaching the doorway, he was about to enter when he noticed the sign on the door indicating that x-rays were being taken.  Frustrated he turned to see if he could find anyone who would know how much longer they would be in there.  Looking down the hallway, he spotted Brackett by the desk.  “Doc?” he asked anxiously, coming to a halt next to the doctor. 

 

Steeling himself, Kelly looked up from the chart he was writing on to face John.  “He’s stable,” he began evenly, “but, you were correct; compound fracture in his arm and ribs, hairline fractures in two other places on his arm and one in his collarbone.   The rib punctured his lung,” Brackett continued, watching the play of emotions over Johnny’s face as he spoke.  “We put a chest tube in and it reinflated, so that’s a good sign.” Kel laid the chart down.  “As for his hand, Doctor Rickmeyer is hopeful, but there was a considerable amount of damage at the break.  He won’t know for sure how much of it will be permanent until he gets in there.” 

 

Nodding slowly, Johnny tried to absorb what he was being told… and not told.   “What about his head?” he asked, as it hadn’t been mentioned.   “Any sign of skull fracture?” 

 

“No,” Brackett said, shaking his head.  “There wasn’t.  That, at least, is a good thing.” 

 

“Then why hasn’t he regain consciousness?” Johnny asked, pinning the doctor with his eyes. 

 

Sighing, Kel locked eyes with the younger man.  “We’re not sure.  Roy’s body went through a significant amount of trauma.  It could be that the coma was a way of protecting himself.” 

 

“And?” Gage asked tensely, wanting to know what they were going to do about it.

 

“And,” the doctor replied, stuffing his ink pen back into his lab coat, “if that’s what has happened, there nothing we can do but wait for him to decide to wake up.” 

 

Disbelief and shock danced across Johnny’s face.   It was one thing to deal emotionally with the physical issues Roy was facing.  It was another beast entirely to know that Roy was in a coma and be helpless to do anything about it. 

 

“Johnny?”  

 

The sound of a woman’s scared voice calling his name brought Gage out of his own thoughts. Steeling his features, he turned to meet Roy’s wife.  

 

“Joanne,” Gage acknowledged, taking her hand as she reached him and drawing her into his arms.  Hugging her for a moment – both giving and taking comfort - he stepped back and turned her to face the doctor, holding her hand in one of his, while resting the other on her back for support.  “Joanne, you remember Doctor Brackett?  He’s taking care of Roy.” 

 

“Mrs. DeSoto,” Kel greeted her, shaking her hand. 

 

“How is he?”  Joanne asked anxiously.  “The dispatcher said that he had been injured at a fire.  All they would say was that he had broken his arm and hurt his ribs,” she offered looking between the two men to assess if there was anything she hadn’t been told.   From the concerned look shared between the two, she tightened her grip on Johnny’s hand, preparing for more.

 

“Roy’s stable for now,” Brackett assured her, refocusing his attention to her.   “He’s having x-rays taken right now and we’ll be taking him to surgery soon to fix his arm and ribs.” 

 

“Was he burned?” Joanne asked huskily. 

 

“No, no,” Johnny assured her, rubbing her back to comfort her.  “We were well away from the fire when it happened.” 

 

“Then what?” she whispered, scanning Johnny’s face for some sign of why he and the doctor were so sober and concerned.

 

“Mrs. DeSoto,” Kel began, trying to find the right words to tell her the truth without upsetting her even more.  “Roy suffered a punctured lung and has had some problems breathing. We have him on a ventilator right now.”  Seeing her blanch at the words, he continued.  “We believe that once his rib is realigned and we get his fluid levels up, we’ll be able to take him off of it in a few days.”

 

“Oh, thank God,” Joanne whispered, relieved by the thought that Roy would be off of the machine in the near future.  Blinking away the tears that had sprung into her eyes, she braced herself for what was next.   “What else?” 

 

Seeing a shared look again between the two men, Joanne turned to face her husband’s partner.  “Johnny?  What else is wrong with Roy?” she asked, her voice stronger than it had been.  “I need for you to tell me,” she added, gripping his hand harder to relay the intensity of her need. 

 

Glancing at Brackett and receiving a nod indicating he should tell her, Johnny cleared his throat.  “Roy suffered a severe concussion.  He hasn’t regained consciousness since the accident,” Johnny explained, his tone soft.  

