by E!lf

Standing at the nurses' station, filling out forms, Dixie McCall heard her favorite pair of paramedics approaching down the hall.

"What have you got against Donald?" Roy DeSoto was saying.  "'Cause personally I'm kind of partial to Donald."

"You would be."  Johnny Gage's voice was scathing.  "I mean, face it, Roy.  Donald is just a little bit weird.  He always sounds like he's talking with his mouth full, he's always getting excited over nothing, he squawks all the time without making any sense and no one can understand a word he's saying."

"And yet, there's something endearing about him.  Come to think of it, he reminds me of someone else I know."

Johnny caught the meaningful look his partner shot him and glared back.  "Hardy har har."  They parted to let a nurse push an elderly man in a wheelchair between them and Johnny changed tactics.  "Okay, fine.  Forget Donald.  I wasn't talking about Donald anyway.  What I'm talking about is the whole situation.  I mean, we're looking at a mindset straight out of the '30s and '40s here, and all I'm saying is that it needs to be updated to reflect modern times and more enlightened ideals.  That's all I'm saying."

They came up to the desk and Roy set down the drug box and requisition form he was carrying.  Johnny carried on with his tirade.

"Dixie agrees with me.  Don't you, Dix?"

"John Gage!  Do I look like I was born yesterday?"

Johnny turned on his most charming crooked grin.  "Well, actually . . . ."

The head nurse slapped at him playfully.  "Insincere flattery will get you nowhere.  I'm not about to take sides on anything until I know exactly what you're talking about.  And I may not take sides even then!"

Roy had wandered over to the coffee pot.  He poured two cups and came back, sipping one and sliding the other across the desk to his partner.  Johnny stood straight, hands on hips.

"What we're talking about, Dix, is one of the greatest social issues facing America today.  We're talking about racism, Dixie.  We're talking about prejudice and segregation!"

"We're talking about Disney cartoons," Roy elaborated.

"Talking about . . . excuse me . . . Disney cartoons?"

"Yeah, Dix."  Johnny leaned across the counter, cradling his coffee in one hand and using the forefinger of the other to tap out points on the Formica surface as he grew impassioned about his topic.

"You notice how Minnie always goes for Mickey?  And Daisy is always with Donald?  I mean, think about it.  A black mouse and a black mouse.  A white duck and a white duck.  Now, if that isn't racist I ask you, what is?  How come Mickey never asks Daisy out?  How come we never see Donald and Minnie on a date?  Well?  Did you ever think about that?"

"The mouse dates the mouse and the duck dates the duck," Roy said reasonably.  "Do you date outside your species, Johnny?"  He considered his own question for a minute, chewing on his lower lip and studying the surface of his coffee.  "On second thought, forget I asked that."

"Oh, ha ha!  You're really on the ball tonight, aren't you?  Somebody call up Johnny Carson and see if he has a spot for a funny paramedic!  Okay, fine.  They stick to their species.  So why can't Daisy go out with Daffy, then?  He's a duck.  A black duck!  So there!"

"Yeah, but he's from another studio," Roy countered.  "They can't date characters from other studios.  It's a clause in their contract, I think.  Besides, Daisy's just being faithful to her man -- er, mallard.  You wouldn't want her to be a floozy, now, would you?"

Johnny gave his partner a look that was a cross between amusement and exasperation, then slid away from him as Dr. Kelly Brackett edged between them.

Brackett was wearing a good suit and struggling with a dark tie.  He glared at Dixie, moving around behind the desk as she filled the boys' requisition slip.

"Aren't you ready yet?  We're due at the restaurant at seven, remember."

Dixie gave him a look.  "Yes, mother.  Honestly, Kel.  There's plenty of time.  As soon as I've finished with this I'll go change.  At the rate you're going with that tie, I'll probably be ready before you are."

Roy was too polite to comment, but Johnny wasn't.  He looked from one to the other, dark eyes lit with speculation, and smiled.  "Sooooo . . . you two going out to dinner then?"

