Part 2

 

 

             Roy leaned up against the nurses' station and chewed on his lower lip, trying to decide what to do.  He'd just brought in a couple from an MVA with minor injuries.  Hoskins had called in to say he'd be delayed picking him up.  That meant Roy had some time to kill - a perfect opportunity to go upstairs and see if Dr. Wilts could talk to him.  Still Roy hesitated, reluctant to confront Johnny's doctor.

 

             "It must be something big."

 

            "Huh?"  Roy turned to see Dixie smiling at him.  "Oh, hi, Dix.  What was it you asked me?"

 

            "I just said you must have something really big on your mind.  You're miles away."

 

            Roy scratched his chin distractedly.  "Oh, not really.  I'm just being a chicken, is all."

 

            Dixie looked surprised at his comment.  "Chicken?  You, Roy?  You must be mistaken."

 

            Roy shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled ruefully.  "No, this time I'm guilty as charged.  I need to talk to the great Dr. Wilts and I just haven't gotten up the courage to do it."

 

            "I take it you don't like our newest member of the psychiatric department."

 

            Roy shook his head.  "Not much," he admitted.

 

            Dixie gave him a look he couldn't read.  "I don't think you're alone in that regard," she said quietly.

 

            "Really?"  Roy leaned forward.  "Who else has he managed to tick off?"

 

            Dixie held up her hands, and Roy knew she wouldn't drop any names.  Gossip was a pet peeve with Rampart's head ER nurse and she'd told him all she was going to.  Instead she inclined her head toward Brackett's office.

 

            "Kel's free right now, if you feel like talking anything over with him before you brave the lion's den."

 

            Roy glanced over to the closed door and stared at it thoughtfully.  Then he smiled.

 

            "Thanks, Dix, that's a good idea."  He paused and lifted an eyebrow.  "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be complaining to Kelly Brackett about somebody's bedside manner."

 

            Dixie's laughter followed him down the corridor.  He rapped lightly on Brackett's door, heard the muted "come in", and entered hesitantly.  The doctor was working on a pile of patient files.

 

            "Hey, Doc, ya got a minute?"

 

            "Sure, Roy, sit down."  He finished what he was writing and set it aside.  "What can I do for you?"

 

            Now that Roy was here, he wasn't sure how to proceed.  He knew that doctors usually stood up for each other, took each other's side.  But he also knew Brackett was fair and open when it came to that.  He'd been there many times, backing the paramedics against the opinions of his colleagues.  Roy fidgeted with the HT in his hand, then finally decided to just come out and say it.

 

            "It's Wilts, Doc.  I need to talk to him about Johnny, but... well, let's just say I don't think he's fond of paramedics meddling in a patient's treatment."

 

            Brackett scowled and Roy thought maybe he'd overstepped himself.  But he needn't have worried.

 

            "He won't talk to you about Johnny's case?" he asked.

 

            "Hardly," Roy snorted.  "Not to me, not to Joanne.  He actually told Jo she wouldn't understand the complexities of his treatment plan."

 

            "I see," Brackett replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

 

            Roy leaned forward.  "Doc, I'm worried about Johnny.  He seems to be getting worse instead of better.  If that's Wilts' plan, then it's certainly working."

 

            "You know this kind of therapy can take time," Brackett offered.  "Johnny's problem isn't going to go away overnight."

 

            "I know that," Roy agreed.  "I just wish the guy would clue us in as to what to expect.  Like right now... the guys want to have a party, you know, get Johnny more involved in life.  I don't know if that's a good idea, but how can I go ask Wilts' opinion?"

 

            Brackett was silent a moment, his pen tapping on his desk absently.  Finally, he picked up his phone.  Roy could hear the distant ringing on the other end until it was picked up.

 

            "Hello, Brad?  Kelly Brackett.  I was wondering if you could spare a few minutes for a conference.  No, on a current patient... John Gage.  Yes, that would be fine.  Thank you."

 

            He hung up the phone and gave Roy an encouraging smile.  "He's coming down.  Maybe we can get him to be a little more forthcoming."

            "That would be great, Doc, thanks."

 

            Roy sat back in the chair, his stomach doing flip flops.  This wasn't exactly how he'd wanted it.  He was sure when Wilts saw him here he would think he'd been whining to Brackett.  Which, was exactly what he'd done, but it hadn't seemed like whining a few moments before.  But he resolved to put on a brave face and ride it out.  If he got any information that would help Johnny, it would be worth the confrontation.

 

            A few minutes passed in silence, then Brackett cleared his throat.  Roy glanced up from the thumbnail he was picking at.

 

            "Let me talk to him, Roy," the doctor requested.  "I know you're upset, and I'm coming to realize that Dr. Wilts doesn't react well to hostility."

 

            That was the second oblique reference he'd gotten to Wilts irritating someone.  At least he and Joanne weren't the only ones.  Roy held up his hands in mock surrender.  "I'll be on my best behavior, Doc," he promised.  "Just so I get a chance to ask some questions."

 

            A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and Dr. Brad Wilts walked in.  Roy had to give him credit.  He barely blinked when he saw Brackett had company.  He sat down in the chair he was offered.

 

            "How can I help you, Dr. Brackett?" he inquired.  That he didn't include Roy in his greeting was not lost on the paramedic, but he held his tongue.  "You said something about discussing Mr. Gage's case?"

 

            Brackett nodded, his face expressionless.  "Roy here is a little concerned about Johnny's state of mind.  He says he's depressed... having trouble sleeping... loss of appetite.  I must say, it concerns me as well.  Johnny's a good friend."

 

            Wilts' eyes widened a bit at that statement.  It was obvious to Roy that the psychiatrist felt a doctor as highly respected as Kelly Brackett could do better than lowly paramedics for friends.  But he recovered quickly.

 

            "Well, of course, let's discuss it."  He turned to fix Roy with a scrutinizing stare.  "Depressed, you say?  Is that your medical opinion?"

 

            Roy heard Brackett clear his throat, obviously warning him to keep his head, but he managed to control himself.  He faced Wilts with a calm expression.

 

            "No, Doctor," he stated.  "That's my opinion as a friend.  I've known Johnny a long time... I work with him 24 hours at a time.  I know when he's depressed."

 

            "Hmmm," was Wilts' answer.  He sat there stroking his chin.  "We have been focusing on the accident.  He's liable to be a little melancholy about what happened."

 

            Brackett leaned back in his chair, his face thoughtful.  "That sounds reasonable," he observed.  "As long as he's working through it."  He paused, then went on a little more intently.  "And, as long as you're staying on top of it."

 

            Wilts sat up straighter.  Roy could tell by his manner he'd been offended by the implication, but wasn't going to react to it in front of Roy.  The smile on his face looked plastered on and Roy had to fight to hide a smile of his own.

 

            "Certainly.  That's the whole point of his treatment.  Eventually, he will come to terms with what happened.  When he does that, his voice should return."

 

            Roy decided he would never have a better opportunity to question this man, and he plunged ahead.  "Look, Doc..."  He relished the distaste on the man's face at the derivative of his proper title.  "My wife and I... we want to help... but we don't know how far to push him... when to step in and when to back off."  Roy wasn't one for making speeches, but when it was important he could pitch with the best of them.  "We need to know the best way to reinforce what you're doing in therapy."

 

            Wilts studied him for a moment, then spoke in an even tone.  "Did you have anything specific in mind?"

 

            Roy nodded.  "Actually yes.  Johnny's been keeping pretty much to himself.  The guys at work want to have a get together at my place... kind of push him into a social situation.  I'm not sure if that's such a good idea, with the way he's been..."

 

            "But that's a wonderful idea," the doctor beamed.  "And it's in the exact vein as his course of treatment.  He needs to make the effort to regain his normal life.  Nobody can do that for him.  As his friends, you can prod him in that direction.  I say, yes, go ahead with this party.  It will do him good.  Tell your co-workers not to avoid talking to him directly.  He needs to be reminded that life will go on without him, unless he makes the attempt to rejoin it."  Wilts had warmed to his subject and was talking enthusiastically.

 

            Roy wasn't sure he agreed with his assessment of what Johnny needed, but he supposed he should go along with it.  As much as he disliked the man, he was a noted psychiatrist, and he seemed to be very concerned about Johnny's recovery.  Maybe he was right.  Maybe he and Jo were treating Johnny with kid gloves.  In any case, he didn't suppose a barbecue with the guys could do much damage.

 

            "If that's all settled then, I need to be going," Wilts concluded.  He shook Brackett's hand and then actually shook Roy's as well.  "Feel free to call me with any questions," was his parting comment.

 

            Roy sat in silence for a long moment, pondering what he'd been told.  Brackett finally broke into his thoughts.

 

            "Did that help at all?" he asked.

 

            "Yeah... some... I guess.  He sounds pretty sure of what he's doing."

 

            "Hmmm...."  It was Brackett's turn to look thoughtful.  When he finally spoke, Roy could sense a certain reluctance in the older man's voice.  "Roy... psychiatry is not an exact science.  What works for some patients may not for others."

 

            Roy regarded Brackett curiously.  He'd learned to place a great deal of value on this man's opinion.  "So, what are you saying, Doc?  Is he wrong?"

 

            Brackett sighed and shook his head.  "I don't know, Roy.  I suppose what I'm trying to tell you is that sometimes it doesn't hurt to follow your instincts.  You know Johnny better than just about anybody else.  There may be some situations you know better how to handle than any doctor ever could."

 

            Roy ran a hand through his dark blond hair, then chuckled.  "Gee, Doc... now I'm back to where I started from."

 

            Brackett smiled.  "Sorry about that.  I didn't mean to make it any worse for you.  As for your get-together... Wilts says have it, so go ahead.  If you see Johnny's having a hard time, you can always ask the guys to go home."

 

            Roy brightened at that.  "I guess you're right.  They'd all understand."  Roy got to his feet.  "I'll let you get back to your work.  Hoskins is probably combing the halls looking for me anyway."  He moved to the door.  "Thanks a lot, Doc.  You were a big help."

 

            "Any time, Roy."

 

* * *

 

            The day had started out overcast, but, typical of the coastal "June Gloom" that started in May and could last until mid July, the sun broke out around noon.  By the time everyone arrived around 2 o'clock, it had turned into a beautiful, warm Southern California day.  School had ended last week, so the kids were wound up and ready for some fun.  Since A shift was scheduled to work on the 4th this year, Chet had decided to dub this their Independence Day bash and do it up all red, white and blue.  He figured that way, Johnny wouldn't feel like the center of attention.  Roy had to admit it was a pretty good idea.

 

            Mike and Beth Stoker had three boys who were around the same age as Chris and Jenny and they all played well together, although Jennifer sometimes grew exasperated with all the "boy" games and would wander over to talk to the grownups.  Cap's teen-aged daughters had chosen to go to the beach with their friends rather than spend the day with "little kids," as they so bluntly put it.  He and his wife, Emily, were alone this time.

 

            Marco and Chet had both come stag.  Normally, they each would have brought a date to one of these gatherings, but Roy knew they'd figured it would be better for Johnny this time to only have to see people he already knew well.  Roy thought it was pretty damn considerate of two guys he would never have put on the top ten most sensitive guy list.  They'd scored points with Joanne as well, by showing up early and taking over all the cooking chores.

 

            The party was in full swing now and everyone seemed to be having a good time.  Everyone but the guest of honor.  Roy sighed and looked at the upstairs window.  He could see Johnny standing there, staring down at the gathering, but he'd yet to join them.  So far everyone but Chet had, at some point during the day, sought Roy out and inquired about their friend, wondering if this was too much.  Cap had even gone so far as to suggest they wrap it up and call it a day, but Roy could only tell them he hoped Johnny would come down eventually.  It made it difficult to let go and have fun, knowing Johnny was miserable upstairs.

 

            Roy sat down in a deck chair and took a long pull of his beer.  When he'd first told Johnny about the barbecue, he hadn't gotten much reaction out of his partner.  He'd merely shrugged his one good shoulder, leaving Roy to guess whether or not to go ahead with it.  He took another swallow of beer and decided he'd made the wrong choice.

 

            "Hey, Roy, Marco's got the burgers about ready."  Chet took the seat next to Roy and grabbed a Coke from the ice chest.  He took a long drink, then shifted to glance up at the window, and Roy instantly knew what he was going to say next.  "So... you think he'll come down?"

 

            Roy sighed and shook his head.  "I wish I knew, Chet.  The doc said we should push him, but what am I supposed to do... go up there and carry him down?"

 

            "It's an idea," Chet replied, then held out his hand to let Roy know he was joking.  "Hey, man, don't take it so personal.  At least he doesn't mind being around you.  The rest of us are starting to get a complex."

 

            "Chet, you know that's not the problem..."

 

            "I know, I know," Chet broke into Roy's intended defense of Johnny's behavior.  "Relax, Roy.  We understand Johnny's having a hard time."

 

            "I think he's embarrassed," Roy tried to explain.  "That doctor of his keeps telling him he could talk if he wanted to and I think he feels like he's letting everyone down somehow."

 

            "Geeze, shrinks," Chet groused as he swigged down the rest of his Coke.  "What does he know about Gage anyway?"

 

            Roy remained diplomatically silent.  The last thing he wanted to do was get Chet all riled up by telling him stories about Wilts.