 

“When will he?” she asked, concerned as much by Johnny’s demeanor as his words.

 

“We’re,” Johnny’s eyes darted to the doctor, silently pleading for Brackett to save him so he would not have to say out loud the words that Roy could be in a coma for years.  “…not sure right now,” he finally said. 

 

“Mrs. DeSoto,” Kelly said, drawing her focus off of Johnny,  “Roy has been through a lot over the last couple of hours.  Sometimes, in situations like this, the mind shuts itself down as a way to make the body rest.” 

 

“I see,” Joanne said hesitantly, trying to grasp what the doctor was saying.   “But he’ll wake up soon, right?”

 

Twitching his eye, Brackett struggled to find the right way to tell Joanne that it could hours or days before it happened.  He was saved from answering by the sound of the x-ray machine being wheeled out of the exam room.   “They’re done now,” he said nodding toward to the machine coming down the hallway behind Johnny and Joanne, effectively skirting the question.  “Let me check on him and then you can go in and see him before he goes to surgery.” 

 

Realizing that her question was not answered, but letting it go for the moment, Joanne moved with Johnny toward treatment room one.  Nervously clenching her hands, she waited for the doctor to reappear.  After a few moments, she asked in a low tone, “What should I prepare for?”

 

“He’s pretty banged up,” Johnny cautioned, “and they’ll be a lot of machines and wires on him.”  Trying to lighten his voice, he continued, “But, as they cover up a lot of his face, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

 

Suppressing a small smile, Joanne shook her head but clung to the lifeline thrown to her.  “You are as bad as Roy said you were, aren’t you, John Gage?” she asked dryly.  Inside, she thanked the powers that be that Roy had such a good friend.  She knew that each would do anything for the other.  She just never thought that taking care of her would be part of that bargain.

 

 “You can come in now,” Dixie encouraged, from the now open door. 

 

Holding back, Johnny let Joanne approach the bed first.   “How’s he doing?” he asked quietly to Dixie. 

 

“About the same,” she offered.  “His respirations are still down a little, but better than when you brought him in.”  Patting his arm, she smiled at the tall, thin man.  “He’s a fighter Johnny.  You know that.” 

 

“Yeah,” he breathed, watching Joanne lean down and kiss his cheek.  The door opening behind them stopped any further conversation.  Two orderlies pushed a transport cart into the room, ready to take Roy to surgery.  Stepping around the cart, John laid a hand on Roy’s shoulder.  Leaning down and speaking near Roy’s ear, he said, “Hang in there.”

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

Pouring another cup of coffee, Johnny put the pot down and ran a hand over his face.  He was tired and rung out.   He knew part of it was the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything all day, instead, living on caffeine and adrenaline.  Those things could only take you so far.   Sighing, he picked up the cup and moved back to the table in the break room.   

 

Across the room, Joanne stood silently staring out the window.  She had been quiet since the other men of Station 51 had left. Captain Stanley had taken John off work, but he couldn’t justify the entire crew going down.  Briggs and Worten from C shift had volunteered to finish out the shift.  He’d have to remember to tell Roy they owed them a beer, at least.

 

Glancing up at the clock, Johnny sighed again.  It had been two hours since the guys had left.  That meant Roy had been in surgery about three hours.   Swishing the coffee in the cup, the events of the day replayed in his mind, images and sensations dancing unheeded in his memory.

 

Feeling a tapping on his shoulder, John looked back. 

 

“You take the rooms on the left. I’ll look over here,” Roy said slightly breathless from the adrenaline coursing through him.  “We’ll meet back here.” 

 

“Got it,” John answered back, moving to the rooms that once held offices.   Looking in the first one, Johnny noticed that large chunks of the prefabricated cement walls had broken away from the metal skeleton holding them in place. Stepping around the debris on the floor, he cautiously entered the damaged room, keeping one eye on the walls and ceilings in case anything else decided to fall, and the other on the floor looking for any sign of people.  Not finding any, he quickly moved out of the office and on to the next.  