"Yes, Johnny," Dixie answered him, her eyes wide with mock innocence.  "I have a date tonight with Kel!  And with Joe Early!  And with Mike Morton."

"All at the same time?"  Johnny shot his partner a look.  "What was it you were saying about Daisy being a floozy?"

Dixie pressed her lips together, narrowed her eyes and poked a finger in his shoulder.  "Watch it, pal!  You know, I'm going to remember that the next time you need a tetanus booster!"

Roy suppressed a smile and spoke up to take the heat off his partner.  "So what's the big do tonight, anyway?"

"The AMA is hosting a dinner symposium on advances in emergency medicine and we're going to do a presentation on the paramedic program," Brackett answered him.  "If you fellows feel your ears burning tonight, it's just because we're talking about you."

"Yeah, but don't worry," Mike Morton's voice said from behind them.  "It won't be anything good."

The group around the desk shifted and opened to allow Morton and Joe Early to join them.  Like Brackett both were dressed for the evening out.

"So where are they having this dinner anyway," Johnny asked.

"The Flamingo Room at the Clifftop Chalet Hotel," Early answered.  "You fellows ever heard of it?"

"Heard of it, yeah," Roy said.  "I've thought I'd like to take Joanne there sometime when we can afford it.  Like after the kids get out of college.  Maybe.  If we can save enough by then."

"It's expensive," Brackett agreed.  "But the food is great!"

"What --" Johnny started.

"Don't ask," Roy interrupted him.  "You'll only be torturing yourself.  More to the point, you'll be torturing me."

Johnny ignored him.  "What are you having for dinner, do you know?  I bet it's steak and baked potatoes, right?"

"Wrong!"  Brackett grinned.  "If I remember the menu correctly, we're having lobster bisque.  Oh, but not until the second or third course . . . of course."

"The appetizers are my weakness," Early confessed.  "Baked brie in puff pastry.  Heaven!"

"Aw, man!" Johnny moaned.  "No Cheez Whiz on a Ritz cracker for these guys.  I hope you all know how lucky you are.  We've got Chet Kelly's cooking to look forward to."

"Oh?  And what are you having for dinner tonight?"

"Blackened leg of chicken," Roy answered, "and potatoes tartare.  Silicone spinach -- he never gets all the sand rinsed off."

"And for dessert," Johnny finished, "a lovely salad made of partially set up grape Jell-O with under ripe pears and cantaloupe and overripe bananas."

Morton made a face.  "Grape Jell-O with pears, cantaloupe and bananas?"

"It's what was on sale at the fruit stand."

"Ah."

"You know," Johnny's eyes lit up as an idea struck him, "seeing as how this dinner thing is all about paramedics, I'd think the least you could do is bring back some of the grub for a couple of the hardworking pioneers of the program."

Brackett matched Johnny's crooked grin with one of his own.  "Sorry, pal.  I don't think the Flamingo Room does doggie bags.  Or paramedic bags either, for that matter.  But I'll tell you what.  We promise to think of you fondly as they're putting out the fire on the cherries jubilee."

"You're too kind," Roy said dryly, taking the box of supplies Dixie handed him.

"Well, we won't get any dinner at all if someone doesn't get a move on," Brackett groused, glaring at Dixie.

She made a face.  "I'm going to change now.  And your tie is still not right."

Roy moved away from the counter.  "Junior?  You coming?  We have a couple of bad cases of food poisoning waiting for us."  Calling goodnight, the two paramedics walked away, shoulder to shoulder.  As they disappeared down the hall their voices drifted back to the nurses' station.

"You know," Johnny said, "Chet dates outside his own species."

"Oh, really?"

"Sure.  I've seen him out with human females a couple of times."

#-#-#-#-

The carpet in the Flamingo Room was a rich sage green.  It looked like moss, felt like velvet and smelled like commercial cleaning solution.  Dixie pressed her cheek into it, coughed and peered through the thick, black smoke, seeking her dinner companions.

