Sign In Sign-Up

Welcome!

Close

Would you like to make this site your homepage? It's fast and easy...

Yes, Please make this my home page!

No Thanks

  Don't show this to me again.

Close

"Gage?" he demanded. "You okay?"

Johnny nodded wordlessly, swallowing and taking a shallow breath. "...headache..." he murmured. Someone shoved something into his hand, round, cool. Opening his eyes, he stared at the object a moment before realizing it was a water bottle. He lifted it to his mouth and drank greedily, water dribbling carelessly down his chin.

"How ya comin' along in there?" Hank asked.

Johnny shook his head. "We're almost there, Cap," he mumbled. "It's slow going--there's not a lot of room to work."

Stanley nodded, smiling grimly as he looked up toward the tiny compartment in which his two paramedics had been working for the past half hour, trying to extricate a man trapped under a collapsed wall.

The cramped space of the collapse prohibited more than two rescue workers at a time, so Gage and DeSoto had been going at it alone. Gage was the first to take a break, and Hank didn't like what he saw in the junior paramedic's face.

"Stoker, go in and relieve DeSoto. Marco, replace Gage here."

Gage put out a hand to stop them. "Nah, Cap, Roy's pretty wedged in there--behind the wall. I think we'll be able to get Mr. Pearson out in about ten minutes more." He shook his head slowly. "I just needed some air, that's all." He blinked in the sunlight. "Gettin' a little stuffy in there." He set aside the water bottle and rose a little unsteadily to his feet. "...need a hacksaw," he muttered.

"Hey, Pal, let someone else take over for a while," Hank suggested.

Gage hesitated a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "All right, Cap," he agreed, not bothering to mention the pinpoints of white light stabbing into his eyes with every blink.

"I'll set up the equipment, then." He made his slow way to the squad, Stoker following along at Hank's gesture and helping Gage lay out the biophone and drug box.

Roy heard the scuffling sounds of someone wedging back into the cramped space. He wiped at the profusion of sweat on his brow, trying in vain to prevent its stinging descent into his eyes.

"Johnny!" he called breathlessly. "Got that hacksaw?"

"It's not Johnny, it's me," Marco answered. Boy is it ever hellish in here, the firefighter thought about the unwelcome space.

"Where's Johnny? Is he all right?" Roy inquired.

"Yeah, Cap sent me in here to relieve him. He's setting up for the victim," Marco explained, angling the tool into the pocket Roy occupied.

Panting, Roy began the laborious task of sawing through the timber that imprisoned the man. Biting his lip, he worked ceaselessly, shaking his head regularly to dislodge the sweat droplets that coursed to the ends of his dank hair and threatened to blur his vision.

"Is there anything I can do?" Marco yelled. He coughed from the stirred-up dust.

"Nah...just...another minute," Roy grunted.

Marco waited patiently, wishing he could be of more assistance.

"They've got him free!" called Hank. "Roy says you're gonna have to go up and help stabilize him before we move him down!"

Johnny moved a little more quickly toward the building, pushing aside the throbbing in his temples and heading up the ladder to the second story and the site of the collapse. He carried with him the Trauma box; Stoker followed with the biophone. He'd bring up the drug box next.

As he reached the top of the ladder, Johnny was surprised to hear a sudden commotion from across the roof. His head came up sharply to see the trapped victim struggling with Roy and Marco, violently throwing his weight against the other two as he attempted to get away from them.

"Hey!" shouted Johnny, hopping up the last rung of the ladder and dropping the Trauma box at his feet.

The victim swung his head around, threw off Roy's arm, and charged in Johnny's direction.

Johnny crouched low to better fend off the rush, one hand on the edge of the collapsed wall in front of him. He badly misjudged the speed of his attacker. The victim slammed into Gage with what Johnny thought was the force of a steam locomotive. Johnny never had a chance.

Johnny grabbed at air as his feet lost their precarious hold on the roof. The shove was so violent that he was propelled several feet away from the side of the building before he even began to lose the battle with gravity. There wasn't even time to cry out before he hit the ground.

Gage was dead. He had to be. There was no way he survived that fall. Even as his feet churned against the ground and his mind succumbed to the inevitable, Stanley was lifting his HT to his mouth and shouting into it, "LA, I have a Code I times two at our location. Respond additional paramedics and a second ambulance!" Not waiting for the reply, he shoved the radio back into the pocket of his turnout and dropped to Gage's side.