 

Not finding any sign of occupancy, Johnny finished up his search and headed back to the corridor to meet Roy.   Seeing his partner approach from the other side, Johnny mentally sighed in relief.  It didn’t matter how many times they separated when searching a building, he always felt better when they were back together.  That way he would know that Roy was unharmed, or at the very least, be right there to help him.

 

Roy stopped beside his partner.  “Anything?” he asked. 

 

“Nothing,” Gage replied, shaking his head.  “Down there,” Johnny added, motioning his thumb over his shoulder, “is the manufacturing floor.  Some of the walls around here are real shaky.” 

 

“Yeah,” Roy answered, glancing upward, “noticed that.  Let’s make a quick sweep of that work area and then get out of here.” 

 

Turning to show his agreement, Johnny lead the way down the corridor to the old warehouse production area.   He just entered the last hallway leading to the large room when a rumble shook the building.  Cement chunks rained down on the pair.  Instinctively crouching and covering his face, Johnny spun around to see where Roy was when the debris had stopped. 

 

“You okay?” Roy asked, immediately in front of Johnny when he turned. 

 

“You?” Johnny asked nodding his head in response to the question.  Getting a thumb’s up sign, Johnny glanced back over his shoulder at their route out.  “Ready?”

 

“Let’s go!” Roy yelled getting to his feet to follow Johnny as he turned to leave. 

 

A loud crack froze Gage momentarily.  Glancing up, he saw the ceiling crumble and the cement wall begin to crash down.  Before he could say or do anything, he felt a force drive into the middle of his back.

 

A strangled sound escaped Johnny lips as the implications of the memory soaked into his being. 

 

“Johnny?”  Joanne called, alerted by the strange sound and concerned by the distress evident on his face.   Coming quickly across the room, she sat in the chair opposite the firefighter gripping his hands.

 

“He pushed me,” Johnny whispered, his voice strangled.   Raising haunted, distressed eyes up to Joanne, he whispered it again.  “He pushed me.” 

 

“Who?” Joanne shook her head.  “Who pushed you?”

 

“Roy… Roy pushed me,” Gage stuttered.  “In the warehouse… before he was hurt.”  Agitated, John rose to his feet and moved across the room, stopping when he faced the wall.   “He must of known it was going to happen and he shoved me out of the way,” he said, in a low flat voice.  Nausea gripped John at the realization that Roy had chosen to save him rather than protect himself. 

 

“Oh, man,” John breathed, running a hand over his face before looking upward, trying to deal with the overwhelming feeling of guilt that had invaded him.   He should have been in the pile also.  He should be as hurt as Roy. 

 

“Johnny…” Joanne started to say, only to be cut off by Johnny spinning to face her.   The cascade of emotions across his face brought her up short.

 

“No!  I,” Johnny exclaimed vehemently, poking his finger into his chest, “I should be in there, not….”  The words were cut off by the emotions gripping his throat.  

 

Anger exploded in Joanne. “What?” she challenged.  “Not here… alive and well?”   Rising to her own feet, she stood her ground by the table.  “Well, too bad, mister.  My husband… your partner,” Joanne stressed, “did exactly what I always knew he would do; put your life above his own.  How do I know this?  Because that’s what he told me you would do for him.”   Taking in a deep breath, Joanne fought to control her own emotions.  “He thought you were worth dying for.  Don’t you dare dishonor that by some little ‘oh pity me, cause I’m not hurt’ routine,” she spat out.

 

Johnny was taken back by the vehemence of Joanne’s words.  Staring at her, he watched the fear and anger in her dissolve into tears.  Taking a few steps forward, he caught her in his arms and brought her close.  “Shhh,” he said softly, envying her this release.  “Let it out,” he encouraged, blinking back the wetness in his own eyes.  After a few minutes, she pulled back, sniffling back her tears.  

 

Easing his grip, Johnny dropped his arms.   “Man, Roy always said you never held back any punches.  Boy, was he right,” he said lightly.

 

The comment drew an embarrassed chuckle from Joanne.  Looking up at him, she said, “I’m sorry, Johnny.  I….”

 

“Don’t,” Johnny said, shaking his head, a small sad smile on his face.  “I deserved it.”  Wanting to make sure she did not read his still fluctuating emotions, Johnny stepped away and picked up his coffee cup.   Moving to the counter, he warmed the dark brew and again fought the urge to vomit.  Despite what Joanne had said, he still felt guilty, only now worse because he had upset Joanne as well as let Roy down. 

