When It All Goes Wrong

By Rona

“Station 51, possible heart attack 5672 West Linton, cross street…”

The crew of station 51 leapt to their feet and hurried to the vehicles. Captain Hank Stanley acknowledged the call as he scribbled the address on the call sheet. He passed the slip of paper into the squad and Roy handed it to Johnny as he started the squad.

“Heart attack,” Johnny mused. “I hope we get there in time.” He kept a sharp look out for other drivers who weren’t paying enough attention and kept guiding Roy to their destination. He saw the engine fall behind slightly as a car cut it off. A blast from the big rig’s air horn told the paramedics that the mild-mannered engineer Mike Stoker was venting his frustration in the only way he could.

There was a man of about 30 waiting for them at the door of the run-down house which was their destination. He beckoned to Johnny as the lanky fireman got out of the squad. “Quickly!” he cried.

Yanking open the side compartment, Johnny took out the drug box and biophone. He knew that Roy would bring the datascope and oxygen with him, so didn’t wait for his partner to catch up. That proved to be a mistake.

“Where is the patient, sir?” Johnny asked, as he followed the man into the house. He was slightly surprised that the man didn’t wait to be sure Johnny had seen which door he went in – Johnny had barely seen him enter – but assumed that anxiety was making him careless. “First right, Roy,” he called back out of the open door.

Taking the first right, Johnny saw that the room was as dilapidated as the rest of the house. The carpet was stained, the wallpaper was hanging off the walls and the window was dirty. A man lay across the sagging sofa and he was bleeding profusely. Johnny had never seen a heart attack victim bleeding like that.

A hand suddenly grabbed Johnny’s arm and the barrel of a gun was pressed against his temple. “Drop the boxes,” the man warned. “Any sound or move and I’ll kill you.”

Wordlessly, his mouth suddenly dry, Johnny did as he was told. The moment his hands were empty, he was swung around, his face smashed against the wall and his left arm twisted painfully up his back. The gun never moved from his temple.

Moments later, he heard Roy coming and drew breath to shout a warning. He didn’t want his partner to walk into this mess. But his captor sensed his intentions and glanced the gun off the side of Johnny’s head. Bright lights exploded in his vision and although he didn’t lose consciousness, he was certainly out of it for several minutes.

When he opened his eyes again, he found he was still pressed up against the wall, but he was now on his knees. His vision wavered and blurred and he had to squint to bring the room back into focus. Immediately, his hearing seemed to come back into focus, too and he could hear Roy’s voice, calm but worried, talking earnestly.

“Please let him go,” he was saying. “I’ll treat your friend – you don’t need to do this.”

“You’re gonna treat him without bringing the cops here,” Johnny’s captor replied. “I know ya gotta report gun shot wounds to the cops!” The man shook Johnny, who groaned. “If I got this gun against your friend’s head, you’ll get that bullet out of my friend and patch him up so we can get out of here.”

“We’re not doctors,” Johnny slurred. He managed to move his head enough to see Roy kneeling by the injured man, pressing a 4x4 against his chest. “We can’t do operations.”

“Johnny, are you all right?” Roy asked anxiously, before the other man could say anything.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Johnny replied, although he sounded anything but okay and looked worse. A huge bruise was forming on the side of his head, and was spreading down to encompass his eye, which was slowly swelling closed. His skin was pale and he was sweating.

“I didn’t ask you to speak!” the man snapped. He shoved Johnny against the wall again, eliciting another groan from the injured man.

“Leave him alone!” Roy cried, but his move to get up was stalled by the gun pressing hard against his partner’s head. Roy forced himself to take a deep breath and speak calmly. “I’ll do what I can for your friend, but we’re not doctors. I can’t do an operation because I’m not trained. I could kill your friend.”

The man frowned. And at that moment, Roy’s worst nightmare came true. “Roy?” called a voice. “Do you two need any help?” It was Cap.