 

            "Hey," Marco called out, waving a spatula.  "These burgers are ready, come and get 'em."

 

            The next few minutes was chaos as everyone set about digging into dinner.  Roy found himself running interference with the boys, keeping them out of the cupcakes Joanne had just brought out and for a while at least, he pushed his worry about Johnny to the back of his mind.

 

            It wasn't until he caught sight of Jenny struggling to open the screen while balancing an overloaded plate in one hand and a can of soda in the other that all the concern rushed forward again.  He knew exactly where his daughter was headed.  She had always been Johnny's shadow, and since he'd arrived this time, she hadn't been more than a few feet from his side.

 

            Roy watched her for a moment, waging a silent war between two voices in his head.  One told him to let her go, she wasn't hurting anything.  The other voice - Wilts' voice - was shouting at him that this would defeat the whole purpose of the party - that Johnny had to start making the effort.  Finally reaching a decision he walked over and placed a restraining hand on Jennifer's shoulder.

 

            She looked up at him, her blue eyes questioning.  "Whatsa matter, Daddy?"

 

            "Is that for Uncle Johnny?"

 

            "Yep," she nodded vigorously.  "He's prob'ly pretty hungry by now.  He didn't eat very much of his breakfast."

 

            Roy felt a sudden surge of emotion over his daughter's compassion for his partner.  Leave it to Jenny to notice that Johnny hadn't eaten.  Of course, Joanne probably noticed as well.  That was, after all, where Jenny had inherited it from.  He knew he'd probably have to keep an eye out for his wife sneaking food upstairs.

 

            "Jenny, honey, you know we talked about how Johnny's doctor wants him to try harder to be with other people."

 

            Jenny nodded dutifully and Roy smiled.  She obviously saw no problem in what she was doing.  Roy felt like a heel when he carefully took the plate from her hand.

 

            "Daddy," Jenny protested indignantly.

 

            "Jennifer," Roy answered firmly.  "No food upstairs, you understand?  Johnny knows where dinner is.  He can come down here and eat with us if he's hungry."

 

            Jenny's face went from disbelief to outrage in a matter of moments.  She planted both hands on her hips and scowled.  "Daddy, that's sooo mean!" she declared before she whirled and marched across the yard to plop down on the swing.  Roy watched her, dismally aware he probably wouldn't be spoken to for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

            Johnny turned away from the window, disgusted with his own cowardice.  He knew Roy especially would be disappointed in him, but there was no way he could make his partner understand his reasons for staying away from the party.  Hell, it wasn't like he could explain them to anybody.

 

            He knew the guys were only trying to help him, but it was just so damn awkward.  They would try and talk to him, eventually run out of things to say and the conversation would gradually end up passing over him.  It would be easier for them to ignore him than to constantly try and include him and just imagining that happening hurt badly.  It was why he had avoided any impromptu visits they'd made over the last week or so.  He didn't think he could handle it, and he didn't want anyone to feel bad because of him.

 

            Johnny figured Wilts would be mad at him too.  The doctor had pounced on this party idea with so much enthusiasm that Johnny had thought he might actually put in an appearance.  He hadn't, of course.  The thought of his lint-free, well-dressed shrink rubbing elbows with a bunch of fireman caused a slight smile to momentarily lift one corner of Johnny's mouth.  Then it was gone and he sighed heavily, leaning his head against the wall.

 

            Johnny moved over and sat down on his bed.  He caught sight of the paper on his desk and reached for it.  Roy had brought it home from the station.  Reading it over again, Johnny sighed.

 

            This poor kid's as screwed up as you are, Gage.  Why doesn't somebody try and help him?

 

            Johnny couldn't believe this boy was writing to him.  He had some mistaken idea that Johnny had done something heroic, when nothing could be farther from the truth.  Johnny knew he was no hero.  A hero would have been able to hang onto Peter.  He tossed the paper back on the desk.

 

            The afternoon breeze wafted in, lifting the curtains and bringing with it the tantalizing aroma of grilling hamburgers.  Johnny's stomach grumbled it protest, taking his mind off the letter.  Maybe he could just go down and get a burger and then come back up.  Maybe he could do that.

 

            He walked over to the door and out into the hall.  He'd come this far several times, only to turn back.  Now he stood once more at the top of the stairs - wavering - struggling to take that first step.

 

            C'mon, man, what could it hurt to go down there and at least eat?  Nobody would expect you to talk while you were eating.

 

            And then he stopped short.  How many times had they all complained about that very thing?  The short, choppy laugh that tried to escape his throat came out closer to a sob, and he sank down on the stair, his head drooped dejectedly onto his one good arm.

 

            "Hey, John?"

 

            He slowly raised his head to see Chet standing at the bottom of the stairs, his hands full with food and drink.  Whatever hesitation Johnny thought he saw vanished so quickly, he wasn't even sure it had been there.  Chet just climbed up and settled down a couple of steps below Johnny.  He handed him a paper plate filled to overflowing and a tall glass of milk.  Johnny took them gratefully.

 

            "Ya know, if ya wait around for one of those bozos to tell ya dinner's ready, you're gonna miss out," he stated, shaking his curly head in apparent disgust of their friends.  "Way I see it, Gage, a guy's gotta eat... upstairs, downstairs... who the hell cares anyway."

 

            Johnny dug into his dinner, listening to Chet rattle on about things that didn't really matter.  He stopped only once, when he chomped down on a particularly crunchy bit of burger.  Not giving a fig for manners at the moment, he dug it out of his mouth and wiped it on his plate.  He glanced up and saw Chet was grimacing.

 

            "Somebody's really gotta teach Marco how to barbecue," he announced.  "I don't think the word medium translates into Spanish very well.  Somehow it always comes out crispy critter."

 

            It was such a familiar harangue - that Johnny actually laughed.  It was a long standing argument between Kelly and Lopez - who was the better cook.  For the first time in a long time he felt like he was doing something normal.  He sank his teeth back into the burger, not caring who cooked it.

 

* * *

 

            The decibel level had lowered dramatically in the back yard as everyone ate their fill.  The kids were sitting out on the lawn stuffing themselves and deciding how many cupcakes they were going to have room for.  The adults had opted for the shade of the deck and were sitting around talking and laughing about work and kids and a million other things.

 

            Roy sat next to Joanne, listening to Beth Stoker regale them with the latest exploits of the nosy old woman who'd just moved next door a few months ago.  Because of their work schedules, she'd seen Mike coming and going and decided Beth and he were clandestine lovers meeting while her husband was on a road trip.  Roy smiled at the thought of quiet, close-mouthed Stoker being a sly Casanova.

 

            Joanne chose that moment to ask him to bring out more chips.  Roy got up and went into the house, thinking he might go up and check on Johnny, but not sure if maybe he should leave it alone for now.  He found two more bags of chips on the counter and grabbed them up, when he stopped.  He could hear voices in the direction of the living room.

 

            He moved to the doorway so he could hear better.  There was definitely one voice – Chet's, and Roy suddenly recalled he hadn't seen Kelly in a while.  The Irishman was holding such an animated conversation that Roy's first thought was he was on the phone.  But as he listened, he realized that wasn't it at all.

 

             "I swear, Gage, you wouldn't have believed this chick.  She was like, blonde... totally hot, legs all the way up to her... well, you get the picture.  And she's looking at me, and I can tell she wants me... she wants me bad...  Hey, don't give me that look.  Tall chicks dig short men.  How many times do I have to tell you?  Just ask Marco...  no, wait... don't ask Marco..."

 

            Roy felt an absurd urge to giggle, but he held it back.  He poked his head around the corner and let his gaze follow the sound of Chet's voice.  He saw Kelly sitting on the stairs.  Johnny was slightly above him, shoving food into him mouth and grinning at whatever lie Chet was trying to get him to swallow along with his hamburger.

 

            Roy pulled back, not wanting them to see him.  He leaned his head against the wall for a moment, wanting to laugh out loud, but not wanting to ruin what was happening on his stairway.  He decided to just go back outside and let them be, but he figured  if he had anything to say about it, Chet Kelly had just earned his way into Heaven.

 

* * *

 

            Johnny slowly trudged down the hallway to Wilts' office.  He dreaded coming here.  He supposed he had from the beginning, but it seemed like his feet grew heavier with each trek down this hall.  At least he usually had Joanne for company to keep him going, but today, with the kids out of school, she'd dropped him off in the parking lot.  She had some errands to run and would be back to pick him up in an hour or so.  If he got done early, he was supposed to wait for her in the cafeteria.  He could tell she felt bad about not going with him, but there hadn't been any other way to get everything done today, and he felt bad enough already that he was such a burden on the DeSotos.

 

            Not that they had ever done anything to make him think that.  Just the opposite.  Both Roy and Joanne went out of their way to be sure he knew staying with them and helping him out wasn't a problem.  But he knew.  They had such busy lives, between work, the kids, baseball, Scouts, ballet lessons - and adding all Johnny's doctor and physical therapy visits into the mix only made their lives that much more hectic.  Plus, he felt bad that those rare times when Roy was home and the kids happened to be gone, there was good ol' Johnny hanging around to spoil any alone time the couple had.

 

            He swung his left arm around, testing his shoulder.  No twinges at all.  Hal had been very happy with his progress.  Of course, he'd been quick to point out that he wouldn't be 100% for a few more weeks at least.  And then there was his other arm.

 

            The big, bulky cast that had pinned his arm to his side was gone now, but he still had a soft cast on his upper arm and sported a sling.  He wouldn't be able to even start rehab on this one for another week.  Even so, he was much better off than he had been.  One arm worked completely, and he had at least limited use of his right hand.  He could take care of himself.  He thought perhaps he should move back to his own place.

 

            He knew he would get an argument, and not just from Roy and Joanne.  Brackett, Early, even Dixie would argue for him to stay at the DeSoto's.  Though none of them had come out and said it, he knew their concern was for his state of mind, not his physical limitations.  Hell, the only person liable to agree with him was Wilts.  He was the one pushing for Johnny to take responsibility for his actions.  If Johnny moved out, his shrink would laud it as a huge step in the right direction.

 

            There was only one problem.  How was he going to tell Roy he wanted to go home?  No matter how hard he'd tried, he still wasn't able to talk.  Wilts had told him over and over again that it was his own fault he wasn't speaking.

 

            He's probably right.  I'm screwed up and it's my own fault.  I drop a kid and he dies... now I can't even make myself talk.  Wilts says I could if I wanted to... maybe I just don't want to.  Maybe if I did I'd have to tell people I killed Peter... I killed Peter.  Damn, damn, damn... I killed Peter and I can't tell anybody...

 

            He suddenly realized he was standing in front of Wilts' door.  Bracing himself, he blew out his breath and walked in.

 

* * *

 

            Joanne pointed Chris in the direction of the books on tornadoes he needed for his weather merit badge and settled Jenny down in the mystery section, then glanced at her watch.  She and the kids had been to the cleaners and the sporting goods store to get Chris a new glove.  They still had thirty minutes before they needed to meet Johnny at Rampart.

 

            She'd hated leaving him alone, but there wasn't any way around it today.  Still, she felt bad.  She knew how much he hated these sessions with Wilts.  If it had been left up to her, she wouldn't make him go.  She had yet to see any evidence that the man was helping Johnny.  Just the opposite seemed to be true.  In fact, Johnny had seemed happier after spending those few minutes with Chet at the barbecue than after any amount of time with Wilts.

 

            Checking to be sure the kids were fine, she wandered down the nearest aisle.  She was in the children's section of the library, so there weren't a lot of titles that caught her attention.  She gazed at the books absently until she realized she'd ended up in the biographies.  She ran her finger down the row, absently noting the names - John Adams, Daniel Boone, Kit Carson - they ran alphabetically - Benjamin Franklin, Helen Keller, John Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr...

 

            Joanne paused - the beginning of an idea forming in her head.  With one more quick check on Chris and Jenny, she moved to the main card catalog to do a quick search for the subject she was interested in.

 

* * *

 

            "I don't think you're really trying, Mr. Gage.  Truthfully, I was hoping for more progress than you've made.  You're not taking the medication I prescribed, are you?"

 

            Johnny sat staring at his lap, silence his answer.  He couldn't meet Dr. Wilt's eyes.  He knew the doctor was right.  He hadn't gotten any better and it was all his own fault.

 

            "Since you refuse to take the steps I suggested, I can only assume that you haven't taken full responsibility yet for Peter Baker's death."

 

            Sure I have, Doc.  I know it was my fault.  You've told me that over and over and over.  I don't' need to take a pill to figure that out.

 

            Wilts sighed, his pencil tapping on his desk, the only sound for some time.  Finally he spoke again, this time in such a determined tone that Johnny glanced up.

 

            "You have to make a choice here, Mr. Gage.  You have to decide you want to get better.  I think the only way to do that is to relive the rescue.  I know you remember it... but do you really?  Do you see it in your mind the way it was?"

 

            Johnny shrugged, not certain what he was getting at.

 

            "All right, let's go over it from the start.  You get to the bridge and the boy is up there, by himself, but perfectly fine for the moment.  Am I right?"

 

            Johnny nodded.

 

            "Then you find out he's epileptic, your captain sends you up to get him.  You try to grab him and you both fall.  Then you drop him, and he dies."