 

The sound of the door opening brought both of their attentions to the doctor entering. 

 

Pulling a surgerical cap off his head, Brackett smiled encouragingly.  “Looks good,” he said in summary.   “Dr. Rickmeyer said he didn’t think there was any permanent damage on the arm.” 

 

Johnny blew out a breath.  “Man, I was afraid I really messed it up when I had to bend it as I was getting him out,” he confessed.  

 

“Well, you didn’t,” Kelly reiterated.   “He’s breathing easier now and I think we’ll be able to pull him off the ventilator in a day or so.  Not too bad, all things considering.”

 

“Has he awakened yet?” Joanne asked, hoping for even more good news.

 

“No,” Brackett said, sobering.  “I’m afraid he hasn’t.” 

 

Looking at his feet and pursing his lips, Johnny grimaced.  He had really hoped Roy would have shown some sign of coming to by now.   “When can we see him, Doc?” he asked raising his head.

 

“They’re still getting him settled in recovery, so it’ll be a little bit.”  Holding open the door, he said, “Give it fifteen minutes or so, Johnny, then you can take Joanne back there, but don’t stay too long.”  Thanks followed the doctor from the room.

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

Stepping out of the cab at the fire station, Johnny waited by his pickup for the taxi to disappear.  The night breeze on his face felt good after breathing in hospital air for so many hours.  Roy had been about as he expected when he had taken Joanne into the recovery room.  Johnny had held back, letting her have the time with him.  When she tried to push him forward, he declined, saying he’d spend time with him the next day.  It was more important for him to know she was here, he assured her.

 

In reality, the view of his partner swallowed in bandages, monitors and tubing, knowing it was, at least in part, because of him, was eating at Johnny.  His emotions had been alternating between feeling guilty to being angry at Roy for putting his own safety second.   The opening of the door off the kitchen threw light into the parking lot.  

 

“Hey, Cap,” Johnny greeted the tall man coming toward him.

 

“John,” Stanley said, leaning against the jeep next to Gage, glancing up at the stars.  “Saw the taxi and thought it must have been you, but then you didn’t come in.”  

 

“Yeah, well, didn’t think I’d be very good company right now,” Johnny murmured apologetically.  He had called the station earlier while waiting to take Joanne into recovery and as he didn’t have anything new to tell them, he didn’t see any point of going in, he told himself.

 

Nodding, Stanley stayed silent, knowing that John would talk when he was ready, although he had pretty good idea what was bothering the man.  Part of being a good captain was knowing your men and at this moment, he could read John Gage like an open book. 

 

“Roy pushed me out of the way,” Gage finally said quietly.  

 

“Figured that had happened,” Hank replied.

 

Looking up sharply, Johnny was surprised.  “How?”

 

Shrugging Stanley answered, “Easy. It’s what you would do for him.” 

 

“You’re the second person that has said that to me tonight,” Johnny said, annoyance evident in his tone.

 

“And are we wrong?” Hank challenged, amusement tinging his words.

 

“Well… no, but…,”  Johnny stuttered.

 

“Look,” Cap said, turning to look at Johnny.  “You two are close, but that’s what makes you so darn good at your jobs.  Hell, sometimes I think the other knows what the one’s going to do even before they know themselves.”   Putting one hand on Johnny’s shoulder, Hank continued.  “If you had been following Roy and you could choose between saving yourself or saving him, what would you do?” he asked rhetorically.

 

Pausing, Cap could almost hear the arguments of how that situation was different starting and then being discarded inside the other man’s head.  After a few minutes, he stressed, “You can’t blame him for doing something that you would do, nor can you blame yourself for not being able to save him.”  Dropping his hand, he added before turning to go back inside, “Hate to break it to ya, pal, but you’re only human.” 

 

Watching the retreating form, John heard the Captain’s words echoing in his head.  They helped some, but he knew he wouldn’t feel any better until Roy was up and around.  Sighing, Johnny climbed into his vehicle and headed away from the fire station.

 

Johnny really did intend to go home.  Trouble was he found himself pulling into the parking lot of Rampart Emergency Hospital.  Parking, he debated the wisdom of being there.  The odds of him seeing Roy was slim given the time of night.  Still, he needed to try. 