As his captor swung the gun towards the door, Johnny reacted, shoving his weight back as best he could to throw the man off balance. The shot that was intended for Cap ricocheted off the ceiling, bringing down a lump of plaster. But it had the desired effect. Johnny could hear footsteps retreating back towards the front of the house. He was relieved and knew he wouldn’t ever regret doing what he did, no matter the consequences. Seconds later, he was slammed against the wall once more and his arm twisted even further up his back. The pain was excruciating and he thought his arm was going to snap.

“Damn you!” the man growled. “He’ll bring the cops.” He glared across the room at Roy. “You might as well know – we robbed a bank earlier and a cashier died.” He saw his words sink in and nodded. “Now, if you don’t want to earn the same fate, I suggest you do as you’re told.” He gestured with his gun. “Treat my friend.”

Slowly, Roy pointed at the biophone. “I’ve got to contact a doctor,” he explained. “I can’t do anything for your friend without a doctor’s say so. I might do something wrong.”

“Do it,” allowed the man grudgingly. “But just remember your friend’s life is at stake if you screw up.”

“I’ll remember,” Roy told him and opened the orange box. “Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read?”

“Loud and clear, 51,” came the cheerful voice of Dixie McCall.

“Rampart, we have a male victim approximately 30 years of age. He has been shot twice in the upper left chest. One wound is through and through. He has lost a moderate amount of blood from that. He is pale and diaphoretic, pulse weak and thready, blood pressure 90/60. He is stuperous and non-responsive to pain stimuli.”

Dr Brackett’s deep voice took over from Dixie. “51, start an IV with Ringer’s and transport immediately.”

“Uh, negative on the transport, Rampart,” Roy replied.

“Has the ambulance not arrived?” Brackett demanded. “Well, transport as soon as possible.”

“Rampart, we’re being held hostage,” Roy replied. “The victim’s friend is holding a gun on Johnny and wants me to operate here to remove the bullet.”

There was a short silence. Roy glanced worriedly at Johnny, who gamely met his eyes, trying to hide the pain and discomfort he was in. “51, tell the friend that you don’t carry the necessary equipment to carry out an operation of this kind. The victim needs to be in an OR right now and he’ll need intensive care to pull through, judging by his vital signs. What’s the problem?” Brackett sounded both annoyed and worried.

“Uh, Rampart, the friend tells us he robbed a bank earlier today and a cashier died.”

There was another silence. Roy took the victim’s pulse again. Then Brackett spoke again. “51, we treated the cashier. However, you don’t carry anything that would allow you to operate on that man. His chances of survival are dropping with every minute.”

Johnny suddenly found himself dragged across the floor as his captor grabbed the biophone from Roy. “Listen, whoever you are! I don’t want my friend to die but I don’t want the cops!”

Brackett was equal to the task though. “If your friend doesn’t come in here right now, he will die,” Brackett told him. “And as it is, his chances are bleeding away with every second you waste!”

“All right,” growled the man. “We’ll bring him to the hospital, but if there’s a cop anywhere near by, I’ll kill both these men I have with me.”

“No cops,” Brackett promised, exchanging a glance with Dixie.

“All right, we’ll come,” the other responded. He dropped the biophone and looked at Roy. “Do what he said and let’s get going.”

“I need Johnny to help me,” Roy replied.

“Oh no,” the man smiled. “No, he stays with me. In fact…” He bent over the open trauma box and pulled out some kerlex. “Wrap this around his wrists behind his back – that’ll make it easier for me.”

“But,” Roy began.

“Roy, just do it,” Johnny interrupted. His left shoulder and arm was a mass of pain and he didn’t think anything would really make it worse. Besides, the victim was getting weaker and they didn’t have any time to spare to wrangle. He kept his position face down on the floor while Roy wrapped his wrists securely in kerlex.

By the time the IV was established, the gun man had had a high old time exploring the contents of the drug and trauma box. He was currently playing with a roll of gauze and Johnny was watching him warily. Roy lifted the HT. “Engine 51, this is squad 51.”

“Go ahead.” Cap’s voice was tense, which was no surprise. “Are you fellas all right, Roy?”