"John!" he shouted. Gage's eyes were open, but Stanley didn't know if that were a good sign or not. He leaned in close and shouted the man's name again.

Johnny blinked at last, but his eyes didn't move. A tremendous buzzing filled his ears. Someone was bending over him, but he couldn't focus his eyes to see who it was. A face pulled closer. Cap? He opened his mouth to speak, tried to suck in a breath...nothing happened. Hank started to relax when he saw Gage blink. Then, he saw the younger man's mouth open and immediately realized that he wasn't breathing.

Chet set the oxygen tank on the ground beside Johnny's head, and positioned the resuscitator over Johnny's face. He held the mask in place as breaths were forced into Johnny's lungs. "Cap, look," he gestured to the uneven rise and fall of Johnny's chest.

Hank nodded silently and looked behind him. "C'mon, Roy," he muttered. I hope you can do something for him, fast, or he's a goner.

Marco, Roy and Mike climbed down the ladder and rushed over to where Hank knelt. Blood trickled down Roy's face from a cut on his forehead. "Is he--?"

Chet placed two fingers on the side of Johnny's neck. "He's got a pulse. It's rapid and weak, about 130." He looked up at Roy and pointed to Johnny's chest. "He's broken a few ribs, too."

Roy nodded. "Mike, can you grab the Trauma box off the roof? I'll need the C-collar, and we'll need both backboards, too." He started to palpate Johnny's extremities. "What about the other guy?"

"He's alive," reported Stoker. He pointed to a short distance away, where the stocky man lay unconscious, on his back, on the pavement. "He's got a pulse of about 120, and his respirations are about 26 and shallow.

Marco cradled his right arm with his left and watched as the ambulance pulled up. "At least the ambulance's here. Here comes another squad, too. Looks like 36's."

Roy peeled open Johnny's eyes. "Left pupil is larger than the right, and sluggish." He glanced worriedly at Hank and Chet. "We need to get him to Rampart, fast."

As soon as the paramedics from 36's arrived on the scene, Roy directed them to the original victim while he continued to work fervently on his partner. When he finally had him stable enough to transport, he rubbed his temples unconsciously as the throb in his head had increased to a huge headache.

"You okay, DeSoto?" Captain Stanley asked.

Roy didn't answer, but instead rubbed his temples a little harder.

"Roy!" Stanley shouted.

"Huh? Yeah, I'm okay, Cap, just a little headache."

Stanley eyed his senior paramedic critically. Headache... Gage complained of a headache before all this happened... hmm...

Before he had a chance to ponder the situation any further, they were loading Gage into the ambulance. Roy got in with him. Stanley patted the back doors twice before they drove away.

"Captain Stanley," said one of the paramedics from 36's, "I think Lopez here has a broken arm. We're going to bring him in to Rampart with us."

Stanley nodded. "Chet! Let's work on getting this mess cleaned up, then you can bring the squad in."

"Rampart, our ETA is 10 minutes," Roy said into the biophone in the ambulance.

"10-4, 51," came the reply.

Roy put the receiver away and rubbed his temples again. Damn... feels like my head is going to explode! He suddenly felt dizzy and nauseated.

"You okay?" the ambulance attendant asked.

"I don't feel too good," Roy admitted. His face was flushed and his breath was coming in short gasps. Don't let me get sick in here... I gotta make it to the hospital... Johnny needs me...

"...blood gasses..."

"...equal and..."

"...130 over 100..."

"Dix, do we have..."

Snatches of conversation pulled at Roy's awareness. Swimming in and out of consciousness, he was dimly aware that the flurry of activity in the room somehow connected to him. But he was unable to grasp the thread, driven to seek refuge from the pain in the darkness that beckoned him.

"Any word on Johnny?"

Johnny? Brackett's words penetrated the fog in Roy's brain. Something had happened to Johnny. But what? Roy groaned with the effort to open his eyes.

"Roy?" He felt a cool hand brush the hair back from his forehead, "Roy, can you hear me?"

Slowly the blurry figure that hovered above him coalesced into Dixie's concerned face.

"Dixie?"

"Hey, Roy," she smiled warmly at him, "you had us a little worried there."

"What happened?" Roy croaked out weakly.

"We were hoping you could tell us that." Brackett pulled a penlight out of his pocket, shining it quickly in each of his eyes, "What's the last thing you remember?"