 

Bypassing the main entrance, Gage entered the hospital through the Emergency Room door.   If he was going to have any chance, he needed to enlist a little help from a friend.  Glancing around the immediate area, he spotted who he was looking for.  “Doc?” Johnny called, coming up behind Doctor Joe Early.

 

“Johnny,” Joe acknowledged, surprise in his voice.   “You aren’t working tonight are you?”

 

“No,” Johnny answered, realizing that the confusion was because he still had his uniform on from earlier in the day.  Running his hand over his head self consciously, he sheepishly said, “I, er… kinda forgot to change.” 

 

“Understandably, given the events of the day.  I heard about Roy,” Joe answered, rubbing the palm of his hand.  “How are you doing?”

 

Shrugging, with a noncommittal “You know,” John diverted the focus away from himself.  “Doc, could you get me in to see Roy?’

 

“It’s awfully late….” Doctor Early replied hesitantly.

 

“I know, I know,” Johnny acknowledged earnestly, “but I really need to get in there.”  Seeing hesitation in Early’s face, Gage continued.   “I let Joanne have my time earlier,” he silently apologized for the little lie.  “Just a few minutes,” he vowed.

 

Battling against the wisdom of telling the firefighter to go home and get some rest instead of being at the hospital, Joe relented.  “Just a few minutes,” he stressed, watching the relief flash across Johnny’s face.  “Fact is, I was just going to go up and see him myself.  Come on.”

 

Pausing inside the door of the intensive care room, Johnny took a steadying breath.  Nearing the bed, he scanned the monitors attached to his partner.

 

“That’s looking better,” Early murmured, closing the chart and sliding back into the holder at the end of the bed.   Coming to the head of the bed on the opposite side of Johnny, he picked up Roy’s hand and pushed on his fingernails, testing the blood flow in his hand. 

 

“His color’s better,” Johnny noticed, coming to the opposite side of the bed. “What?” he asked, alarmed by the sudden tensing in the doctor’s countenance. 

 

“His heart rate just jumped,” Early said, focusing on the heart monitor beside him.   “There’s a blood cuff over there,” he indicated past Johnny.  “Take his pressure would you?”  As he talked, the heart rate steadied. 

 

Shifting into medical mode, Gage wrapped the cuff and pumped it up.  Listening, he read off the numbers.  “110 over 70.  Any idea, Doc?” 

 

“It just did it again,” Early answered, looking at the print out.  “Very odd,” he murmured, turning to examine Roy.   “John, do me a favor and step out and ask a nurse to come in here, would you?” 

 

“Sure,” Johnny said, moving to the door.

 

In a few minutes, he followed the nurse back into the room.  “What to do you think it is?” Johnny asked.  

 

“I want another chest x-ray taken immediately and set up for an echocardiogram,” Early instructed the nurse. 

 

“Pulmonary embolism?” Johnny asked soberly, trying to determine what the doctor was thinking.

 

“I can’t rule it out right now, but given the fact his breathing hasn’t deteriorated, if there is one, it is very small,” Joe replied, trying to offer some encouragement.  

 

“And the heart rate?” Johnny asked, watching as the rhythm momentarily increased again.

 

“Let’s see what the echo shows,” Early answered evasively.  “Look, it’ll be several hours before we know anything.  Why don’t you go home and get some rest.”  

 

“I’m okay,” Johnny said, dismissing the option of actually leaving the hospital.  In his mind, he had failed Roy earlier by not being there when he needed him, he wasn’t going to do it again.  “I’d rather be here in case anything else happens,” he added, raising troubled eyes to the doctor. 

 

Knowing how much the admission had just cost John, Joe didn’t push it.  “I’ll make a deal with you,” Early said, joining Gage at the bottom of the bed and putting a hand on his shoulder.  “You go to the staff lounge and lay down for a while and I’ll wake you up the minute I know anything or if there is any change.  Deal?” 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

“Johnny?” 

 

Hearing someone calling his name roused Gage from a troubled sleep.   He had jolted awake several times earlier thinking he had heard someone calling to him.   Realizing that this time, there was an actual person standing beside him, he sprung upward to a sitting position.