Ignoring the question, Roy kept his eye on the gun, which was pointing at Johnny once more, reminding Roy to keep to business only. “Cap, we need the stretcher from the ambulance. Can you send it in? Err…we’re going to Rampart, but if there are any cops out there, we’re in trouble. We are being held at gun point.”

“Understood,” Cap replied. “The gurney is on the way.” Roy could hear the edge that always appeared in Cap’s voice if his men were in trouble.

Putting down the HT, Roy started to pack up their gear automatically. He put out his hand for the roll of gauze, but the gunman ignored him. “I’ll put that away,” Roy said softly.

“Oh, but we need it,” the other man replied. Again came the smile that both Johnny and Roy had learned to hate. “Your friend here needs it for his eyes.” He sniggered. “After all, that black eye of his must be real sore.”

“Its fine,” Johnny intoned flatly.

“I make the decisions round here,” snarled the man. He threw the gauze at Roy. “Bandage ‘em up real snug,” he instructed. The click of the safety coming off convinced Roy he wasn’t just playing with them.

“Its okay, Roy,” Johnny muttered, as his friend kneeled beside him. “Don’t worry.”

“Sure,” Roy agreed, but he sounded anything but convinced. He quickly wound the gauze around Johnny’s eyes, being careful not to put too much pressure on the injured eye. Johnny winced all the same, just once and Roy quickly apologised. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Johnny mumbled. His head was splitting, his shoulders were aching and it was anything but okay, but if Johnny saying so would stop Roy feeling guilty for something he had no control over, Johnny would repeat the words until he ran out of breath.

It was weird to be without sight. Johnny could hear familiar sounds as the ambulance attendants loaded the patient onto the gurney. Johnny was yanked to his feet and pushed forward. He moved carefully, his balance uncertain when he couldn’t see his footing. He remembered about the front steps moments before he almost fell down them, but even so, he stumbled and twisted his ankle.

The sun felt warm on his skin and Johnny drew in a deep draught of fresh air. He hadn’t realised how musty smelling the old house had been until he could smell the great outdoors. Johnny strained his ears, but all he could hear was the ambulance engine as it ticked over. It grew louder as they got closer, but his captor didn’t warn him when they were close and Johnny walked into the back of the vehicle, cracking both shins painfully and falling onto his stomach, partly into the back.

“Oh sorry, man,” sneered the gunman, sounding not in the least sorry. He yanked Johnny to his feet again and shoved him forward. Another hand caught Johnny’s other arm and Roy’s calm voice filled his ears.

“Its one of the new vehicles,” he murmured, letting Johnny know that he didn’t have to duck his head much to get inside. Johnny was grateful for his friend’s timely assistance. Even though he knew that the gunman was deliberately humiliating him, it was frightening to be so helpless.

Sitting on the bench, Johnny felt someone sit next to him. Then the gun nestled against his ribs. The doors closed and the ambulance started moving.

***************************************

Rampart was in an uproar. Patients with non-threatening injuries or complaints were shuffled out of the door as fast as was possible. Those who had serious problems were assessed and sent to the appropriate floor for further treatment. Policemen began to fill the corridors and were taking up positions out of immediate sight, but close by, in case they were needed. Drs Brackett, Early and Morton were waiting by the base unit.

“If they don’t get here soon, this man’s friend is going to be dead anyway,” Brackett fumed. “And then what would he do?”

“What are we going to do?” Dixie asked. “Are you going to operate?”

“I have no choice,” Brackett replied. “As long as that gun is on Johnny, we have to do as he says.” He sighed. “I don’t like it, though. What happens when the bullet is out? Is this guy gonna let us look after his friend, or is he going to drag him – and Johnny too, for all we know – off into the wild blue yonder?”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Kel,” Joe Early advised.

Taking a deep breath, Brackett went over the arrangements once more. “I want to keep the number of medical personnel to a minimum in there,” he mused. “I’ll have to have an anaesthetist, of course, and one nurse, but I’d appreciate it if you and Mike could stick around out here in case I need you, Joe.”

“Of course, Kel,” Joe agreed easily. Mike Morton nodded, although he looked nervous.