"Kel?  Joe?  Mike?  Where are you guys?"  They had started for the exit together when the first billows of flame emerged from the kitchen, but the room was packed and in the press of bodies they were driven apart.  Now she suddenly found herself alone in a sea of expensive, doomed green carpet.

"Dixie?"  She turned to her right and found Joe Early beside her.  "Over here, Dix.  Mike's at the door and Kel's just ahead of me.  I think we might be the last ones out."

"You can see the door?  I don't even know where I am any more!"  Though they were only inches apart, they had to shout to be heard over the roar of flames.

"I know!  We lost you.  Stick with me now."  The two crawled forward until they met up with Kelly Brackett and together they made their way towards the restaurant entryway.  The room was an inferno.  Embossed wallpaper blackened and fell away, wall hangings flamed, fire climbed heavy drapes and raced across the ceiling.  Closer to the kitchen, tables and chairs were burning.  The podium where Brackett had been speaking only ten minutes earlier flared up and collapsed on itself with a resounding crash.

They made it to the foyer, where someone had propped the door to the fire stairs open.  In the stairwell the air was cooler and there was less smoke and noise.  They could hear, now, below the fire, the sound of sirens outside.  They stood together, breathless but thankful to be unharmed, and started down the four flights of stairs that led to the ground floor exit.

On the third floor landing they met a pair of firefighters in full turnouts and SCBAs.  As they drew level one of the firemen pulled down his mask to reveal laughing dark eyes.

"Cherries jubilee get out of hand?"

Roy DeSoto, standing next to Johnny, pulled his own mask down.  "You guys okay?"

Brackett answered for all four of them.  "Yeah, we're fine.  Listen, fellows, I'm pretty sure we were the last ones out of the restaurant up there."

"Okay, thanks," Roy said.  "We'll just head on up and make sure.  You guys get out of here now, okay?"

"You aren't going to try to go up there?" Dixie demanded incredulously.  "Kel just told you we were the last ones out!"

"We know, Dixie," Roy said gently.  "But we need to confirm that.  You go on.  It'll be okay."

"But it's burning up there!"

"Yeah," Johnny said.  "That's why they call us firemen!"

Brackett put an arm around his head nurse's shoulders.  "Come on, Dix.  Let them go.  This is what the boys do."

Dixie let Brackett pull her away and she and the three doctors started down the steps as Roy and Johnny replaced their masks and headed up.  Halfway down to the second floor the four friends stopped and turned to watch the two young firemen climb to the top of the staircase.  The door leading to the restaurant now billowed black smoke and red flames reflected on the white paint of the stairwell, dancing and casting grotesque shadows.

Without a backwards glance or an instant's hesitation, Roy and Johnny disappeared into the conflagration.  The Rampart staffers turned and went on down the stairs and outside, where Marco Lopez met them and led them back behind the fire line.  After making sure they weren't hurt, Marco left them and returned to fighting the fire.

As they stood together, looking up at the burning hotel, Brackett noticed that Dixie had tears on her face.

"It's okay, Dix," he said, trying to convince himself as much as her.  "That's what firemen do."

"Oh, Kel!" she snapped, exasperated.  "Those weren't just firemen!  That was Roy and Johnny!  Those are our boys up there!"

"And our boys are firemen.  I know we don't see it, but they do this every shift.  You know how often they come in smelling like smoke, hot and sweaty and covered in soot.  Well, this is why.  They go in, they search, they come back out again."

"If they don't get overcome by smoke.  Or burned.  Or caught in an explosion.  Or have a wall fall on them.  Did you see how bad that fire was up there?"

"I know, Dix," Brackett sighed, a nervous twitch pulling down the corner of his mouth.  Though he didn't like to admit it, he was as worried as she was.  Though he had always known, intellectually, that his paramedics were also firefighters and that they routinely walked through flames, he had never put much thought into the fact.  If he had bothered to imagine the fires they worked, he wouldn't have imagined them so hot, so smoky, so loud and so pervasive.

He looked around at the controlled chaos of the fire scene and saw two more teams of paramedics waiting with their equipment in a clear area between engine 51 and squad 110.