 

“Easy there,” Doctor Early said evenly, seeing a flash of anxiety cross Johnny’s face. “Roy’s doing fine,” he assured Gage. 

 

“What…,” John had to clear the sleep from his throat and start again.  “What did you find out?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his face to try to clear the mental cobwebs. 

 

“Not much,” Joe admitted, handing Johnny the cup of coffee he had just poured for himself.  “The x-ray was clean and the echo didn’t show any irregularities.  Plus, the rhythm has stopped fluctuating for now.”   

 

“And so?”  Gage asked, trying to grasp what the next steps could be.

 

“So, now we wait and see what Roy’s going to do,” Early said evenly. 

 

“Joe,” Kelly Brackett called, sticking his head into the room.  “The people you have been waiting for are here.”

 

Nodding, Joe replied, “Let them in.”

 

Surprised to see Dr. Brackett, Johnny looked at his watch and was shocked to see it say eight in the morning.  “Took a while to get those test back, didn’t it, Doc?” he asked dryly standing up. 
 

Shrugging unapologetically, Early replied, “You needed the sleep.”  As the door opened, he continued, “And you need to get cleaned up and a decent meal.” 

 

“Gage, Doctor Early,” Captain Stanley said, coming into the room.  

 

“Cap,” Johnny greeted the man uneasily.  He really didn’t want to leave, but he had the distinct feeling that he was going to lose the battle this time.   His suspicion was confirmed when his superior continued.

 

“John, Doctor Early says you’ve been here all night.  Don’t you think its time you got out of here for a while and got cleaned up?” Hank continued in his best ‘no argument’ voice.  “Come on, pal.  Chet’s outside.  He’ll follow us in your truck.”  Stanley opened the door and waited for Johnny to precede him. 

 

Blowing out a defeated breath, Johnny conceded.  “Okay,” he muttered, rubbing his gritty eyes.  He paused on his way out when Early spoke.

 

“Johnny, I think you should know I’ve left strict instructions with the nurses that you are not allowed back in there for at least four hours.”  Waiting for the protest, he pinned John with his eyes.

 

“Doc,” Johnny began, spinning toward the doctor to argue with him, only to be cut off by the Captain. 

 

“Gage,” Stanley warned, stepping in front of John and placing a hand on his chest.

 

“You aren’t going to do anyone any good going as you are,” Early said evenly.  “Roy’s going to need you later,” he added, leaving the rest of his meaning unsaid. 

 

Hank let his hand drop as the tension left John.  Stepping back, he watched as Johnny nodded once to Early before he followed him out the door.

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

Four hours and fifteen minutes later, John Gage pushed open the door to Roy’s room.  He had to admit he felt better after a shower and food.  Mike and Marco had followed the others to his apartment and cooked breakfast for all of them while he had cleaned up.   The couple hours of ‘normalcy’ had helped to take some of the edge off.

 

“Doc, Doc,” John greeted Early and Brackett hesitantly as he entered.  He was waiting for one or both of them to lay into him for being back here so soon.

 

“Hi, John,” Brackett answered off-handedly, looking up briefly from Roy’s chart. 

 

“Johnny,” Early greeted him.  “You look better.”

 

“Thanks.  Feel better, too,” John admitted sheepishly.  Nodding toward Roy, he asked, “How’s he doing?”

 

“Improving,” Brackett summed up, sliding the chart back in.  “We still haven’t figured out why his heart rate kept jumping last night, but it seems to have stopped.” 

 

“It’s doing it again,” Early announced watching the scope.

 

Staring suspiciously at Joe, Kelly moved over to watch the monitor.  “Hrmph,” he said, perplexed.   After a few seconds, it slowed back down.   “And it hasn’t done it since last night?” he asked Joe.

 

“No, I’ve had the nurses watching it,” Early replied, just as perplexed. 

 

“Uh huh,” Kelly said, rubbing his chin before looking at Johnny.  “Johnny, I have a hunch.   Speak again, would you?” 

 

Confused, John stuttered,  “Well… er… what do you want me to say?” 

 

Nodding as he watched the monitor once again speed up, Kelly looked at Joe.  “You see it?” 