“Dix,” Brackett went on, “I want you to stay here. Roy DeSoto should be able to offer me an extra pair of hands if I need them…”

“I’ll be right in there with you,” Dixie countered.

Frowning, Brackett pointed a finger at his head nurse and close friend as he laid down the law. “Dixie, this isn’t open for negotiation! You are not going to be in that room! Is that clear?” He glared at the nurse as she smiled slightly. “Dix, that’s an order!”

Still smiling, Dixie patted Kel’s arm. “Now you’ve got that out of your system, I’ll go and make sure everything is ready. They’ll be here any minute now.” She walked briskly down the hall to treatment two, where they were set up to go. She let the nervous nurse leave and reassured the anaesthetist as best she could.

And then the door opened.

************************************

The man on the gurney was in a bad way. Dixie momentarily forgot the dreadful circumstances and moved to aid the moving of the patient onto the examination table. It was only as the ambulances attendants made their exit that she looked up and blanched.

Standing just inside the door was a man who looked disreputable and unkempt. He had a gun in his hand, pointing directly at Johnny Gage’s head. Gage stood quietly, despite his bound hands and eyes, but Dixie could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the faint tremble in his limbs. The ordeal was taking its toll on him. Dixie wanted to say something comforting to Gage, but decided against it as she saw the odd light in his captor’s eyes.

Forcing her attention back to the patient, Dixie smoothly hooked the oxygen in, allowing Roy to remove the squad’s tank. She had missed the up-date of the vitals, but she didn’t need to know them to realise that this man had very little chance of survival. She began to cut away his clothing.

“I need a portable x-ray, stat,” Brackett ordered. “I need to locate that other bullet before I go probing.” He was frowning, his face reflecting his worry. “The heart sounds are muffled.”

“What does that mean?” demanded the other man. He tightened his grip on Johnny’s arm. Johnny was beginning to wonder if his left arm would ever work again after the abuse it was receiving.

“It means, mister, that the bullet might be right against your friend’s heart,” Brackett snapped. “If I don’t get an x-ray, I could kill him while I probe for the bullet. He still might die, depending on where the bullet is.”

“He better not die!” The man shoved Johnny hard against the wall, causing the paramedic to stumble on his already sore ankle. “If he dies, this medic dies, too!”

“Take it easy,” Roy soothed, before either Brackett or Dixie could speak. “Eddie, you know how bad Bob’s hurt. We talked about it on the way in. Hurting Johnny’s not going to help Bob.” Roy looked as exhausted as Johnny did. He continued to speak soothingly. “Let them do the x-ray, Eddie. Please.”

“All right,” Eddie agreed, grudgingly. “But if they try anything…” He back up his threat by shoving Johnny hard against the wall again and this time, Johnny couldn’t stop the groan that escaped.

***********************************

Waiting outside while the x-rays were taken, Roy marvelled at the empty hall ways. He had only once seen the halls deserted like this and that was the time they had brought in the scientist suffering from radiation poisoning. Johnny had spent a few nights in the hospital, too, since he had been nearer the radiation than Roy had been.

Visibly more nervous now that they were exposed in the corridor, Eddie, the gunman, had Johnny pinned against the wall, the gun pressed up to the underside of his jaw. Johnny looked most uncomfortable and Roy knew his partner must be nearing total exhaustion. However, he knew that any attempt on his behalf to ease his partner’s plight usually resulted in Johnny getting hurt or humiliated even more. Roy didn’t want to risk that.

“What’s taking so long?” Eddie demanded.

“Nuthin’,” Johnny slurred. Roy, Brackett and Dixie all looked at him sharply. Johnny sounded dreadful and Dixie suddenly remembered that Roy had said that Johnny had been hit on the head. There was a trace of blood on the gauze that was blindfolding Johnny and a bruise was spreading up towards his hairline as well as down his cheek. “It’s quite… quite… norm…” Johnny’s voice trailed off as he suddenly slumped over.

“Johnny!” Brackett caught him, moving to push Eddie out of the way, his only concern for the fallen paramedic.