 

            Johnny scowled and pointed to his arm.

 

            "Of course you hurt your arm.  But still, you dropped the boy and he died.  He was fine left alone, but when you interfered he fell.  I want you to accept what happened because of what you did."

 

            He pulled out a set of photos from the file.  Johnny recalled he'd had these before, but had never done anything with them.  Now he stood and walked over to Johnny's side of the desk.  He stuck the first black and white 8x10's into Johnny's line of sight.

 

            They looked like scene photos, something from the coroner's office.  The first one was of a body covered by a blanket.  From the surrounding area, Johnny knew immediately who was under there and where these pictures were from.  He didn't want to see them.

 

            He turned away from the shot, but Dr. Wilts was persistent.  He moved to the other side and shoved another photo where Johnny could see it.  This one was a long shot that included the bridge.  The body lay at the bottom, very small in perspective.

 

            Another picture - the body, no blanket.  In one brief glimpse, Johnny could see Peter's broken body, lying in a pool of blood and other things he didn't want to identify.  His stomach lurched queasily, and he turned his head, shoving the picture away.

 

            I'm sorry, Pete, I'm so sorry.  I told ya I'd get ya down and I lied... I lied to ya...

 

            "You have to see it," Wilts insisted, trying to follow Johnny's eyes with the photo.  "You have to see what you did to this child.  You have to see the blood, the poor broken body."

 

            No, I can't see that!  I know what I did, but I can't see that.  Don't make me look at that!

 

            With a small, animal sound, Johnny jumped up out of his chair and pushed past the startled doctor.  He practically ran out the door and down the hall, not slowing until he reached the elevators.  He heard Wilts call after him once, but the doors closed, cutting off anything else and taking him away.

 

            He leaned against the wall of the car, trying to control the harsh sobs that tore out of his chest.

 

            God, what did I do?  Pete, I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you... I didn't mean it...

 

            He heard the elevator ding and knew it was stopping.  He drew in a ragged breath, ran his free arm across his nose and tried not to look at the person who joined him in the car.  After an eternity, they stopped at the 1st floor and Johnny rushed out, ignoring the curious looks he got from the people waiting to get in.  He only hoped there wasn't anyone he knew in the group.

 

 

* * *

 

            Joanne pulled the station wagon into the parking lot at Rampart, checking her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.  She was late - traffic and road construction had conspired against her - and she hoped Johnny hadn't been too bored in the cafeteria waiting for her.

 

            She and the kids trooped inside.  Ordinarily they would have gone through Emergency, just to say hi to Dixie or the doctors, but she wanted to find Johnny as soon as she could.  If he felt like it, they could stop by the ER on their way out.

 

            It didn't take long to locate him.  It was past lunch, but too early for dinner and only a few stragglers sat in the hall.  Johnny was by himself, sitting at a corner table, a cup of coffee in front of him.  As they approached, Joanne could see he didn't look very happy.  She suddenly wished the kids weren't with her.

 

            "Uncle Johnny," Jenny called and rushed to his side.  She threw her arms around him, an embrace he returned with his good left arm.  If he held her a little longer than normal, only Joanne noticed.  Jenny finally pulled away and scooted up a chair next to him.  "Did the doctor make you talk yet?" she asked hopefully.

 

            "Jen, you dummy?" Chris hissed.  Both kids had been warned not to ask that very question.

 

            "Chris," Joanne scolded quietly.  "No name calling," she reminded him, then shot a frown at her daughter.

 

            Jennifer's face fell in contrition.  "I'm sorry.  I forgot."  She turned to the man next to her.  "I'm sorry, Uncle Johnny.  I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

 

            "Johnny, I..."

 

            Johnny interrupted her by holding up his hand and shaking his head.  Joanne knew the last thing he would want would be for his Jenny Bean to get in trouble.  She caught a glimpse of his eyes and could see they were red.

 

            My God, he's been crying.  What did that idiot do to him now?

 

            She decided this wasn't the right time to bring up her new idea.  She would wait for a day or two - play it by ear.

 

            "C'mon kids.  I'm sure Uncle Johnny is more than ready to go home."

 

            The look he gave her told her she didn't know the half of what she'd just said.

 

* * *

 

            The blanket covering the body glowed bright yellow against a drab, gray landscape.  The only other color was the spreading red stain up near the head.  He knew who was under the blanket... he knew, but someone was pushing his hand toward it.  He didn't want to go any nearer, but some unseen force had control of him and kept pushing him closer and closer... His hand was near the corner now... ready to grab the blanket and pull it back, revealing its grisly secret.

 

            Please don't make me... Please don't make me...

 

            Johnny bolted up in bed, scooting himself back into the corner as far as he could get.  He wasn't completely sure if he was awake or not.  All he wanted was to get as far away from the yellow blanket as he could.  His pressed himself against the wall, panting heavily, his stomach churning.

 

            "Johnny?"

 

            It was Roy.  Johnny recognized the voice and realized he was awake.  He squinted at the doorway.  There were no lights, but Roy seemed to be alone.  He let out a shaky breath, thankful  he hadn't disturbed Joanne or the kids.  The next moment his stomach heaved, and Johnny bolted off the bed and into the hall.  He barely made it to the bathroom.

 

            He'd eaten little dinner that night, so there wasn't much that came up.  When he was spent, Johnny sat on the floor trembling, his head supported in his good hand.

 

            "Here, Junior."  Roy handed him a wet wash rag.

 

            Johnny took it gratefully, wiping his face and the back of his neck.

 

            "You gonna be okay?"

 

            Johnny nodded once.

 

            "You feel like going back to bed?"  Roy held out his hand and Johnny took it gratefully.

 

            Roy followed him back to the guest room and sat down on the edge of the bed after Johnny had climbed in.  He didn't say anything, but just having him there was calming.  Johnny's breathing soon slowed down, and he felt a lot better.  After a time, Roy finally spoke, his voice soothing.

 

            "I can stay here with you until you fall asleep again," he offered.

 

            A few weeks ago, Johnny would have laughed at the thought of Roy sitting by his bed, keeping the bogeyman away, but at this moment it was the most wonderful idea he could imagine.  He lay down, not even minding that Roy was the one who straightened out his sheet and blanket and arranged them over him.  He had a stray thought about how much mileage Chet would get out of Roy tucking him into bed, but he didn't care.  He closed his eyes, his hand reaching out until it made contact.  He felt Roy's hand close over his, and at last he felt he could let himself try and sleep.

 

* * *

 

            Roy sat by Johnny's side for quite some time, even after he could hear his partner's even breathing and knew he'd gone back to sleep.  He watched him for a moment, hoping this time sleep would be a comfort and not a torment.

 

            The moon had risen higher, casting a faint blue light into the room and across Johnny's face.  In the weeks since the incident on the bridge, with all of their running around, no one had thought to take Johnny to get a hair cut.  His normally untamed black hair was even longer than the usual push-the-regulations-to-the-limit length, and it made him appear younger than he was - vulnerable somehow - like a lost child who needed help to find his way home.

 

            Roy heaved a discouraged sigh.

 

            How can I help you, Junior?  How can any of us help you?

 

* * *

 

            Joanne finished putting away the lunch dishes and wiped her hands on the dishtowel.  She glanced at the clock.  Nearly 1:00.  They would have to leave in a few minutes to get Johnny to his appointment on time.

 

            She was determined to be there for him this time.  She'd arranged for the kids to each play at a friend's house this afternoon, so there would be no awkward questions.  This was hard enough for Johnny, she didn't want to make it any worse.

 

            She'd heard him the other night, but had let Roy go to him.  She'd realized after that first nightmare that it embarrassed him to have the whole family gawking.  Knowing Johnny as she did, she also knew he probably already felt like a burden on them.  It was better to let him think he hadn't awakened anyone else.

 

            She'd dropped off, but stirred again when Roy had finally come back to bed.  A glance at the clock had told her he'd been in with Johnny for over an hour.  She knew at once how upset he was. He sat on the edge of the bed, without laying down, and when she came up behind him, laying her hands on his arms, she could feel him trembling.

 

            He hadn't said a word, but had turned and taken her into his arms.  They lay together for quite some time before she felt his body quiet and knew he'd fallen asleep.  She studied his face in the dim light - this man she'd loved for most of her life.  He cared so deeply, and she knew that as long as Johnny was hurting, her Roy would feel that pain with him.

 

            There had been a time, years ago, when she might have been jealous of that bond between them, but no longer.  She had learned quickly that their friendship was not only good for Roy, but for her as well.  She worried less about the dangers of the job, knowing Johnny was there to watch out for her husband and make sure he came home to her at the end of each shift.  She only hoped that Johnny would be able to fight his way back, to regain his place at Roy's side.

 

            She headed upstairs and stopped when she reached the guest room door.  It was closed, but that had become the norm lately.  Johnny was closing himself off more and more.  She'd mentioned her concern to Roy this morning, but he grew agitated about it so she backed off.  She knew her husband felt as helpless as she did.  She had no intention of sending him to work more distracted than he already was.

 

            She knocked on the door lightly, then called.

 

            "Johnny?"  She waited a bit, feeling foolish because she always expected an answer.  She knocked again and called a little louder to announce herself.  "Johnny?  I'm coming in, if that's okay."

 

            She opened the door slowly.  She wanted to respect his privacy, but unless he came to the door, she had no way of knowing if he wanted her to come in or stay out.

 

            He was sitting on the bed cross-legged, his chin propped in his left hand, staring down at a book that sat opened in his lap.  She walked over to sit beside him and glanced at the book.  It was one of Roy's training manuals and Joanne realized with a start that this was the first time she'd even thought about Johnny missing being a paramedic.

 

            "You don't really think they'll make you take a test, do you?" she asked with a laugh, to lighten the mood.  "You've been out longer than this before."

 

            Johnny looked up at her, obviously trying to figure out how to make her understand.  He finally pointed to his arm and shook his head.  Then he pointed to his head and shrugged.

 

            Joanne got it in an instant.  He wasn't worried about his physical problems.  He was concerned they would think he was crazy, or worse, that he would never get completely well.

 

            "Oh, Johnny," she murmured, and reached out to touch his hand.  "It'll all work out, you'll see."

 

            He leaned his head against the wall and sighed.  She smiled and patted the back of his hand.

 

            "C'mon, now.  You need to get your shoes on.  It's time to go."

 

            Johnny didn't make any move.  He merely shut his eyes and shook his head.

 

            Joanne was silent for a moment, wondering if he really meant what she thought he did.

 

            "You don't want to go see Wilts today?" She asked quietly.

 

            Johnny gave his head one more negative shake.  She stood up and walked to the door.  Johnny opened his eyes and regarded her cautiously.  She knew he was wondering if she would try and make him go, but she had no intention of doing that.  He was a grown man and could make his own decisions.  Besides, she didn't blame him one bit for not wanting to continue seeing that quack.

 

            "All right, Johnny, it's your choice," she told him.  "But if I go along with you on this, you have to promise me you'll try something else."

 

            He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, then gave a slow, tentative nod.

 

            "I'll be right back," Joanne smiled.

 

            She hurried to her room and found the book she'd gotten from the library the other day.  When she came back, she held it close, so he couldn't see the title until she showed it to him.  She turned the small desk chair to face him, and sat down.

 

            "I had an idea, and I want you to keep an open mind, okay?"

 

            He leaned forward, trying to see what she was hiding, and she knew she had his interest.

 

            "I know Wilts told you not to use other forms of communication, but I think he's wrong, Johnny.  I think if you were able to express yourself you might not feel so much stress about not talking."

 

            Johnny was listening to her intently, so she took a deep breath and went on.

 

            "I know he told you not to write..."  She paused when Johnny began shaking his head and she silently cursed Wilts for harping on that subject so much.  "It's okay, Johnny, I'm not saying to try writing.  That's way too slow a process anyway."

 

            He calmed down so she continued.  "I had something else in mind... something faster, more convenient... more like regular conversation."

 

            She handed him the book and watched as he read the title, American Sign Language.  His eyes moved over the words several times and then he traced them with his fingers.  When he didn't look up at her, she feared she'd made a mistake.

 

            "Johnny?  If you don't want to try, I understand.  I know Dr. Wilts..."

 

            He looked up at once, stopping her in mid-sentence.  He appeared angry, but she didn't think it was at her.  After a time, his gaze fell back to the book, and he opened it slowly.  She took hope in that.

 

            "Of course, Roy and I would have to learn it too... so you have somebody to talk to.  And we may not become experts at it, but... you know... at least we could all talk to each other."

 

            A smile crept onto his features, timid at first, then growing bigger as he turned more and more pages.  Joanne's heart soared at his reaction, hoping against hope that she had done the right thing in offering this to him.

 

            He suddenly flipped to the back of the book, gazed at the page he'd turned to for a moment, then looked up at Joanne.  He glanced at the book one more time to be sure of himself, then he brought his fingertips to his mouth, moving them out in her direction.  She didn't need to look at the book to know he was saying "thank you."

 

            "You're welcome," she replied around a lump in her throat.  "Now I just have to tell Roy about this," she said with a nervous laugh.  Roy was very by-the-book and, most of the time, she loved him for it, but she wasn't completely sure he would condone going against a doctor's advice.

 

            Johnny's smile shifted into a wry half-grin, and she knew he understood exactly what she was talking about.