 

“He’s responding to Johnny,” Joe replied, surprised he hadn’t caught it himself.   Looking at a confused Johnny, he explained, “Roy’s heart rate is increasing when he hears your voice.” 

 

“What?” Gage asked, coming closer pointing at Roy.  “He can hear us?” 

 

“I think so, on some level at least,” Kelly replied.  “That’s a good sign,” he breathed, shining his pen light in Roy’s eyes. 

 

“A very good sign,” Joe agreed.  “Talk to him, John.  It’ll help him find his way back.” 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

Pushing himself away from the window in Roy’s room, Johnny blew out a breath.  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he had been talking to Roy on and off for several hours now and the man had still not awakened.   He was running out things to talk about.  

 

“Come on, Roy,” Johnny exclaimed, frustrated.  “You gotta wake up.” 

 

Stopping beside the bed and sinking back into the chair, Johnny looked at his friend and partner.  Swallowing hard, he tried to reach him again. “Joanne’s running out of things to tell the kids as why they can’t come see you,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.   “You know how they are… gotta see their dad,” he added, a forced lightness in his voice. 

 

Silence descended for a few minutes.  “The guys said to tell you hello, by the way.  And you missed Mike’s omelets this morning; you know how much you like them.”  Johnny drifted into silence again, staring at the hand that he had gripped without realizing.  

 

Looking at the hand in his, John was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization of how much he had come to rely on that hand and the person attached to it.  Swallowing, John had to fight the emotions that threatened to take his voice.  “You know,” he began, clearing his throat, “you should have protected yourself back there and not saved me,” he said, a frown creasing his forehead.  “I mean you’ve got Joanne and the kids to think about.  I’ve got… well,” a sad laugh came from Johnny, “you.”

 

Watching Roy’s hand, John continued.  “I, er…  never had a brother growing up.   Always thought it’d be good to have someone to do stuff with and that I could talk to about things.  Didn’t know that I’d find one when I became a paramedic,” he said, raising eyes bright with tears to look at Roy’s face.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do if you aren’t around, so you see,” John cleared his throat, trying to lighten his voice, “you need to open your eyes.” 

 

A movement of Roy’s head brought Johnny to his feet.   “Roy?” he called, leaning over the bed.   “Come on Roy, open your eyes,” he encouraged.  

 

Slowly, unfocused blue eyes opened.   Putting his hand on Roy’s forehead, Johnny leaned into his range of vision.   “Roy,” he called trying to get him to focus on him.  When Roy’s eyes locked with his, he said, “You’re at Rampart.  You’re going to be okay.” 

 

Johnny watched as comprehension came slowly into Roy’s eyes.  “You’re going to be okay,” Johnny stressed again.  A frown creased Roy’s forehead as a cough shook his body.  Guessing as to the source, Johnny offered, “You’re on a respirator because your lung was punctured and collapsed.  Don’t fight it,” he soothed.   

 

Still coughing, Roy nodded slightly.  A grimace crossed his face as a tear slid from the corner of his eye.  

 

“You in pain?” Johnny asked. Another nod gave John his answer.  “Hang on, I’ve got to call the doctor,” he replied, squeezing Roy’s hand before moving to the door. 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

“Any word on Roy?” Dixie McCall asked as she sat behind the desk in the ER.  It had been a busy day so far and she had not had the chance to check on him herself.

 

“Not for a few hours,” Kelly Brackett answered, slipping his ink pen back in this coat pocket.  “The man in four….”   The overhead announcement stopped his conversation.

 

“Doctor Bracket, you’re needed in Room 237.  Doctor Brackett, you’re needed in Room 237.” 

 

“That’s Roy’s room,” Kelly exclaimed, before heading to the elevator.  Waiting for the doors to open, he was not surprised to see Dixie standing beside him.

 

Pushing his way into Room 237, Brackett realized immediately that something had changed.  Johnny was standing over Roy trying to soothe him.  “Easy, Roy.  Brackett’ll be here in a minute,” Kel heard as he entered the room. 

 

“Well,” Kelly announced, moving to the top of the bed and looking down at Roy.  “Decided to join us, huh?” 

 

“Doc, he’s in a lot of pain,” Johnny reported, concern evident in his tone.  