“No you don’t!” There was a brief scuffle, but given that Eddie still had his gun against Johnny’s throat, it didn’t last long. Brackett backed off as Eddie allowed Johnny to fall to the floor, preventing the dark-haired man from falling by grabbing a handful of hair. He put the gun against Johnny’s head. “Leave him alone!”

Glaring back, Brackett declared, “He’s injured! You’ve got to let me look at him!”

“You look after Bob and never mind this guy!” Eddie ordered. He shook Johnny and the paramedic groaned, a sound that reassured his friends as much as it worried them. Johnny moved, trying to get away from the discomfort of the hold on his hair and then he groaned again.

“Mind out!” Dixie said sharply and they all stepped back moments before Johnny slumped over and vomited.

Any move to assist Johnny was put on hold at once. “Leave him!” Eddie ordered. “What’s wrong with him?” The gunman looked utterly disgusted.

“He’s probably got a concussion,” Brackett snapped. He could feel his nerves fraying. “He might even have a skull fracture. I just don’t know without examining him. Look, let one of my colleagues take a look…”

“No. You can look at him once you’ve saved Bob’s life.” Eddie looked up as the x-ray technician exited the room. “Now let’s get on with it, or this guy is going to be even worse off!” There was no mistaking the menace in Eddie’s voice. Everyone stood back as Johnny was hauled to his feet and shoved unceremoniously back into treatment room two.

**********************************

It would be a tricky operation in an OR with every available piece of medical technology. Even then, the outcome would be in doubt. The x-rays showed all too clearly that the bullet was right next to Bob’s heart, most probably touching it, perhaps lodged in it. Bob’s vitals were dropping, despite the IVs. Brackett knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“Put ICU on stand-by,” he ordered, his voice grim.

“He ain’t goin’ to ICU,” Eddie insisted.

“Then there’s no point in my operating,” Brackett snarled. “The only chance he has – if he survives the operation – is to go to ICU. Bob won’t be leaving this hospital any time soon under his own steam.” He paused, scalpel poised over Bob’s chest. “What’s it gonna be, mister?”

Shaking Johnny again, Eddie was disappointed to note that none of them hurried to change their minds this time. He had already learned that threatening his captive was a sure-fire way to get what he wanted, but when what he wanted was unavailable, it did nothing. This was one of those times. “All right, do what you havta,” he growled.

Barely conscious, Johnny hoped that now, he might not get shaken about so much. He was still feeling desperately nauseous and the blindfold wasn’t helping. He couldn’t see if the room was actually spinning, or if it was just his head. More than anything, Johnny wanted to be untied so that he could lie down and go to sleep. The pounding headache he had was getting worse.

The treatment room was quiet as Brackett began the operation. Roy, having done what he could, stepped back out of the way. He glanced at Johnny, worried by his partner’s bad colour. There was nothing he could do to help Johnny and the frustration was really getting to him.

Suddenly, Brackett let out an exclamation of annoyance and Roy looked over in time to see blood spurting in spectacular fashion from Bob’s chest. Roy didn’t know exactly what had gone wrong, but judging by the look on Brackett’s face, it was fatal.

But those thoughts took no more than a fleeting second to pass through Roy’s mind, for something else happened that claimed his attention; Eddie turned green and slithered to the floor, dragging Johnny down with him.

At once, heedless of his own safety, Roy lunged for the gun, hoping that Johnny would have a soft landing on top of Eddie. He grabbed the gun, but Eddie had not passed out completely. He fought back, shoving ineffectually at Johnny, who was slumped on him, unable to get the necessary leverage to get himself free.

On the exam table, an equally desperate fight was going on. Brackett knew that it was hopeless. The carotid artery, where it intersected the aorta, had ruptured. The blood was spurting out with every beat of the weakening heart and even as Brackett fought to clamp the rupture with his fingers, the heart faltered and stopped. Brackett raised his eyes to look at Dixie. “Damn,” he muttered, quietly. There was no hope of repairing this.