"Looks like they've got a triage set up.  Let's go let them know we're here in case they need our help."  Together the four friends went over to greet the paramedics.  They found Brice and Bellingham from 36s as well as Kirk and Wheeler from 110s.  The paramedics saw them coming and stood to meet them.

Brice spoke first.  "Doctors.  Miss McCall.  Are you injured in any way?"

Joe Early answered.  "No, we're fine.  We just came over to let you know that we're here if you need us."

"Are you expecting a lot of business," Mike Morton asked.

Kirk shrugged.  "It doesn't look like it.  They called us all out because there were so many people on scene, but so far all we've had is a couple of mild burns and a few cases of smoke inhalation.  We're evacuating the whole hotel, but it looks like we might keep the fire contained to the top two floors.  Gage and DeSoto are doing a victim sweep now."  As he said this last he looked over towards engine 51.  The Rampart staff followed his gaze and saw 51's captain, Hank Stanley, speaking into his radio.

"Engine 51 to HT 51.  Do you read me?  Engine 51 to HT 51.  Come in please!"

Dixie swallowed hard.  Brackett didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath until Roy's voice came over the radio.

"HT 51 to engine 51.  We copy."

"Report."

"The restaurant's clear --"

"We told him that," Brackett muttered.

"-- and we've swept the conference rooms on the north end of the building.  So far we're not finding anyone on the top floor.  We're heading over to the south end now.  We're a little worried about the restaurant, Cap.  We're gonna have to pass it again.  Be advised that there is a pressurized, 500-gallon CO2 tank in the kitchen."

"Understood.  Be careful.  Engine 51 out."

There was a long, nail-biting wait while the radio remained silent.  Brackett hadn't realized that there was more to the top floor than the restaurant and he was trying now to figure out the layout and to judge how long it would take the two paramedics to get clear.  In the silence of their own minds, Dixie, Joe Early and Mike Morton were each doing the same.

Seconds dragged out into minutes.  Kirk caught Brackett checking his watch for the twentieth time.  He glanced down at his own watch.

"They'll probably be coming out pretty soon, Doc.  They gotta be about out of air by now."

At that moment the CO2 tank went off like an artillery shell.

The Rampart staff all jumped, then looked around, expecting to see some sudden flurry of activity, someone dashing off to the rescue, at least someone panicking besides them.  Three firefighters ran across the parking lot dragging another heavy hose to the fire and a snorkel that was spraying the top floor swung around and changed its angle of attack.  The paramedics manning the triage station drew up a bit -- grew a trifle more alert.

And that was all.

"Shouldn't someone be doing something?"  Dixie demanded.  "Roy and Johnny are still in there!"

"Someone is doing something, Miss McCall," Brice said, inclining his head towards Hank Stanley again.  Again they realized he was speaking into his radio.

"HT 51, come in!  Gage!  DeSoto!  Come in?  Where are you?"

For a brief eternity static was his only reply.  Then a voice answered him.  This time it was John Gage speaking.

"Engine 51, this is HT 51.  Cap, we're back on the north end of the fourth floor.  Got a bit of a problem, Cap."

Kelly Brackett's blood ran cold.

"Go on."

"That explosion brought the ceiling down through the whole central part of this floor.  We're completely cut off from all the fire stairs except for the ones at this end, which are bolted shut and painted over."

Stanley swore imaginatively.  "How about a window, Gage?"

"No good, Cap.  They're sealed closed and they're all shatterproof glass.  We've been pounding on windows for the last five minutes."

"Understood.  How's your air?"

"Almost out.  Roy's alarm went off a minute ago.  Mine hasn't . . . oh.  There goes mine, too."

Dixie and Brackett exchanged a look of despair and he dropped an arm around her shoulders.

"Okay," Stanley was saying, "find the room farthest from the fire and sit tight.  I'm going to send Kelly up the snorkel with the K12.  We'll just see about that shatterproof glass."

"Roger that.  We'll be in the last room on the north end.  HT51 out."