 

“I’m not surprised, as we couldn’t really judge how much to give him when he was unconscious,” Kel explained.  “Dix, 10 milligrams MS IV,” he ordered, scanning Roy’s monitors.  “How about we get rid of this?” he asked Roy, beginning to loosen the tape holding the ventilator tube in place.

 

“Let me in there would you, Johnny?” Dix said, as she moved passed him with a syringe.  Injecting the morphine through Roy’s IV, she smiled at him as she worked.  “Bout time you woke up,” she joked, winking at him.    “I’m tired of keeping this one,” nodding at Johnny “out of trouble.” 

 

“Hey, I haven’t been any trouble,” Gage protested good-naturedly, joining into Dix’s attempt to take Roy’s mind off of the uncomfortable procedure.  “He’s the one that’s been keeping everyone up.” 

 

“Yeah, and you’re the one who broke into the hospital last night,” Dix countered dryly, over Roy’s coughs as the tube came out.  “Easy,” she soothed to Roy, knowing the coughing had to be hurting him.   Grabbing a tissue she wiped the tears streaming down Roy’s face.  “There, that’s better now, isn’t it?” she said, as his coughing subsided.  The morphine should be starting to work its magic soon.   

 

Turning, she realized that Roy still had Johnny’s hand in his.  She surmised that Roy was using it to ride out the waves of pain by the color of his hand.   She smiled knowingly to John, giving him credit for his placid demeanor, despite the painful grip. 

 

“Long?” Roy croaked, looking at Johnny.  

 

“About 30 hours,” Johnny replied, feeling Roy’s grip beginning to ease a little.

 

“Joanne?”

 

“She’s hanging in there,” Gage assured him.

 

“I sent her home a couple hours ago,” Kelly added.  “John, why don’t you go give her call while we check this guy over?”

 

“Sure,” Johnny replied, beginning to extract his hand.  He stopped when the grip on his hand tightened.  Looking at Roy, he waited.

 

Clearing his throat, Roy blinked several times, trying to fight against the painkiller that was pulling him into the abyss of sleep.  Forcing his eyes to focus, he sought out and locked eyes with John.  “I heard you,” he croaked out.  Hoping John would understand, he added, “Me neither.” 

 

John dropped his head to hide the tears that had welled suddenly.  Squeezing the hand in his to let Roy know he did understand that Roy was telling him he considered him to be a brother also, he blinked away the tears and laughed to ease the emotions in him.  Looking up, he ignored the questioning looks from Kelly and Dixie, and said, “I’ll call Joanne and tell her you’re awake.” 

 

~ . ~ .~ . ~ . ~. ~ . ~. ~ . ~ . ~

 

8 months later

 

Trying to shake off the ringing in his ears and comprehend why he was face down on the floor of the building he and his partner were searching, Los Angeles Paramedic Firefighter John Gage had a chilling sense of déjà vu run up his spine.   Jerking to his knees, a knot of fear clenched in Johnny’s solar plexus as the smell of dust and smoke permeated his senses.

 

“Roy?” Gage yelled in desperation, spinning around to look where his partner had been.

 

Rubbing the dirt and grime from his face, Roy Desoto pulled himself to his knees and looked for his partner through the haze in the hallway.  Hearing the anguished cry from ahead of him, Roy rose to his feet and staggered the few steps over to Johnny.  “You hurt?” he asked anxiously, dropping to one knee and putting his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. 

 

A shudder of relief passed through John Gage.  “Man,” he said, his voice shaky, “that’s exactly how it happened when you almost….” Johnny trailed off, not able to say the word died.  Shaking off the haunting memories, a shaky laugh escaped his lips.  “You gotta stop scaring me like that,” he said, gripping Roy’s turnout and shaking him to emphasize his point.  

 

Squeezing the shoulder below his hand, Roy chuckled to relieve the tension of the moment.  “I’ll try to do better,” he said lightly, sliding his arm down to grasp Johnny’s wrists and bring him to his feet with him as Roy stood.

 

Waiting until he was sure that John was steady, Roy let go of him.   “I’ll tell you what,” Roy said, taking a quick look around.  “How about we get out of here and we'll talk about it over breakfast at my house.” 

 

Slapping Roy on the back, John grinned.  “You’re on,” he said, once again heading down the hallway toward the exit. 

 

The end

9/08

 

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