His remark was punctuated by a gunshot. Both he and Dixie whirled, looking over to where Johnny, Roy and Eddie lay in a heap. Neither of them had the least idea what had happened or – more importantly – who had been shot.

They didn’t have time to find out, either. The door to the treatment room opened and cops began to pile in. One of them grabbed Roy and dragged him aside, ignoring Brackett’s entreaty not to move any of them. Johnny was unceremoniously shoved to one side, flopping limply to the floor. Brackett saw a blood stain on his shirt.

“Got it!” One of the cops had the gun in his possession and another was covering Eddie. A third lifted a radio to his lips and gave the all clear.

Shoving the cops aside, Brackett hurried to Roy’s side in time to see him move. “Roy?”

“Just grazed me,” Roy whispered. He held up a bloody arm. “I’m fine. Johnny?”

Seeing that the wound was indeed superficial, Brackett knelt by Johnny. He fumbled for Johnny’s bandage scissors, but Dixie was already there, cutting through the kerlex that had held Johnny captive for so long and snipping the gauze that covered his eyes.

“Get a gurney in here, stat!” Brackett shouted. He ripped Johnny’s shirt up the front and saw that the bullet – the same one that had grazed Roy – had sliced across Johnny’s abdomen. It hadn’t penetrated that far, but far enough.

“Here!” Dixie thrust a pressure bandage into Kel’’s hand. She stepped out of the way to let the orderlies in to lift Johnny onto a gurney and helped Roy to his feet. The senior paramedic was shaky and Dixie sympathised. She felt pretty shaky, too. “Come on, Roy, let’s go into the next room.”

“But… Johnny…” Roy objected.

“He’s coming, too,” Dixie assured him. She was thankful when Joe Early came and supported Roy’s other arm. Next moment, Hank Stanley was there, too. Dixie relinquished her position to go and open the door to treatment four.

It was only a matter of moments before Johnny was brought in. Dixie had Roy sitting on a stool and she began to clean his wound. “Hank, could you find another gurney, please?” she requested of the fire captain, knowing that he would feel better if he was doing something useful.

“This doesn’t look too bad, Roy,” Joe told the senior paramedic kindly. “I don’t think it’ll even need stitches.”

“Oh, good,” Roy replied, his distraction all too obvious. He was looking over at Johnny, lying so still on the table. “Johnny…”

“Will be absolutely fine,” Brackett concluded, turning to give Roy a smile. “The bullet didn’t go into him. All we need to do now is get a couple of x-rays and then we should be able to get you two settled into a room.”

“But I’m on duty,” Roy protested. “I should go back to the station. Cap can get a replacement for Johnny, but…”

“Roy, do as the doctor says,” Stanley ordered, coming back into the room with a gurney. He helped Joe Early get Roy onto it. Colour gradually seeped back into Roy’s face after he lay down. “Anyway,” Stanley went on, “the station has been stood down for now.”

The door opened and the x-ray machine rolled in. Everyone left, Roy protesting that he could walk as his gurney was pushed into the corridor. They all ignored him.

The corridor looked more like it usually did, apart from the fact that the people milling about seemed to be all cops. Oh and firemen, for the rest of Station 51 were waiting to hear about Johnny and Roy. Dixie took a deep breath as they hurried towards her.

************************************

The light was far too bright when Johnny opened his eyes and squinted around him. But he didn’t really mind – in fact he welcomed the sight. He moved slightly, enough to waken the aches and pains in his body, but also enough to tell him that his arms were free too, although he had an IV in his left arm. He had no idea what had happened, but the crisis appeared to be over.

“Johnny?” Brackett’s familiar deep voice drew the paramedic’s attention and he focused on the doctor’s face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sore,” Johnny admitted. “What happened, doc?” He turned his head and saw Roy on a gurney near by. His partner’s eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. “Last thing I remember was you starting that operation…” Wide dark eyes pleaded with Brackett to tell him what had happened.

“Bob didn’t make it,” Brackett explained. “The bullet was in his heart and… Well, let’s just say there was nothing anyone could do. Bob started to bleed out in spectacular fashion and Eddie fainted.”