Roy closed his eyes, searching his memory, "We were at a rescue. A building collapse. We'd extricated the victim. He went nuts on us and . . . JOHNNY!" Roy sat up quickly, gasping at the pain that stabbed through his head, "Where's Johnny?"

The quick, worried look that passed between Dix and Brackett sent a chill through Roy.

Marco paced impatiently in the waiting room. His arm throbbed dully and the beginnings of a headache gnawed at him. What's taking so long? he wondered with a swift scowl at the clock. It had been almost an hour with still no word on either Johnny or Roy.

"Marco, pal, what's going on?"

Marco turned with relief to see Captain Stanley making his way through the emergency room waiting area. "Cap! Boy, am I glad to see you. They took Johnny and Roy to treatment rooms and no one will tell me what's going on."

The captain brow furled with worry, "What about you, pal? Anyone take a look at that arm yet?"

"No," Marco shook his head, grimacing painfully, "Dixie told me that x-ray's backed up because of the explosion. They'll get to me as soon as they can." Seeing the angry glance exchanged by Chet and Mike at the mention of the explosion, Marco looked to the Captain, "What is it? What happened?"

"The arson investigators arrived just before we left." A weary sighed escaped the captain, "It seems the explosion was caused by an illegal drug lab on the premises."

"Drugs?" Marco's eyes widened, remembering the sudden headache that had come over Gage, "Do they know what kind?"

"Meth . . . Meth . . .?" the captain looked to his men for support.

"Methamphetamine." Chet supplied with a growl.

"Wait here," Captain Stanley ran a grime covered hand across his forehead, "I'm going to go find a doctor and let them know what we found out."

"Joe!" Dr. Mike Morton called out sharply, "Gage's respiration is dropping."

"Damn it." Joe Early's normal placid expression had been replaced with anger and confusion, "His vitals are all over map. What's going on with you, Johnny?" He peeled back Johnny's eyelids, shining his penlight into each eye, "His left pupil's blown."

"RESPITORY DISTRESS!"

Meanwhile, back at the station . . .

The guy with the mustache forgot to feed me again. Henry lifted his head and sniffed the air. Nada. I hate when that happens. He leaned his head on his front paws and surveyed the empty kitchen. Wonder if he's trying to get even with me for chewing up those ugly patched pants? The basset hound grumbled. If they're not back in an hour, I'll leave a surprise in his shoes. Then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

Johnny was drowning. He knew this to be fact. And it was not unpleasant. He was quite warm and comfortable. This was pretty relaxing, actually.

He couldn't see anything. Couldn't feel anything, for that matter, either. Sound...now, that was different. He could hear. Or, thought he could, anyway. He could make neither heads nor tails of the sounds, whatever they were. Sounded vaguely like voices but not like any voices he'd ever heard. These "voices" emitted strange beeps and trills, and were accompanied by the sounds of bumps and thumps.

Johnny ignored them. They made his head hurt. He just wanted to float away and sleep.

Suddenly, there was sharp, burning pain in his lungs. His throat, too, was on fire. He struggled to open his eyes to find the source of the agony.

"He's fighting it! Where's the diazepam?"

On the table, Johnny's hands flailed at the airway Morton had just inserted, trying to shove aside the source of oxygen filling his tortured lungs.

"Mike, he's coming around!"

Johnny's eyes were, indeed, fluttering. He was trying to turn his head as he choked on the tube in his throat.

"Johnny, lie still!" shouted Morton as Joe pinned Johnny's hands to the table. "Get that diazepam into him!" Morton ordered the nurse, leaning over Johnny as Carol jumped to the IV port. "Johnny," he said sternly, "listen to me. You have to stop fighting the airway. We're trying to help you."

Johnny's eyes stared unfocused at the lights overhead. Morton had no idea whether or not the paramedic understood anything he was telling him. His struggles began to ease as the drug took effect. The doctors continued to hold him down until Johnny's eyes slid shut, his body once more relaxed.

"What the hell was that?" asked Joe rhetorically.

Brackett looked over his shoulder at young Sharon Walters standing hesitantly in the doorway, then back at his patient. "Look, Roy, lie down and take it easy, and I'll find out what's going on."

Roy lay back reluctantly as Brackett followed Sharon from the room. He turned his worried gaze on Dixie, who smiled reassuringly. "Just you worry about yourself, Roy DeSoto," she suggested, "and let the rest of us worry about John Gage."

As if that were even a possiblity.