Captain Stanley spoke into the radio again and the snorkel repositioned itself outside the last fourth-floor window on the north.  He stepped over to monitor the gauges and pressure valves and Mike Stoker pulled out an enormous saw and ran it across the lot.  They watched as he met up with another firefighter -- Kelly, undoubtedly -- and handed it off.  Kelly took it, ran for the snorkel and started to climb.

"How much air do they have after their alarms go off?" Mike Morton asked.

Bellingham answered him.  "About five minutes, more or less."

"More or less?"

"Think about it," Joe Early said.  "If they're exerting themselves or if they're overheated they'll use up the oxygen more quickly."

Morton nodded, a calculating look on his face.  "So Gage has about two minutes left and DeSoto a minute or less."

Chet Kelly was still climbing, only about halfway up the seemingly endless ladder.  Brackett glanced at the paramedics sitting around, wondering at their inactivity.  Wheeler caught the look.

"If they need us, they'll call us, Doc.  By going over now we'd only get in the way."

The chief of emergency medicine nodded briefly.  This situation felt very odd to him.  He was used to having automatic right-of-way in any crisis.  It seemed strange to think that there was a time when medical personnel could be the ones who were in the way.

Kelly reached the top of the ladder and set to work.  Even from this distance they could see the sparks fly up when the circular saw blade came into contact with the aluminum window frame.  Presently he set the saw down in the bottom of the snorkel cage and turned to help two bulky figures clamber awkwardly from the window to the cage.

Watching them, Dixie cringed.  She didn't want to watch but she couldn't bear to look away.  Surely it was only the angle she was seeing it from that made it look like the snorkel was so far from the window.  Her breath caught in her throat as one of the three figures -- they were indistinguishable from here -- stumbled.  The other two moved swiftly to catch him.  They sent the saw down a line and into the snorkel truck, then one by one the three firefighters from 51s slid down themselves.  The snorkel raised and shifted, returning to the task of drenching the flames.

The Rampart staffers were expecting someone to carry Johnny and Roy over to the triage, or at least to help them stagger that way on their own.  Instead the three firefighters separated.  Kelly ran the K12 back to the engine and then returned to fighting the fire while the two paramedics walked more slowly towards their own squad, parked the other side of their engine.

Circling around behind the engine, trying to stay out of the way, Dixie McCall, Brackett, Early, and Morton hurried over to check on them.  They came up unnoticed as Gage and DeSoto dropped down to sit side by side on the squad's running board.  They were still wearing their empty air tanks, masks dangling.  Roy's helmet hung down his back and they could see the sooty outline of his air mask.

Roy took a long swig from a canteen and said, "the thing is, John, you see . . . the thing is, if they're going to be role models for my kids, I'd just as soon that they would be monogamous."

Johnny pushed his helmet back, poured a stream of water from his own canteen over his dark hair and then shook his head like a dog coming out of a river.  "Don't you mean monogamouse?"

Brackett crossed his arms and glared at them, relief warring with exasperation.  "I don't believe you two!"

The firefighters looked over and their faces lit up.

"Hey, guys!" Roy said.  "What are you still doing here?  Stick around to watch the fun?"

"You know," Johnny added, "if we'd realized we had an audience we'd have tried to make it a little bit exciting."

"And you don't think that was exciting enough?" Morton demanded.

"What, that?"  Johnny waved a hand dismissively towards the still-burning hotel.  "Pssht!  That was nothing."

"Which one of you almost fell out of the ladder," Joe asked.

Roy grinned and nudged his partner.  "That'd be twinkletoes, here."

"Yeah," Johnny said indignantly, "but only because Chet's elbow almost got me in the . . . ."  He glanced at Dixie and turned red.  "Uh . . . never mind."

"Anyway," Roy said, "you're welcome."

"Huh?  What for?"

"Catching you."

"Oh, yeah.  Right.  Thanks."

Roy's eyes lit up suddenly and he dug into the pocket of his turnout.  "Oh, hey, Doc!"

He was looking at Joe Early so Joe answered him.  "Yes?"