 

* * *

 

            "How could you do that, Joanne?  You know what Dr. Wilts says about making him use his voice."  Roy paced in front of the kitchen table where his wife sat watching him with a defiant glint in her eye.

 

            "I don't care what that man says," Joanne stated emphatically.  "And I told you, Johnny's not going back to see him anymore."

 

            "But, Jo..."  Roy struggled to find the words to convince her.  "He still needs help."

 

            "Not that kind of help!" Joanne shot back.  "All Wilts did was make him miserable."

 

            Roy sighed heavily and sat back down across from the woman he loved.  He reached out and took her hand.

 

            "I don't like the guy either, honey," he countered, trying to sound reasonable.  "But he's the psychiatrist... not us.  And Brackett recommended him."

 

            "I know what Brackett said," Joanne conceded, "And maybe he is a good doctor... for some people.  But not for Johnny."

 

            "Jo..."

 

            "Roy, it's not our decision," she stated evenly.  "Johnny made this choice.  I just happened to agree with him."  She smiled, trying to get him to see her point.

 

            He stared into her bright blue eyes.  She wasn't going to give an inch, he could tell.  He blew out a long breath and scrubbed a hand across his face.

 

            "I guess you're right," he finally gave in.  "It's Johnny's decision.  I just hope we're doing the right thing here."

 

            "Roy, if you'd only seen the look on his face."  Joanne got up from the table and took him by the hand, pulling him to his feet.  "Come here.  I want to show you something."

 

            She led him into the living room, stopping at the sliding glass door that led to the deck.  Beyond that, sitting on the grass, shaded by the large lemon tree, he saw Johnny sitting with Chris and Jenny on either side of him.  They had a book open in front of them, and all three were trying to practice the signs they were looking at.  That they were having a good time was apparent from the loud laughter that would periodically erupt when somebody did it wrong.  What was amazing to Roy was that Johnny was laughing along with them, his face happier than Roy could remember seeing it since the accident.

 

            He felt Joanne's arm slip around his waist.  "Look at him, Roy, and tell me that's not a good thing."

 

            Roy felt a smile play at his lips.  "You think he's gonna pick that up enough to use it?"

 

            "He's doing pretty good so far.  Jenny's the best though.  She's soaking it up like a sponge."  She gave a little laugh.  "I don't hold out much hope for Chris."

 

            Roy chuckled.  "Probably takes after the old man.  I don't think I'd be able to ever do that."

 

            "Oh, yes you will."  Joanne prodded him back to the kitchen, where she showed him a second copy of the book.  "You and I have our homework, too."

            "Jo... I don't think..."

 

            "Don't give me any guff, Roy DeSoto.  The whole point of this is so Johnny can communicate.  He's going to need someone to communicate with."

 

            She pushed on his shoulder until he sat back down at the table.  Scooting her chair next to him, she opened up the oversized book.

 

            "Okay, school's in session.  I guess we start at the beginning... with ABC."

 

* * *

 

            Roy walked out of treatment two, confident the nine year old girl who'd tangled with the neighbor's dog was in capable hands.  He spied Dwyer talking to Dixie and headed in that direction.  A cup of coffee would go down well right about now.

 

            "Hey, Dix," he greeted as he helped himself from the pot on the hot plate behind the nurses' station.

 

            "Roy," Dixie returned.  "Charlie here was telling me about the dog you two had to subdue.  Sounds kind of scary."

 

            "There was nothing 'kind of' about it," Roy corrected.  "I've never seen such a vicious looking dog.  What did the guy from animal control say it was?"

 

            "A pit bull," Dwyer supplied with an exaggerated shudder.  "A hundred pounds of teeth.  Good thing animal control got there when they did.  Our fire extinguisher was running out of juice."

 

            Dixie shook her head.  "It should be illegal to have such a dangerous animal for a pet."

 

            "Hey, you don't have to convince us," Dwyer laughed.

 

            Roy sipped his coffee and listened as Charlie continued to fill Dixie in on the more hair raising aspects of the run.  Charlie had pulled a double, filling in for Hoskins this shift - in effect a temporary, temporary partner.  Roy didn't mind.  He liked the garrulous paramedic.  He reminded him quite a bit of Johnny.  One of the things Dryer had in common with Johnny was his gift of gab.

 

            Brackett walked up to pull a chart, interrupting the saga of the dog.

 

            "Roy, Charlie, nice work with that little girl."

 

            "Thanks, Doc," Dryer replied.  "I was just telling Dix about it."

 

            "Yes," Dixie agreed, with a wink for Roy.  "All about it."

 

            Roy chuckled, but Brackett didn't react.  Instead, he lay a hand on Roy's shoulder and pulled him away to a discreet distance.

 

            "What's up?" Roy asked.

 

            "I was just curious if any reporters had been after you... at your house or on the phone."

 

            Roy shook his head.  "Reporters?  Why?"

 

            Brackett's mouth tightened.  "This one guy is determined to do a follow up with Johnny on the Baker boy's death.  You know... how he's dealing with it and all.  I've stalled him here, but I was afraid he might have found him at your place."

 

            Roy frowned.  "No.  I hope he never does."

 

            "Well, I'll do my best at this end," he promised.  "How's he doing anyway?  I haven't seen him around for a while.  He and Joanne usually stop by on their way to his appointments."

 

            Roy suddenly found the floor very interesting.  "Well, Doc..."  He shoved his hands into his pockets.  "To be honest... he's not seeing Wilts anymore."

 

            If Brackett was surprised, he did a good job of not showing it.  "I suppose that's his right.  Maybe he can find someone else who he'll mesh with better."

 

            "Yeah, maybe," Roy hedged, not at all sure he could convince either Johnny or Joanne of the need to start seeing another psychiatrist any time soon.

 

            Brackett seemed to understand.  He patted Roy's shoulder lightly.  "Johnny can't let this bad experience keep him from getting the real help he needs."  He paused when he heard his name on the P.A.  "They're playing my song.  Don't worry, Roy.  We'll get it figured out."  He disappeared into treatment room four.

 

            Roy stood there for a moment, then turned, meaning to get Dwyer and head for the squad, but the sound of his name halted him.

 

            "Mr. DeSoto?"

 

            Roy rolled his eyes. Damn it... That's all I need right now.  He slowly turned around and saw Dr. Brad Wilts approaching.  The psychiatrist held a piece of pink phone message paper in his hand and the scowl on his face told Roy he was not happy.

 

            "Mr. DeSoto, I'd like to know the meaning of this."  He held up the paper.

 

            Roy decided there would be no point in pretending he didn't know what Wilts was talking about.  He knew exactly what was bothering the man.  He put on a fake smile and tried to act professional.

 

            "I see you got our message," he observed.

 

            "What right do you have to pull Mr. Gage from my treatment program?" the doctor demanded in a barely controlled voice.

 

            "I don't have any right to do that," Roy answered calmly.  "Johnny made that decision.  I'm respecting his wishes."

 

            "You expect me to believe that Mr. Gage actually told you he wanted to quit his therapy sessions?"

 

            Roy's mouth tightened.  "He made his wishes known, yes."

 

            "And you just went along with that?"

 

            "Look, Doctor... I'm Johnny's friend, not his guardian.  He's still perfectly able to make his own choices in life."

 

            "But don't you realize you've put his full recovery in serious jeopardy?"  Wilts face was red with indignation.

 

            "You're entitled to your opinion," Roy replied evenly.  He found the more out of control Wilts got, the calmer he was able to stay.  "I'm not sure I agree with you and I know Johnny doesn't."

 

            "You know?  You know?" the psychiatrist sputtered indignantly.  "What do you know?  You're a paramedic... a... a..."

 

            "I'm not even going to go into that with you," Roy broke in.  "It doesn't really matter what you think of paramedics... or fireman.  You asked me what I know... well, I'll tell you one thing I know... I know John Gage.  I've known him for five years.  You've known him for five weeks... five weeks.  And all you've managed to do in that time is make him depressed and miserable.  He's been happier this past week or so without a visit to your office than he's been in a long time and that goes much farther in my book than all your credentials and treatment programs."

 

            Wilts stood there staring at him wordlessly.  When he did speak again, it was in a low, fervent tone.  "You're wrong.  You're all coddling him... trying to make him feel good.  I know it sounds harsh, but Mr. Gage needs to face up to what he did or he will never regain his voice."

 

            Roy took a deep breath and somehow managed to keep his voice even.  "See, here's where we differ, Doc.  Johnny needs to face up to what happened... not to anything he did.  He didn't do anything other than try and help a frightened kid.  You want him to think he made some horrible mistake that cost a boy's life.  Well, you're wrong... you are so wrong.  You weren't there, and you don't know a damn thing about what happened."

 

            "But you were there," Wilts pointed out coolly.  "You were on the other end of the rope, were you not?"

 

            Roy's eyes narrowed angrily.  "Yeah, I was.  You making a point?"

 

            Wilts now had a smug smile on his face.  "Just observing that maybe you have your own reasons for not probing too deeply into the accident."

 

            Roy lost the thin shred of control he'd been holding onto.  Just as he moved toward the psychiatrist, he felt himself grabbed from behind.  Not knowing who had a hold of him, he struggled to be let go.

 

            "Roy!  Roy, knock it off!"

 

            It was Brackett, his voice hissing in Roy's ear, bringing sanity back.  Roy quit fighting and, after a few moments, Brackett released him, positioning himself between his paramedic and the other doctor.

 

            "I don't have to remind you gentlemen that this is certainly not the place for this kind of behavior."

 

            Roy was breathing heavily and he knew his face must be beet red.  He pushed his hair off his forehead.

 

            "Sorry 'bout that, Doc," he murmured to Brackett.

 

            Wilts didn't say a word.  He merely stood there in silence for several moments, then turned on his heel and stalked off toward the bank of elevators.  Brackett turned to Roy for an explanation.

 

            "Do I even want to know what that was all about?" he asked.

 

            Roy shook his head.  He suddenly realized they weren't alone.  Dixie and Dwyer were standing a few feet behind them and a crowd of nurses, orderlies and patients were hovering a little further away.  Brackett followed his gaze and barked an order for everyone to get back to work.  In short order, the crowd had dispersed.  The show was over anyway.

 

            "I'm sorry, Doc," Roy repeated dejectedly.  It certainly wasn't in his nature to be the center of a scene like this.  He figured he was in for a reprimand at the very least.

 

            "I take it he didn't take kindly to losing Johnny as a patient?" was all Brackett said.

 

            Roy glanced up, taken slightly off guard by the doctor's lack of anger.

 

            "Uh... I guess that's an understatement," Roy managed to get out.

 

            Brackett remained thoughtfully silent for a long moment.  Roy wasn't sure if they were done or not, but then the doctor finally spoke.

 

            "I think you did the right thing, discontinuing Johnny's treatment.  I'm sorry I ever recommended him."

 

            "But I thought he was so highly regarded," Roy commented.

 

            Brackett's mouth tightened.  "On the surface, yes.  But after what you told me about Johnny and his being less than forthcoming with you and Joanne... I did a little digging."

 

            "He's not a quack?" Roy asked with alarm.

 

            "No... no, of course not," Brackett replied quickly.  "He's a highly educated, certified psychiatrist.  And he's had some very nice success stories..."

 

            "But?" Roy prompted, knowing there was more.

 

            "He's had some failures, too.  And several complaints were registered about him by his patient's families.  Somehow they never got brought up during the hiring process."

 

            "How did you find out about them?"

 

            "I went to talk to the administrator, let him know there were some problems.  Apparently, Johnny isn't the only patient who's quit his sessions."

 

            "Oh..."  Roy didn't know what else to say.  He did feel a little vindicated.  It was nice to know they'd made the right decision.

 

            "I'm just sorry I sent Johnny to him," Brackett went on.  "And I should have kept a better eye on what was happening."

 

            "Hey, Doc, it wasn't your fault," Roy hastened to assure.  "And it's not your job to keep tabs on other doctors."

 

            Brackett shook his head.  "Still, I'm sorry it turned out so badly.  But try to keep an open mind about trying again.  I still feel Johnny could use the help."

 

            "I will, Doc."  He heard the muted crackle of the HT and saw Dryer signal to him.  "I gotta go."

 

            Brackett clapped a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of support, then Roy followed Charlie out to the squad.

 

            All the way to their next response, Dwyer kept silent, but Roy could see him shooting glances his way.  Roy knew firehouse gossip could run wild and the last thing he wanted was stories about how he nearly decked a doctor at Rampart.  He decided he needed to address the issue.

 

            "Look, Charlie," he began.  "About what happened..."

 

            "Hey, I'm cool, Roy," Dwyer assured him.  "I know it had something to do with Johnny and the guy probably had it coming."

 

            Roy sighed and made a left turn a little sharper than he normally would.  "I just don't need the whole world knowing about it.  Okay?"

 

            "Sure," Dwyer promised.  "My lips are sealed."  He broke out into a mischievous grin.  "But it sure would make a hell of a story."

 

* * *

 

            Brad Wilts was fuming.  The whole Gage matter was turning into a fiasco.  He knew if the administrator got wind of one more patient canceling, he'd be in for some kind of dressing down or censure.  He didn't need that - not now.  It had taken all the finesse he was capable of to get this job, calling in a few favors, doing some discreet covering up.  Now it could all come apart - all because of some idiot fireman who couldn't hold onto a stupid kid.