“Yeah?” Johnny was clearly trying to picture this in his mind. “What happened?”

“Roy went for the gun, but Eddie wasn’t quite out and they fought. The gun went off, grazed Roy’s arm and your abdomen. Roy’s fine and you’ll be fine, too. You’ve got a concussion and quite a number of stitches across your belly. You’ll be here for a day or two till we make good the blood loss and are sure you’re over the head injury. Your left arm is sprained, too and it’ll be in a sling for about a week, depending on how quickly you heal and your ankle has a mild sprain.” Brackett smiled. “And you’re covered in bruises, too.”

Nodding, Johnny looked over at Roy once more, but his partner was still asleep. “What happened to Eddie?” he asked.

“He’s alive,” Brackett replied. “Totally unhurt. The bullet grazed Roy, then you and then embedded in the wall of the treatment room. But whatever Roy had done to him knocked the gun out of his hand. The police burst into the room and it was all over.”

Johnny was quiet and Brackett surreptitiously took his pulse again. It was quite fast and Brackett knew that his patient’s blood pressure would most likely be higher than normal, too. Brackett didn’t blame Johnny. He’d just been through a dreadful ordeal; it was only natural to feel some stress. “Johnny?” he probed.

“I’m all right, doc,” Johnny replied. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Just tired and my head is thumping.”

“I’m not surprised,” Brackett soothed. “We’ll give you something for the pain and then get you settled in upstairs.” He pulled a blanket up over the young man. “Rest, Johnny,” he urged.

Closing his eyes, Johnny felt something being injected into his IV port. Sleep swept over him in a warm wave and he didn’t notice when he was transferred to a room.

***********************************

It was all over the news, of course. The reporters had found someone to give them all the gory details and it was headline news for the next 24 hours. Johnny and Roy, both hiding in Rampart until the furore died down, were mortified to hear regular reports on their well-being tagged onto the end of the story every time.

On the more serious side of things, it had been decided that if the squads got a run to the less salubrious neighbourhoods of the area, they were to get an automatic police escort, to hopefully prevent this sort of thing happening again. Roy and Johnny had been very lucky that they had both kept their heads. If they had panicked, the consequences could have been much worse.

“You’re very quiet,” Roy commented as they packed their few belongings, prior to being discharged. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Johnny replied. “Just thinkin’, ya know?” He looked at his partner soberly. “We coulda died, couldn’t we?”

“Yeah, we could,” Roy admitted. “I wish I could’ve stopped him hurting you.”

“I wish I could’ve stopped you coming into the room,” Johnny told him. “Man! And when I heard Cap coming…” Johnny swallowed and sat down heavily on the edge of his bed.

“Johnny, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Roy reminded him. “And you saved Cap’s life and got yourself a sprained arm doing it.”

“I’d do it again, any time,” Johnny replied, meaning every word.

“Well, I appreciate that, pal,” Cap rumbled. He had come into the room without either of them noticing. He was giving them both a lift back to Roy’s place where Johnny was going to stay for a few days. “And I never did get the chance to thank you for what you did.” He looked at Johnny’s face, still a little too pale for Cap’s liking, but he certainly looked better than he had the other night. “Thanks, John.”

They shook hands solemnly. Then there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Johnny turned away, ostensibly making sure he hadn’t left anything behind. Stanley clapped his hands together. “Well, are you ready to go? I do have other things to do today, you know.”

Shrugging, Roy looked at Johnny. “I guess we’re ready,” he allowed.

As they went out of the door, Johnny said, “You’ve got something else to do today? What’s more important than us? After all, I saved your life the other day…”

As he endured the latest Gage rant, Stanley reflected that things certainly seemed to be getting back to normal. Gage was ranting again and as usual thought he was the centre of the universe. Stanley wondered why he hadn’t strangled Gage before now. He glanced at Roy and saw that his senior paramedic was choking with laughter. Retrieving his thoughts, Stanley looked at Johnny and realised that he was getting his leg pulled, big time!

“Gage!” he threatened.

“Now, Cap!” Johnny protested. “I saved your life the other day.”

The End

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