"You were right about those appetizers!"  He dug a handful of tiny pastries out of his pocket and popped one in his mouth, grinning impishly.  "The baked brie is great."

Johnny, dipping into his own pocket, looked askance at his friend.  "You got baked Brie?  I got --" he popped something into his mouth and spoke around it, "something with salmon in it.  Pretty good though."

"I don't believe you two!" Brackett said again, the explosion this time rivaling the CO2 tank.

The young firemen's faces suddenly fell, like two small boys getting unexpectedly scolded.

"Uh, we're sorry, Doc," Roy said hesitantly, looking very sorry indeed.  "I mean, they were only going to get burned up.  We didn't see the harm in grabbing a handful . . . ."

"Here we are, down here worried sick about you, and you're wandering around up there arguing about Mickey Mouse and snitching appetizers.  Where's your sense of decorum?  Where's your professionalism?  Don't you know you could have been killed in there?  You . . . you . . . you HOSE JOCKEYS!"  He turned on his heel.  "Come on, people.  Let's go home."

Morton just shook his head and followed.  Dixie leaned in and gave them each a kiss on the cheek.  There was something endearing about the matching looks of utter bewilderment they wore.

"Hose jockeys!" she said, her voice much softer and filled with amused affection.

Joe Early, the last to leave, took the tiny baked Brie that Roy still held, shoved it into the firefighter's open mouth, and pushed his chin up.  He ruffled the senior paramedic's blond hair and wandered away laughing.

#-#-#-#-

They were nearly back to Rampart before anyone in the car spoke.

"Hose jockeys!" Brackett muttered, still shaking his head with disbelief and exasperation.  "All that worry and they were fine."

"So it'd be better if one or both of them had gotten hurt or killed?" Dixie challenged.

"Of course not, Dixie.  You know perfectly well that's not what I mean!  I'm glad they weren't hurt!  It isn't that.  It isn't even the baked Brie, or the fact that they were still talking about Mickey Mouse's love life.  It's that . . . it's that . . . ," he sighed.  "I don't know what it is."

Joe spoke up from the back seat.  "Could it be that they were so completely unconcerned about their own safety?  And so oblivious to the fact that we were worried?"

"Yeah, I suppose that might be it.  Or part of it.  I just don't understand those two!  How can anyone care so much about the lives of strangers and care so little about their own?"

"I think you're wrong, Kel," Joe said.  "I think you're 180 degrees off on that one."

"Oh?"

"It isn't that they don't care about their own lives.  It's that they've seen too often how easily life can be lost.  What they have right now is good -- their health, jobs they're dedicated to, Johnny's freedom, Roy's family, a truly rare and powerful friendship between them.  They both know that any or all of that could change in a heartbeat, so they live each day as it comes.  Carpe diem!  Tempus fugit!  Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die!"

"I'll tell you what I'm thinking," Dixie offered.  "I'm thinking of all the times that I have seen them come in from a fire when they were dragging with weariness, heads hanging down and a haunted look in their eyes.  If this fire that we saw tonight was 'nothing', then what must those other fires be like?"

They continued in silence that remained unbroken until Brackett had pulled onto the Rampart lot and come to a stop beside where his passengers' own cars were parked in a tight huddle.

"I guess I owe them an apology, don't I?"

"Probably," Joe agreed.  "But, of course, if you give it to them, the added shock is likely to finish them off."

"Now, look!  I'm not that bad," the chief of emergency medicine protested.  "I’m a big enough man to admit when I'm wrong."

"I've never seen it," Mike muttered.

"Well," Brackett said modestly, "it doesn't happen very often."

Laughing the other three got out.  Dixie turned around, folded her arms on the car door and leaned in.  "When are you going to apologize, then?"

He sighed.  "I'll stop by the station on my way home.  Will that be all right, mother?"

She smiled at him.  "That'll be good."

"Tell me, though, Dix.  Do you think they do it on purpose?  Make me crazy, I mean?"

"On purpose?  No.  They can't help it, Kel.  It's just what the boys do."

The end.

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