 

            He sat down at his desk, tapping his pencil distractedly.  There wasn't much he could do, he supposed.  The damage was probably already done.  That ass, Brackett, was so firmly in the paramedics' corner that there would be no way he would stay out of it if it came to an inquiry of any kind.

 

            Surgeons!  What arrogant fools they were.  All they did was cut and paste.  They had no clue about the intricacies of the mind - how much more satisfying to put someone's damaged psyche back together.

 

            Or tear it apart.  Yes, he had that ability, too.  It was such a fine line to walk.  He had never purposefully led anyone down the wrong path, but the fact that he had that power was intoxicating at times.

 

            He stared at the many messages on his desk, still dwelling on the very real possibility that his career was down the toilet, when he focused on one paper in particular.  He picked it up and studied the name and number.

 

            This idiot newsman had been pestering his office for weeks, trying to get some information on John Gage.  Hospital policy, as well as legal ethics, had kept him from talking to the man.  Now, neither one of those reasons probably mattered.  Something inside of him nudged him with thoughts of getting them back.  He knew who "them" was - Brackett, DeSoto, Gage - all of them.

 

            He drummed his fingers nervously on his desk, then impulsively picked up the phone.

 

* * *

 

            "I'm so tired of you moping around all the time," Marge Dunbar told her son as she stuffed dirty clothes into the washing machine.  "Why can't you just get on with your life?"

 

            Rick leaned sullenly against the door to the garage.  His mother just didn't get it.  "How am I supposed to get on with my life, Mom," he asked sarcastically.  "I killed my best friend."

 

            Marge slammed the lid of the washer down and turned to face her son.  "I don't want to hear that anymore.  You didn't kill Peter Baker.  He fell off a bridge.  You weren't even near him."  She paused and took a deep breath.  "Rick, you're alive, you should be grateful.  Why can't you try and make new friends?"

 

            Rick stared at her in incomprehension.  Did she think it was that easy to just cast off one friend and make another?

 

            "Sure, Mom," Rick answered flippantly.  "Pete's dead, but that's okay, I'll get a new friend."

 

            His mother whirled angrily.  "That's enough," she told him flatly.  "I don't want to hear anything else about Peter.  He's dead and you're not.  That's it."

 

            Rick stared at her for a moment, then left the garage in disgust.  He headed up to his room, and sat down at his desk.  He'd done this often enough now that without even thinking about it, he pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.

 

            Dear Mr. Gage,

            Nobody wants to talk about Pete around here.  Is it okay if I tell you about him?

 

* * *

 

            Ken Waters sat in the psychiatrist's nicely furnished office and wondered again at his luck.  He'd been after several of the doctors here to let him do a follow up on the injured paramedic and he'd just about given up.  To actually get to interview the guy's shrink was a huge break, and what the guy was telling him was like striking gold.

 

            "So, Dr. Wilts, let me get this straight.  You're saying that Gage doesn't really have this..." he consulted his notes, "This hysterical muteness as you call it?"

 

            The psychiatrist leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together.  "That's not what I'm saying," he hedged.  "I said that it's difficult to tell for sure if someone really has it... that it would be easy to fake if a person wanted to."

 

            Ken scrutinized the doctor, trying to get what he was really trying to say underneath all the professional, ass-covering bullshit.  "So, maybe Gage is faking it.  Why would he do that?"

 

            "Well, let's just say... hypothetical, of course... you're a fireman who, whether through some mistake you made or not, let's a child fall to his death, what would you do?  It would be natural to try and divert attention, try and let people's natural tendency to offer you sympathy lead you into playing along.  That way you get out of any kind of consequences of your actions."

 

            The reporter watched the doctor's face while he talked and he swore the man's eyes were positively gleaming.  Whatever this guy Gage did to piss the psychiatrist off, it must have been pretty bad.  He had a sudden thought and he decided he better pin the doctor down as to his motives.

 

            "Dr. Wilts, aren't you afraid of being censured for talking to me like this?"

 

            The man took on an offended look.  "I feel bringing Mr. Gage's actions to light is worth risking some professional criticism.  The public at large has to be protected."

 

            "Uh-huh," was Ken's only comment.  He didn't know for sure if he'd just been handed a load of crap, but it was sure gonna make a great story, however it came out.

 

* * *

 

            Johnny didn't know why he'd let Roy talk him into going out to dinner with everyone.  He was sure he'd feel stupid and ill at ease, but after a few awkward moments at the very beginning, things were going fairly smoothly.  They were celebrating him finally getting the cast off his right arm, enabling him to start physical therapy.  It was his last big hurdle on the road to recovering physically.

 

            Besides Roy, Joanne and himself, Dixie and Brackett were here.  Hank and Emily Stanley and Chet rounded out the group.  Johnny figured Chet had been included to make him feel better about not having a date.  But Kelly was on his best behavior and the night was turning out better than Johnny had expected.

 

            They'd come to Connally's Bar and Grill, a favorite of the local firemen, and a higher class establishment than the name suggested.  The food was good - steak and seafood fare - and management had a reputation for not serving drinks to obviously drunk customers, thereby keeping the atmosphere enjoyable.  There was a small space for dancing and on the weekends they had a live band.

 

            Tonight was Friday and the place was crowded.  Because of the size of their party, they'd been seated near the rear exit, but that was actually better for conversation, since they were farther away from the music.  Not far from their table sat another group of firefighters and their wives.  They were casual acquaintances, for most men in the division worked together at one time or another, but Johnny only knew one of them very well.  Frank Parks had transferred to 8's the last year before the paramedic program started.  He was an okay guy, but tonight seemed to have arrived at Connally's already three sheets to the wind.  The laughter from that part of the room was occasionally loud and boisterous.  They seemed to be having fun with something in the newspaper, and passed a section back and forth between them.

 

            Johnny mostly ignored them.  He was enjoying his steak, happy he could cut it himself, and listening to his friends talk about work, the day - or night - they'd had, kids, cars, all the ordinary things that filled their lives.  They didn't exclude Johnny, nor did they go out of their way to include him, which is what he'd feared would happen and would only have called more attention to his silence.

 

            It was odd, but he seemed to be more aware in regards to who did the talking and how they said it.  Maybe it was true what people said about him - that he yapped far too much.  But he loved to talk, plain and simple.  Which only made him wonder more and more if Wilts had been wrong.  He wanted to talk - desperately at times.

 

            He was coming along with the sign language, thanks to Joanne, though he wasn't confident enough to use it here, in front of everyone.  He'd even asked Roy not to tell anybody yet - not until he had a better grasp on it.  He and Jenny could talk about quite a lot of things and Joanne had learned enough that he could usually get across what he needed.  He knew Roy hadn't had as much time to study and Chris was content to let his sister translate for him.  But, for the most part, life was a lot easier.

 

            He'd gotten several more letters from that Rick kid, too.  He'd talked a lot about his friend, something that was painful for Johnny to read, but he did it anyway.  Maybe it helped the kid to get his feelings out in the open.  The only thing Johnny wasn't at ease with was the guilt Rick seemed to feel over Pete's death.  But maybe that too was being worked out by writing.  He thought he might mention the letters to Roy if he got many more of them.  His partner was already curious about all Johnny's fan mail, as he termed the letters he was bringing home from the station.  So far Johnny had been able to brush it off as just an eager kid from the last fire prevention gig they'd done, but sooner or later, Roy would want to know more about them.

 

            Another guffaw came from the table across the way and Johnny glanced over to see Frank lifting his glass of beer in some kind of toast.  His friends followed suit and then Johnny could have sworn they turned their eyes in his direction.

 

            Startled, Johnny turned his attention back to his dinner, hoping he was just being paranoid.

 

            "They're getting a little rowdy over there," Joanne commented and Johnny realized he wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

 

            "Yeah, I'm surprised," Roy agreed.  "Rob should have cut them off by now."

 

            Chet shook his head, "Rob's not tending tonight.  It's somebody I don't know."

 

            "Hmmm," Hank muttered.  "That's not good."  He glanced over at the table.  "As long as they don't cause any disturbance..."

 

            "You know them?" Dixie asked.

 

            "They work out of 15," Hank supplied.  "Good guys, but a little... uh..."  He tipped his hand to his mouth.

 

            "I'd say more than a little," Brackett observed wryly.

 

            Johnny finished his meal while the conversation drifted in other directions.  He cast a few furtive glances over towards the other table, but he didn't see them looking at him again.  After a while he relaxed, telling himself he'd just imagined it.

 

            The waitress cleared their plates and took their orders for dessert.  The women declined, contenting themselves with a final cup of coffee.  While they waited for their pie and ice cream to arrive, Johnny made a discreet sign to Joanne and left the table to head for the bathroom.  No one followed him with offers to help, and he was glad again for the full use of his hands.

 

            He was washing up when the door banged open.  Glancing up, Johnny saw Frank Parks staggering into the men's room.  Johnny swallowed dryly and turned back to finish at the sink.  Maybe if he ignored the man, he'd go away.

 

            "Hey, Gage!" Frank greeted loudly.  He came up beside Johnny and clapped a heavy hand on Johnny's newly healed right shoulder.

 

            Johnny couldn't help the wince that came at the rough handling.  He'd worked his arm hard at PT today and it was sore.

 

            "Oh, is'at yer little boo-boo?" Frank asked in bad baby-talk.  "Or are ya fain' that, too?"

 

            Johnny wasn't sure what he meant.  He tried to move past the other man, but Frank shifted to block his path.

 

            "C'mon, Gage, you c'n talk ta me... I'm yer ol' pal.  You c'n tell me all 'bout yes little scheme."

 

            Johnny scowled and made a feint to go around the other side, but for a drunk man, Parks was still remarkably fast.  He put his arm up against the wall, making a barrier.  Johnny was blocked again.

 

            "I admit, it was purty smart.  I never took ya for bein' big in the brains department, Gage.  But fain' all that psycho stuff to git outta bein' blamed fer killin' that kid..."  He jabbed his finger at Johnny's head.  "Tha's smart stuff."

 

            Johnny's eyes widened.  Somebody actually thought he was pretending?  Who would do that?  Evidently the surprise on his face seemed real and Parks laughed.

 

            "I guess you din't know the game's up, huh?"  He pulled a wrinkled section of the newspaper from out of his back pocket and shoved it at Johnny.  "Ya may as well give it up, Gage.  Yes doctor spilled the beans."  He laughed again, then lurched into a stall to go about his business.

 

            Johnny could still hear giggles coming from behind the door as he studied the morning edition of the Daily Breeze.  Half-way down the page he saw a small picture of Peter Barnes.  The article that accompanied it was entitled: Paramedic Faking Injuries to Avoid Inquiry.

 

            He scanned it quickly, his mouth hanging open in stunned disbelief.  There were actual quotes from Wilts, all making it sound like Johnny had been pretending the whole thing to avoid any action taken in Peter's death.

 

            All at once his legs had no strength in them, and he dropped the paper to cling to the edge of the sink.  His arms were shaking and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach.  He wondered how many people he knew had read the article - how many of them now thought he was a liar and a fake and an incompetent jerk who let a young boy die and refused to take the blame.

 

            He couldn't go back to the table - he couldn't sit with his friends and pretend nothing was wrong.  Everything was wrong - everything had been wrong since the day at the bridge.  He couldn't make anything right - nothing would ever be right again.

 

            He had to leave.  He had to get away - go somewhere - anywhere.  He couldn't see their faces when they found out.

 

* * *

 

            Roy glanced toward the men's room again, then at his watch, wondering what was taking Johnny so long.  He knew his partner was better able to take care of himself now, but Roy couldn't help but worry some.  Johnny was still a long way from being back to normal.  When Frank Parks had staggered over in that direction, it set all Roy's alarms off, but he waited, not wanting to embarrass his friend needlessly.

 

            "You want to go check on him?"  Joanne's voice was low, meant only for him.

 

            Roy smiled at her perception and shook his head.  "I'll give him a few more minutes."

 

            He took a bite of the warm apple pie.  It was good and normally something Johnny wouldn't miss, but his piece was sitting untouched, the ice cream melting into a puddle over the side of the plate.  Roy wasn't the only one who noticed.

 

            "Hey," Hank spoke up suddenly.  "Where's Gage?  He's losing out on his pie."

 

            "In the john," Chet supplied, then chortled at his own pun.

 

            While everyone groaned at Chet's lame attempt at humor, Roy cast another look in the direction of the restrooms.  He didn't see Johnny, but he did see Frank Parks coming out with a stupid grin on his face.  Roy tracked him back to his table, where high fives were exchanged with his buddies.  Roy's inner voice started screaming at him that something wasn't right.  He rose from his chair.

 

            "I'm just gonna go check on Johnny," he murmured as an excuse, then made his way through the maze of tables.

 

            The men's room was empty.  The only thing unusual was the crumpled part of a newspaper on the floor.  There was no sign of Johnny.

 

            "Damn," Roy swore softly.  He stood for a moment, gazing around the deserted room.  There was no clue here to tell him where his partner had gone, but he thought he knew who might know something.

 

            As he approached the table, the men from 15's were grinning at him, like they'd been expecting him.

 

            "Hey, DeSoto," Tom Walker hailed amiably.  He held up his beer.  "Join us?"

 

            Roy shook his head, keeping his face neutral.  "I'm looking for Johnny.  You see him in the bathroom, Frank?"

 

            Parks laughed raucously.  "Whatsa matter?  Did his itty bitty feelings git hurt?"

 

            They all chortled and Roy ground his teeth together in an attempt to keep control over his rising temper.  He moved over to Parks and leaned one hand onto the table.  His other hand grabbed the inebriated fireman by the shirt collar.

 

            "What happened to Gage?" he demanded in a low tone.

 

            Frank laughed again.  "Nuthin'.  I jus' congratulated him on makin' the papers."

 

            The whole group laughed, even the women.  One of them handed Roy a wrinkled section of the newspaper and Roy recalled the what he'd seen in the bathroom.

 

            "See there," Parks jabbed at the print.  "It's all there."

 

            Roy took enough time to catch the gist of the article.  Without another word, he stormed over to his own group and slammed the paper down in front of Brackett.

 

            "Wilts," he hissed, his anger making it hard to form full sentences.  "I gotta go find Johnny."

 

            He turned to leave, but felt Joanne grab his hand.

 

            "Roy?"

 

            There were so many questions in her face.  He gestured to the article.  "Wilts says there that Johnny is faking the whole thing.  Says he killed Peter Baker and was trying to get out of any blame."

 

            Outraged protests erupted around their table.

 

            "That son of a..."  Chet stopped himself short, but slammed his fist on the table.

 

            "How can he do that?" Joanne asked.  "Isn't that unethical or something?"

 

            "Yes, it is," Dixie answered emphatically, her face dark with anger.

 

            "You need any help, Roy?" Hank asked.  "We can all spread out..."

 

            Roy shook his head.  "Thanks, but I don't want Johnny to feel surrounded.  If you could take Joanne home..."

 

            "Sure thing," he promised.  "You let us know what happens."

 

            Roy nodded and started to go, but Brackett grabbed his arm, stopping him.  So far the doctor had remained silent.  "I don't know if this will help," he began, and held up the paper.  "This article here pretty much ends his career... at least at Rampart."

 

            Roy sighed.  "You're right, Doc... I don't know how much it helps either."

 

            When Roy walked out into the dimly lit parking lot, he stopped for a moment and looked around.  The area of town they were in wasn't too busy.  There were a lot of places Johnny could have gone.  But he would have been on foot, and Roy didn't think too much time had passed since he'd encountered Parks in the bathroom.  Roy decided to walk around a bit before he started searching with his car.

 

            He headed south and walked for a few minutes.  There seemed to be nothing this way but other businesses, some closed for the evening.  Some instinct made him turn around and retrace his steps, going past the restaurant in the other direction.  He walked for about a mile, listening to cars whiz past and the sound of an occasional muted horn.  And then he stopped.  Up ahead was a lighted bus stop and sitting on the bench was a lone figure.

 

            He approached slowly, then sat down next to Johnny.  His partner didn't look at him, but Roy knew his presence was noted.  They sat together for a few moments, each staring out at traffic.  Then Johnny suddenly brought his hand to his forehead, moving it out in one of the few gestures Roy had learned.

 

            Why... he's asking why.

 

            It was the first time Johnny had used sign with him without Joanne or Jenny being around.  Roy knew he was sadly lacking with the language.  He only hoped he could figure out whatever Johnny wanted to tell him.

 

            "I don't know why he did that," he answered softly.  "He was mad, upset that you quit going to see him.  Who knows?  Brackett says he'll probably be fired over it though."

 

            Johnny just shrugged, and Roy knew that wasn't much consolation.  Not sure what else to say, Roy took in the sights around them, noticing for the first time what stop Johnny was at.

 

            "Hey, if you get on this bus, you'll be going in the wrong direction," he advised lightly.

 

            Johnny shook his head and signed again.  Roy wracked his brain to remember what it was.

 

            Damn, what's he trying to tell me?  What is that one... what is... Home!  I got it!

 

            "You wanna go home?"

 

            Johnny nodded.

 

            "But I just told you this is the wrong bus."

 

            Johnny shook his head and jabbed a finger at his chest.  Roy finally understood.

 

            "Oh... you wanna go home... to your place."

 

            Roy was quiet a moment, trying to choose his words carefully.  "Well, you're entitled to do that.  I guess maybe I shoulda asked you sooner if you wanted to go home, but we just got so used to having you around..."  Johnny rolled his eyes at that, so Roy tried a different tact.  "You don't have to take the bus.  I can drive you."

 

            Johnny didn't react and it grew quiet again between them.  Roy sat patiently, waiting for his partner to make the next move.  Johnny's hands finally began to move and Roy watched them intently, trying to pick up as much as he could.

 

            He recognized the word boy and then dead.  He knew at once Johnny was talking about Peter Baker.  There were some other signs he couldn't figure out.

 

            "I'm not getting all of it," he apologized, "But I know you're upset about the kid and about what Wilts told that reporter."

 

            Johnny made a few more signs.  He slapped his hand to his chest, then made a fist and hit it against the back of his other hand.  He repeated those gestures over and over, until Roy finally reached out and stilled his friend's hands.

 

            "Look, Johnny... I don't know the words, but I think I know what you're trying to say.  You think you killed that boy... but you're wrong.  I don't care what Wilts says... he's wrong.  There wasn't one thing you did on that rescue that was negligent, or careless or anything like that."  He let go, allowing Johnny the use of his hands again.

 

            Johnny's shoulders slumped.  He repeated his last two signs once more.

 

            My... something.  He must be saying my fault. How do I get through to him?

 

            He sat up straighter on the bench.  "You know, you must be remembering things different than I do."  Johnny shot him a curious look.  "I distinctly remember being up on that bridge with you."  Johnny started to shake his head, but Roy pressed on.  "I was on the other end of that rope, Junior.  You had a hold of Peter, but I had you both.  When you went over... God, that scared the shit outta me.  I wasn't sure I could hold you.  You know how jury-rigged our lines were."

 

            Johnny nodded slowly and Roy paused to collect his thoughts.  At least he had his partner's attention now.  Hopefully he could get his point across and into Johnny's thick head.

 

            "Johnny... We tried our best, but sometimes things just happen.  Sometimes it isn't anybody's fault."

 

            He fell silent.  What else was there to say?  Johnny either had to accept the truth or go on tormenting himself.

 

            After a time, Johnny slowly raised up his hands.  The sign he made was obviously the roof of a house.  Roy sighed.

 

            "Okay, I'll take you home."

 

            Johnny shook his head and repeated the sign.  Roy stared at him, realized it was different than the one for home.

 

            House...house... what's he trying to tell me?

 

            Johnny looked a little exasperated, and he pointed at himself, then made the shape again.

 

            Damn, I feel like we're playing charades.

 

            "Your house," Roy stated dully, feeling very stupid.  "Your house... Johnny, what... Oh!"  The light finally dawned.  "The house... the new one."  Johnny nodded eagerly.  Roy was quiet a moment, remembering all the things he'd thought about telling his friend.  There had never seemed a good time, but since Johnny brought it up, Roy knew now was that moment.  They needed to get the whole mess settled.  "Johnny... I've been meaning to apologize..."

 

            But Johnny was shaking his head, trying to get Roy to stop.  Roy watched as Johnny pointed to him, then made a V shape with both hands, touched the tips together, then pulled them in toward his chest.  Roy studied the gesture intently, finally realizing Johnny was trying to tell him he could have the house.

 

            "Johnny, I don't think..."

 

            Johnny shook his head vehemently and pointed to Roy again, determination obvious on his face.  He then moved his hand to his chest and made a circular motion.  That one Roy knew.  It was one of the first signs the kids had learned.

 

            Sorry...  he's telling me he's sorry.

 

            Roy smiled.  "I'm sorry, too.  I guess we can figure something to do with it."

 

            Johnny finally smiled, a small crooked grin and Roy took heart that maybe they were making some progress.  He rested his hand on Johnny's shoulder, then quickly removed it when he saw his partner's slight grimace.

 

            "Hey, you okay?  Did you hurt your shoulder again?"

 

            Johnny shrugged self-consciously.  Roy stood and held out a hand.  Johnny took it with his left and let Roy help him up.  They started walking back towards the restaurant.

 

            "If Brackett's not still at Connally's, I'll take you to Rampart... get somebody to look at it."

 

            Johnny shook his head stubbornly, but at least this was familiar ground.  Roy smiled, knowing he'd win.  He was the senior partner after all.

 

* * *

 

            "I looked over the sheet from your visit last night," Dr. Brackett told Johnny.  "And I agree you just overworked it at PT yesterday.  I talked to Hal, and he says to take it easy the next couple of days."

 

            Johnny nodded, glad to know he'd been right.  He glanced at Roy sitting beside him in Brackett's office, happy he had a partner who worried too much, rather than one who didn't care at all.

 

            "He also said you'd be released to return to work in another week or so..."  Brackett trailed off.

 

            Johnny felt a heavy weight settle in his gut.  He knew he couldn't go back to work the way he was.

 

            "I wanted you to know, Johnny," Brackett continued.  "The condition with your speech has been kept rather... low key is a good way to put it, I suppose... at least as far as the Fire Department goes.  Captain Stanley and I both agreed it didn't need to be an issue, at least until you healed physically."

 

            "And now..." Roy prompted.

 

            Brackett's jaw tightened.  "With the article in the paper, we've had to be a little more forthcoming.  I had to assure the Department that you would still be seeking professional help."

 

            Johnny folded his arms across his chest.  That was the last thing he wanted to do.

 

            "I wish you'd consider it," Brackett requested.  "I know Wilts was not a good experience, but you still have time before the Department insists on something definite as far as your ability to work.  You need to give yourself the best chance you can."

 

            "Do you have somebody else in mind?" Roy asked calmly.

 

            Brackett nodded.  "I do."  He fixed his gaze on Johnny.  "If you still trust me on this."

 

            Johnny studied the older man's earnest expression, and knew he was sincerely trying to help, but he still had nightmares about the accident and Wilts had started appearing in them.  It would be difficult to go through all that again.

 

            "We trust you, Doc," Roy spoke up.  Johnny glared at him, but his partner chose to ignore it.  "Maybe if it's somebody you've known a little longer than you did Wilts."

 

            Brackett smiled warmly.  "Believe me, I have.  If you remember, I told you my first choice of doctors for you was out of the country.  Well, she's back.  I'd like to have you meet her right now, if you don't mind.  Just for an introduction... see how you feel about her."

 

            Johnny's ears picked out the pronoun immediately.  He sat up a little straighter, then blushed when he heard Roy chuckle.

 

            "I think you may have his attention, Doc."

 

            "Whatever it takes," Brackett replied wryly.

 

            Johnny debated whether or not to waste the effort of acting indignant.  Instead, he decided to get more information.  He brought his hands together, and Brackett raised his eyebrows questioningly.

 

            "He wants to know if she's nice," Roy supplied.

 

            "Very," Brackett answered emphatically.

 

            Johnny raised his index finger to his forehead.  Brackett didn't need any help on that one.  His smile broadened.

 

            "Yes, she's very smart."

 

            Johnny mulled that over for a moment, then he drew his hand over his face.

 

            "I think the answer to that one is yes, she's pretty, too," Brackett stated with a laugh.  "Does that meet your criteria, John?"

 

            Johnny grinned, then nodded.  It wouldn't hurt to see her.

 

            Brackett got up and left his office for a moment.  While they were waiting, Johnny happened to glance at Roy and saw a smug grin on his partner's face.  He rolled his eyes and Roy actually laughed at him.

 

            "Face it, Johnny, in some things you are just too predictable."

 

            Johnny very nearly stuck his tongue out at his friend, but he was glad he hadn't, for the door opened and Brackett ushered in Johnny's new doctor.

 

            She was pretty - tall, with dark brown hair that swept her shoulders.  The glasses that perched on her nose only seemed to add to the overall attraction.  But even as he gave her what he hoped was a subtle once-over, he realized she was an older woman, probably Brackett's age.  Which made sense, if the doctor had known her for quite a while, as he'd suggested.  Johnny wasn't disappointed, rather he was relieved.  It made things simpler.

 

            "Johnny, this is Dr. Gwen Crandall.  Gwen - John Gage and Roy DeSoto."

 

            She reached out to shake their hands.  Then, instead of taking a seat, she perched herself on the corner of Brackett's desk, facing Johnny directly.

 

            "It's nice to meet you, John."  Johnny's mouth dropped open.  Though she'd spoken her greeting, her hands were moving as well.  She was signing to him.  "Kel let me review your file.  I'd love to take over your case, if that's all right with you?"

 

            Johnny closed his mouth, and had to wrack his brain for the little bit of sign he'd learned.  He pointed to himself, then made the signs for not good.  He hoped she understood what he was trying to tell her.

 

            She smiled.  "I think you've learned a lot for such a short amount of time.  You have an advantage over the deaf, in that you don't need to read my signs, but I'll keep doing them anyway so you can practice."

 

            He returned her smile, the fear of meeting a new doctor fading fast.  He moved his hands again, knowing he was signing the equivalent of pigeon English.

 

            Why - you - sign?

 

            "My little sister is totally deaf," she answered.  "I've been signing since I was about fifteen."  Her hands moved so fast that if she hadn't been speaking, he would never have understood her.

 

            He thought that over, but something was still bothering him.  He hesitated, then signed again.

 

            Sign - okay - me?

 

            It took her a moment, then she nodded, her face serious.  "I think signing is wonderful for you.  Any way you can communicate is a big help."

 

            That was unexpected.  Wilts had spent so much time telling him not to use anything but speech.

 

            "Well, Johnny?" Brackett prompted after a few moments of silence.  "Are you willing to see if Gwen can help you?"

 

            Johnny pulled at his lower lip.  He moved his gaze from Roy to Brackett to Dr. Crandall.  They waited expectantly.  Blowing out a loud breath, he nodded.

 

* * *

 

            Joanne pulled into the rear parking area of Station 51 and glanced over at Johnny beside her in the passenger seat.  She was a little concerned about bringing him, but there had been no way around it.  His car had been here since the accident.  The guys could keep an eye on it, rather than take it back to Johnny's place, where it would sit unattended.  Now that Johnny could drive again and was ready to move back home, they needed to pick it up.

 

            The kids were excited.  They'd seen both the engine and squad in quarters and sure enough, Roy was standing at the back bay door, waiting to greet them.  They jumped out of the back seat almost before she'd turned off the engine.

 

            "Christopher, Jennifer," Joanne called, reminding them to be on their best behavior.  Only slightly restraining themselves, they ran ahead to greet their dad.

 

            Joanne and Johnny followed at a more dignified pace, and by the time they reached the bay, the other guys had come outside.  Joanne saw Rod Hoskins and wondered if that would be awkward, but it didn't seem to be.  Johnny was greeted by everyone with a round of handshakes and claps on the back.  Joanne got a kiss on the cheek from Hank and then they were all ushered into the day room.  When Joanne produced a freshly backed pan of coffee cake, a chorus of cheers filled the room.

 

            "Good thing you don't come by more often, Joanne," Cap chuckled, watching his men devour the treat.  "None of us would fit in our turn outs."

 

            "Nobody but Gage," Chet wise-cracked.  "He eats like a pig and is still skinny as a rail."

 

            "Beats looking like a pig," Marco said in an aside meant for Chet to hear.

 

            "Hey, I take offense at that, Marco," Chet grumbled.

 

            "I think you were meant to," Roy pointed out.

 

            "I'm glad you're here, John," Cap told him, ignoring the friendly bickering of his men.  "You got more fan mail."  He tossed Johnny an envelope.

 

            Johnny opened the letter and stared at it a moment, then while the meaningless banter around the table continued, Johnny got up from the table and headed toward the apparatus bay.  Joanne caught Roy's eye, but he shook his head, telling her to let Johnny be by himself.  She wondered what was in the letters he had been getting that was so interesting, but Johnny hadn't shared their contents with either her or Roy.

 

            "So, he's really going back home, huh?" Chet asked Roy in a quiet voice, and Joanne turned her attention back to the conversation.

 

            Roy nodded.  "That's what he wants to do."

 

            "You think he's ready?" Cap inquired.

 

            Roy shrugged.  "Johnny thinks he is and that's what matters.  His new doctor didn't seem to have a problem with it."

 

            "But you don't agree," Mike observed.

 

            Joanne saw Roy's startled expression and hid a smile.  He thought he was being so neutral, but it was obvious to anyone that he was still worried about his partner.

 

            He was quiet a moment, and Joanne knew he was measuring his words, being cautious about how much of Johnny's personal problems he should share with the guys.  Finally, he just shrugged again.

 

            "It's not up to me," was all he said.

 

            Joanne reached over and squeezed his hand.  They'd talked about this long into the night, and she knew his concerns.  Johnny still had trouble communicating with most people and he was still having nightmares, though not as regularly.  But she also knew Roy would worry no matter when Johnny went home.  That was just part of Roy and she loved him for it.

 

            He gave her a grateful smile.  She wasn't sure if the guys would be satisfied with his answer, but the tones sounded at that moment, sparing Roy any further questions.  There was a loud scraping of chairs and six pairs of feet trotted out to the bay.

 

            The kids clamored to watch the trucks roll, so Joanne herded them over to the door, keeping a firm hand on each child's shoulder.  They stood against the wall, beside the radio post and listened as Cap acknowledged the call.  He swept past them, handed Roy a slip of paper with the address on it and jogged around the squad to hop into the passenger side of Big Red.

 

            Mike gave a blast on the air horn, much to Chris and Jenny's delight.  They jumped and waved as Roy pulled the squad out and the engine followed.  In no time, they turned the corner and drove out of sight.  They could still hear the sirens for a time, but soon even that was gone, and they were left in the empty and now silent bay.

 

            "Okay, kids, let's get the kitchen cleaned up for them," she suggested brightly, amazed at how eager her children were to do chores at the station - jobs they would have whined about at home.

 

            As Chris and Jenny pushed through the door into the day room, Joanne caught sight of Johnny standing in the far corner.  He noticed her looking at him, stuffed his letter into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall, coming over to join her.

 

            His hands moved.  She knew the sign for want.  He wanted something.

 

            "He wants to work, Mom," Jenny supplied.  Joanne hadn't even realized her daughter had come back out.

 

            Johnny nodded and brushed his hand down the back of Jenny's head gratefully.

 

            "You will, Johnny," she promised and was suddenly more certain of that than she ever had been.

 

 * * *

 

            Johnny stood by the window looking out at the Emergency Room parking lot.  It was a familiar view.  His visits with Dr. Crandall took place in Brackett's office since she didn't work out of Rampart.

 

            Thus far, Johnny had no complaints about her.  She was completely opposite of Wilts.  She encouraged him to sign and listened while he "talked."  Already he'd told her how much he wanted to go back to work.  They'd talked a lot about Roy and his family, and about the progress he'd made with his arms.  He'd even considered telling her about his letters from Rick.  She might have an idea about what he should do, but he'd held back.  He wasn't sure why, but he kept those letters to himself.  Today she had wanted to talk about Peter – and about the rescue.  He didn't see the point.

 

            "John," her soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

 

            He turned and reluctantly took his seat across from her.  He'd gotten past his initial self-consciousness with signing for her.  She could usually figure out what he was trying to say.

 

            Why no talk?

 

            She shook her head.  "I don't know the answer to that," she told him patiently.

 

            He frowned impatiently.

 

            I want.  Wilts say I want, I talk.  I want.

 

            "I know you do, John," she replied.  "And I don't care what Wilts told you.  I think he was wrong... about a lot of things.  You need to understand that."

 

            Johnny shook his head in frustration.  It was hard to reconcile that two psychiatrists were telling him completely different things.

 

            Still nightmares.  Bad.  Why?

 

            "John, you may have nightmares about this for the rest of your life.  It was a terrible thing to have to go through.  I think, though, that you still haven't accepted what happened."

 

            I... I...

 

            He floundered over the next word.  He clenched his fists and pounded his knees.  Gwen reached over and handed him a pad and pen.  He didn't take it from her.

 

            No... no write.

 

            "Another item Wilts was wrong about," she declared.  "I've told you before, John, the best thing you can do is express your feelings.  How you do that really doesn't matter.  If you don't know the sign, write it out."  She held out the paper again.

 

            He eyed it warily, then took it gingerly.  He placed it on her desk and fingered the pen for a moment.  Wilts' words kept ringing in his head, but he met Gwen's eyes and took courage from the belief he saw there.  He looked back at the paper and wrote the word accept.

 

            I...  He pointed at the word. ...accept.  Why still no talk?

 

            She leaned back in her chair, her face thoughtful.  "What is it you accept?" she asked.

 

            His heart fluttered in his chest as he spelled out P-e-t-e-r.

 

            Peter dead.  My fault.

 

            "How is it your fault, John?"

 

            His eyes narrowed as the accident replayed itself in his mind.  The photos Wilts had shown him flashed before him, and he squeezed his eyes shut.  But they didn't go away.

 

            He felt her hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see she'd come out from behind Brackett's desk to sit beside him.

 

            "How is it your fault?" she repeated.

 

            I drop.  Boy dead.

 

            "I see," she murmured evenly.  After a moment her mouth lifted in a slight smile.  "I didn't know you were Superman."

 

            Johnny's eyes opened wide at her sarcasm.  He shook his head.

 

            "Who else could have held onto a fourteen year old boy with one arm while swinging from a rope?"

 

            Johnny thought about that for a long time before he slowly spelled out R-o-y.

 

            Now it was the doctor's turn to look surprised.  Then she gave him a look of kind understanding.  "Do you really think Roy could have done a better job than you did?"

 

            Johnny shrugged, shook his head, then shrugged again.  He didn't know what he really thought.

 

            "I've talked to your partner a lot about the rescue," she told him.  "You know he blames himself for not getting the rope under control in time to get you both down safely."

 

            That was news to Johnny, but he should have known.  Roy had a tendency to blame himself for things he had no control over.

 

            No control over...

 

            Johnny actually blinked and looked up at Dr. Crandall.  She couldn't have read his thoughts, but she seemed to know the direction they were going in.  She smiled.

 

            "I think you accepted the wrong thing, John," she stated quietly.  "You need to accept that the accident happened despite what you did, not because of it."

 

* * *

 

            Rick stood staring up at the concrete structure, wondering why he hadn't come here before.  This is where he needed to be.  This is where he had to make things up to Pete.

 

            He walked over to the base of the bridge, wondering idly where all the blood had gone.  Rick supposed somebody had cleaned it all up.  If a stranger came by here they would never know Pete had died here.  But Rick knew.

 

            He'd tried to let his mom know.  He tried to tell her why it was his fault - why he had to make it up to Peter, but she hadn't wanted to talk about it.  No one wanted to talk about it.  Except for the fireman, no one else cared.  Pete Baker hadn't even existed.

 

            Rick gazed up at the huge support pillar and smiled.  Pete's rope was still there.  No one had thought to remove it.  Suddenly, he knew what he was going to do.

 

* * *

 

            Johnny sat on the steps of Roy's deck, his arms folded and resting on his knees.  Even though he'd moved back home, he still found himself at the DeSoto's most of the time.  Maybe because he'd been here for so long he was used to it, but his apartment seemed kind of empty.

 

            He had helped Roy with the yard work this morning, but now, with not much to do, he was antsy.  Joanne had taken the kids to a movie and now even Roy's house was too quiet for him.  He needed to do something – to go somewhere, but he didn't know what or where.

 

            He heard Roy come outside and glanced up as his partner sat down beside him and handed him a Coke.  Johnny took it.

 

            Thanks.

 

            "You're welcome," Roy replied.  "Whatcha doin' out here?  Watching the grass we just cut grow back?"

 

            Johnny chuckled and shook his head.  He held his soda can up to his sweaty forehead.  The day was hot and muggy.  Even a shower after the yard work hadn't given much relief.

 

            "It's pretty bad," Roy agreed.  "My mom used to call it earthquake weather."

 

            Johnny grinned.  That was a well known myth in Southern California and many people held to it, even though geologists had never been able to prove any connection between the frequent tremors and the weather.

 

            Johnny finished his Coke and set the can down beside him, his fingers tapping on the top of it absently.

 

            "Oh, I almost forgot."  Roy pulled an envelope out of his shirt pocket.  "You got another letter.  I was too beat when I got home yesterday to drive out to your place."  He handed the note to Johnny.  "When you gonna let me know her name?" he teased.

 

            Johnny shook his head absently.  He opened the envelope, and unfolded the piece of notebook paper.  He was almost afraid to read it.  Rick's last message had turned very self-hating.  He knew the kid blamed himself for Peter's death.  Johnny had hoped writing would have provided the kid with an outlet for those feelings.  But the words before him could no longer be ignored.

 

            Dear Mr. Gage,

I've figured it out.  I know how I can make it right with Pete.  I thought you should know since you were there in the beginning.  Maybe you might want to be there with me.  I'd like that.

            Pete died on a Monday, so that's when I will, too.  Maybe I'll see you at the bridge.

            Thanks for listening,

            Rick

 

            Johnny jumped to his feet, his heart racing.  The kid was going to kill himself.  Why hadn't he seen that sooner?

 

            "What's wrong?" Roy asked, getting up as well.  "Johnny, what's the matter?"

 

            Johnny shoved the letter at Roy.  Hands free, he started moving them frantically.

 

            Rick kill... die... bridge

 

            "Johnny, wait, slow down, you're going too fast."  He glanced over the letter, his eyes widening in comprehension.

 

            Johnny shook his head.  There was no time to wait.

 

            We go now!

 

            "Let me call it in first," Roy demanded.  "We're gonna need help."

 

            Johnny knew that if Rick heard sirens and saw strangers, it would most likely send him over the edge, literally.

 

            No time, scare him.  We go first.

 

* * *

 

            With Johnny driving, there was no way for him to talk.  Roy had read the letter, could only assume the others Johnny had received were from the same boy.  There were a million questions Roy wanted to ask, but no way Johnny could answer them.  He had to trust his partner on this.

 

            Johnson Canyon Bridge was on the very edge of their territory and it took them nearly half an hour to reach it, even with Johnny pushing the Rover past the speed limit by quit a bit.  They pulled up to a screeching halt at the base of the bridge, not far from where they'd been parked the first time.

 

            Roy saw the figure on the cross beam at the same time Johnny grabbed his arm.  Both men jumped out of the car.  Before Roy could say anything, Johnny was already running in the direction of the support pillars.  Roy raced after him, catching him only when they reached the base.  He grabbed Johnny's arm.

 

            "Hold it," he said, a bit breathless.  "What do you think you're doing?"

 

            Johnny pulled his arm away and pointed up, as if it were obvious.

 

            "Now wait a minute," Roy demanded.  "You can't go up there.  You don't have any gear... how do you plan on getting up there?"

 

            Johnny scanned the area and his eyes lighted on the rope.  He reached over and grabbed it, giving it a good yank.  He started to hoist himself up, but Roy pulled him back down.

 

            "Johnny, you can't do this.  Let's call it in, wait for some help."

 

            Johnny stubbornly took hold of the rope again.  He pointed at the boy on the bridge.

 

            I help.

 

            "You can't help him without the proper equipment," Roy insisted, starting to lose patience.  "All you'll end up doing is getting yourself killed."

 

            Johnny shook his head.

 

            No die.  I help boy.

 

            Roy regarded him suspiciously, his eyes narrowing.  "You can't help Peter by doing this.  You can't bring him back."

 

            Johnny stood still for a moment, his jaw working tightly.  He looked up at Roy, a determination in his eyes that Roy hadn't seen in a long time.

 

            Not Peter.  Me.  Go up for me.

 

            Roy's grip on his partner's arm lessened.  "Johnny, it wasn't your fault.  You don't have to prove anything."

 

            Yes.  To me.  I go up.  You go help.

 

            Roy hesitated for on instant longer before he finally let Johnny go.  "All right... I'll go get some help.  Johnny..."  He scrambled for something to say.  "Christ, Johnny... be careful."

 

            Not quite believing he was doing it, Roy raced back to Johnny's Rover, trying to remember where he'd last seen a phone.

             

* * *

 

            The climb up the concrete bridge should have been a daunting prospect under the best of circumstances.  Johnny could vaguely remember the knot in his stomach during his and Roy's first ascent, when they'd been equipped with all the proper safety gear.  Now, with nothing to safeguard him except a ragged old rope, Johnny should have been scared to death.  But he wasn't.

 

            For some reason, being up here was liberating.  He felt free... like he hadn't felt in months.  He knew Roy was down there trying to get some help, but that was far away.  All that mattered right now was getting out to the boy on the bridge.  Johnny was enough of a realist to know that life seldom gave you second chances, but he had that now within his grasp.  He couldn't mess this one up.

 

            He didn't know how long it took - he had no perception of time.  He concentrated only on each step, each little bit of height he gained in his climb.  He could feel the breeze as it gusted around him, but it was a distant thing, like the sound of the cars whizzing by far above on the top side of the bridge.  He knew they were there, but he couldn't spare them any attention.  When at last he made it to the junction where the cross beam jutted out from the pylon, he paused only long enough to catch his breath.  Then, without a second thought, he crawled out onto the span of concrete.  It was wide enough that he had a good perch.

 

            Like riding a horse, he thought with an inward chuckle.  Only more reliable than any mount he'd ever been on.

 

            He could see Rick sitting on the beam about 15 feet away from him.  He didn't look much older than fourteen or fifteen - the same age as Peter, but Pete had been a little small for his age.  This boy looked taller.  He was facing Johnny's direction, though not looking at him, but Johnny was certain his presence was known.  He slid a few feet forward, then stopped.  He'd seen the boy's body tense.

 

            Johnny sat for a moment.  The wind had picked up a bit, lifting his hair away from his face and cooling the sweat he'd hadn't realized had collected on his back.  He hadn't had a plan when he started - hadn't given a thought about what he was going to do once he got up here.  But Rick suddenly looked up and Johnny could see his anguished face - so full of utter despair.

 

            Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, knowing in that instant that the emotion he saw in front of him had no place on a fourteen year old face.  Whatever it took, he had to take that pain away.  Instinctively he opened his mouth - and the words came.

 

            "R-Rick..."  He paused and cleared his throat, months of disuse making his voice raspy.  "Rick, you o-okay?"

 

            The boy stared at him dully for a moment, then he answered in a low voice.  "You came."

 

            Johnny nodded and smiled tightly.  "Hey, y-you asked m-me to.  I d-didn't w-want to let you d-down."  He glanced at the dirt far below.  "R-Rick... d-don't do this, man.  This isn't r-right."

 

            The boy looked at him and shook his head.  "It's my fault," he stated raggedly.  "Pete's dead because of me."

 

            Johnny shook his head.  "Hey, m-man, that's m-my line.  That's what I thought for a l-long time."

 

            Rick gave him a confused look.  "What are you talking about?  You tried to save him."

 

            "I know," Johnny agreed.  "B-But all I c-could think about w-was that I d-dropped him.  I thought it w-was my f-fault."

 

            Rick shook his head stubbornly.  "It wasn't your fault, it was mine."

 

            "But that d-doesn't make s-sense," Johnny argued calmly.  "Did you want P-Pete to die?"

 

            Rick's eyebrows lifted into his hairline.  "No way, man.  I didn't... I mean... " His shoulders slumped.  "I don't know what I mean anymore."

 

            "You didn't w-want Pete to die," Johnny pressed.  "N-neither did I."

 

            "But if I hadn't dared him to climb up here..."

 

            "Yeah, m-maybe... but that doesn't mean it was your fault he f-fell."  Rick seemed to be pondering his words and Johnny took a chance and slid forward just a bit.  "It isn't your fault Pete had a seizure," he continued.  "And it isn't Pete's f-fault either."  He scooted a few more feet.  "Maybe it was a dumb thing f-for him to come up here, b-but what happened after wasn't anybody's f-fault.  Pete got s-scared and his body reacted the only way it c-could.  It just happened, man, and none of us could h-help him.  We tried our b-best, but sometimes things just h-happen."  Johnny swallowed hard at the echo of Roy's words to him.  "S-sometimes it isn't anyb-body's fault," he ended softly.

 

            Rick's head lowered, and Johnny could tell by the jerking of his shoulders that the boy was crying.  There was only about five or six feet separating them now and Johnny rolled the dice and bridged the remaining distance.  He could now reach out and touch Rick's arm.  He did so cautiously, ready to pull back at the slightest resistance.  There was none.  The boy merely looked up at him again, tears rolling down his face.

 

            "You d-don't want to do this to your f-folks," Johnny said gently.  "You don't want your m-mom and dad to go through what P-Pete's did."

            Rick slowly shook his head, then took hold of his rescuer's hand.  He swiped his other arm across his nose and sniffed.  "What happens now?" he asked shakily.

 

            Johnny gripped the hand firmly.  He was now aware of the wail of a siren, signaling the arrival of help.  He flashed the boy a grin.  "We wait h-here and don't move until that s-snorkel gets here."

 

 

* * *

 

            Roy stood impatiently waiting as the snorkel took forever to extend it's long arm up to the bridge.  It had seemed an eternity before he'd found a phone, then after he'd raced back to the bridge, another eon passed before the truck from 127 arrived.  He'd had to stand on the ground and watch Johnny and the boy, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do.  It was out of his hands.

 

            Now, as he squinted up at the two figures on the bridge, he could have sworn he saw his partner talking to the boy.  But he had to be wrong.  It must be a trick of the setting sun.

 

            The white aerial ladder finally ground to a stop.  Roy had already gone several rounds with 127's captain, who insisted he stay on the ground and not go up after his partner.  Roy wasn't happy with that, and he ground his teeth in frustration as he watched the two men climb expertly.

 

            Okay, so they're better on the ladder... They get more practice.

 

            The firemen reached the top.  In what seemed like slow motion, they helped first the boy then Johnny onto the ladder.  Then Roy had to wait another interminable length of time for them to come down.  By then, he was about ready to burst.  He moved over to the truck, ready to help if he was needed.

 

            Several police units had arrived by this time, and one of the officers was standing next to Roy.

 

            "This is getting to be a habit," he commented and Roy turned to see Scotty, peering up at the group descending the ladder.  "At least this one has a better ending."

 

            "You're telling me," Roy murmured.

 

            The first man from 127 and the boy were nearing the truck now and Scotty spoke up in surprise.

 

            "Hey, that's the kid..."

 

            Roy nodded grimly.  "I guess he's been sending Johnny letters.  He said he'd be up here today."

 

            Scotty shook his head.  "He was pretty shook up that day.  He must've taken it pretty hard.  Guess we dropped the ball on that one."

 

            They were helping the boy down now and Roy watched as Scotty approached the downcast boy.

 

            "You're name's Rick, right?" he asked kindly.

 

            The boy nodded mutely and Scotty placed a comforting arm on his shoulders.  He glanced up at Johnny who was almost down.  "He hurt?"  Johnny shook his head.  "Okay then, Rick, how 'bout we go call your folks?"

 

            Rick nodded again and went meekly with the officer.  By then, Johnny was climbing down the side of the truck.  Roy stepped up to give him a hand.

            At that moment Rick turned.  "Thank you," he called out.

 

            Johnny jumped off the truck and hollered after him.  "You're w-welcome."

 

            Roy knew his jaw must have hit the floor.  He stared at his partner as Johnny turned to face him.  The grin on his face went from ear to ear.

 

            "H-hi, Roy," he greeted a little self-consciously.

 

            Roy thought for a moment he wouldn't be able to find his own voice.  But he finally was able to respond.

 

            "Hi, yourself."  He started laughing and grabbed Johnny up in a big bear hug, swinging his partner off his feet momentarily.

 

            Johnny was laughing too, and when Roy put him down, he pressed his hands against his ribs in mock protest of the rough handling.  When he was finally able to speak again, Roy stood with hands on hips and shook his head.

 

            "Welcome back, partner."

 

* * *

 

            "Well, John, I'm clearing you for work.  Kel has all the paperwork, and he'll turn it into the Department."

 

            Johnny sat at Brackett's desk and fidgeted a minute.  "W-what about... you know."

 

            Dr. Crandall smiled.  "The stammer is a common after effect of your condition.  It will most likely improve with time and may go completely away on its own, but I suggest you get into some speech therapy.  It can't hurt and I know someone I can recommend."

 

            "B-but I can work?"

 

            She nodded emphatically.  "Certainly.  And I would like to encourage you to keep signing.  It's a tool that could come in handy in your line of work."

 

            Johnny smiled in satisfaction.  "I p-plan to," he assured, then gave her a questioning look.  "Doc... w-why do you think it c-came back n-now?"

 

            The doctor shook her head.  "There's no way to know for sure.  Just like there was no way to know why it left you in the first place."

 

            "M-maybe Wilts was r-right," Johnny pondered.  "M-maybe I never w-wanted to bad enough."

 

            "Wilts wasn't right about anything."  She grew thoughtful.  "I think you always wanted to talk, John, but maybe this was a time when you needed to."

 

            That sounded reasonable.  "You may be right, Doc."  He sighed and switched subjects.  "What's gonna happen to Wilts, anyway?"

 

            Gwen shook her head in disgust.  "He's denying everything of course.  Says the paper misquoted him, that he never meant to imply your condition wasn't genuine.  But even discussing a patient with the press is a violation of all kinds of ethics and codes of conduct, so he's going to be pretty much out of business."

 

            Johnny sighed again, still wondering why the man had been so vindictive.  He didn't suppose he would ever know for sure.  He got up and they walked to the door, then reached out to shake Gwen's hand.  "Thanks for everything," he told her sincerely.  "I d-don't think I c-coulda..."

 

            "Oh, I think you would have eventually," she laughed.  "But you're not going to be a stranger.  I want to see you now and then."

 

            He nodded and started to leave, then he turned back and gave her his biggest grin.  "M-maybe you c-can introduce me to your s-sister?"

 

* * *

 

            "More spaghetti, Johnny?"

 

            Johnny hurriedly scooped up the last bite of noodles on his plate to make room for more.  He automatically nodded, then grinned self-consciously.  "Yeah, th-thanks, Jo," he mumbled around a mouthful of pasta.

 

            Jenny and Chris giggled behind their hands and Joanne merely shook her head in amusement as she dished up another heaping pile onto the empty plate.  Roy, however, grimaced in mock disgust.

 

            "Geeze, Johnny, can't you at least swallow first?"

 

            Johnny looked up from his dinner, all innocence.  He shook his shaggy head.  "I don't know what you're t-talkin' about, Roy."  He placed his hand on his chest as a testament to his sincerity.  "I have imp-peccable table manners."

 

            Roy might have taken him more seriously if there hadn't been a glob of sauce hanging from his chin.  It was all he could do to stifle a laugh.  Instead, he settled for a big grin as he passed the plate of garlic bread.

 

            "Here," he stated, his voice filled with all the warm affection he held for his partner and friend, "You have a lot of catching up to do."

 

The End

 

Author's Note: A big, big thanks goes out to Jean and Linda for the beta reads, finding all the typos and missed words, and all their helpful suggestions.  They worked so hard and did a great job.

 

I apologize to any real psychiatrists.  I needed a bad guy and my experiences with the ones that have worked with my 2 autistic children haven't been exactly stellar... so there you are.  I'm sure there are some really fine and wonderful shrinks out there. :>