"Methamphetamine?" Brackett's eyes widened, then narrowed, and his hands jerked out of his pockets. "Are they sure?"

Hank Stanley nodded tiredly, rubbing absently at an eyebrow. "Look, Doc, how are my men?"

"Well, now that we know what to treat them for, they'll be fine." He clapped a hand on Stanley's shoulder and turned to leave. "Thanks, Hank."

"Doc."

Brackett paused.

Hank jerked his head down the hall, where the rest of his crew waited miserably in uncomfortable chairs. "Marco Lopez was involved in that rescue, too."

Brackett lifted his head and frowned in Marco's direction, nodding once. "I'll take care of it," he promised. He studied the other man a moment, not envying him the post of command. "They'll be fine, Hank," he repeated. Then, he disappeared back into the examining room.

Hank dropped his head to his chest and released the breath he'd been holding. For a long moment he stared at the tips of his shoes, then turned and made his way back to his waiting men.

A short time later, Hank Stanley tentatively opened the door to the treatment room. Peering in, he saw Roy lying still on the exam table, his eyes closed. Hank cleared his throat. Roy's eyes popped open halfway and he turned toward the sound.

"Cap," he acknowledged.

Hank smiled encouragingly and entered the room. He didn't like the way Roy looked. The paramedic's complexion was pale and his eyes looked...they looked...jittery and bloodshot.

"What happened to you?" Stanley asked casually, a teasing smile playing across his face. He was well-versed at masking feelings of alarm. He was, after all, the captain. His men needed his quiet strength and stoicism.

"Huh," Roy exclaimed. "Not really sure. On the way in, in the ambulance, I started feeling really sick. Sort of all of a sudden...and then, the next thing I knew..."

"You woke up here," Hank finished for him.

"Yeah."

"How you feeling?" the captain asked.

Roy blinked slowly. "Like I got the worst hangover in the world."

"I don't envy you, pal."

"I don't envy me either." Roy said in a half whisper. He reached up and massaged his forehead. Abruptly, he stopped and opened his eyes wide.

"Cap, how's Johnny?"

Hank shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know. I just got here myself."

Roy sighed. "No one will tell me anything! He must be bad."

"Roy, you know as well as anyone that you can't jump to conclusions. I'm sure as soon as they have him stabilized they'll tell us everything." Hank hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt.

"No, Cap...You didn't see their faces when I was asking about him." Roy's gaze jumped erratically around the exam room, seemingly unable to focus. "Somethin's wrong."

"Roy, why don't you let me try to find out something? All right? You need to calm down."

"I CAN'T calm down!" Roy stated tensely. "I wish everyone would STOP telling me to calm down and tell me what I wanna know!"

At that moment, a concerned Dr. Brackett, having heard the raised voice from the hallway, entered the room.

Dr. Brackett twitched his mouth and smiled wanly at the firefighters. "Hank, Roy. Thanks for letting us know about the meth lab. Roy, you and Johnny were exposed to methamphetamine, and some of the chemicals used in it's manufacture. The effects will wear off, in time, but we're going to need to watch you overnight. Your blood pressure could become dangerously high, and your heart could beat dangerously fast. The restlessness you feel is normal for something like this. Dix will be in with something shortly."

"How's Johnny, Doc?" Hank asked worriedly.

Brackett twitched his mouth. "Not so good, I'm afraid. The chemical exposure is a large part of his problem, but he has several rib fractures, and a severe concussion on top of it. He stopped breathing, and we had to put him on a respirator for the time being. We're sending him for an angiogram to see if he's had any bleeding in his brain, or in his lung. I'm afraid one of his broken ribs could have torn some lung tissue, since we got some frank blood out of his endotracheal tube. Marco said that Johnny had inched his way pretty deep into the rubble, is that right?"

Roy nodded. "It was pretty close in there. I don't know how he did it, but he squeezed between some of the debris to free our victim's legs. I couldn't see him for a few minutes."

Brackett nodded. "That confirms my diagnosis. Marco also told me that they found the remains of the equipment deep in the rubble. Therefore, although Johnny wasn't in there as long, his close proximity to the fumes gave him a higher dose. It's a good thing he came out to take a breather, or he could be dead right now."

Hank and Roy exchanged glances.

"How's Marco?" asked Hank.

"We're going to keep him overnight for observation, also. He's having x-rays now, and Orthopaedics will look at him." Brackett patted Roy on the leg. "Hang in there, Roy. We're going to take good care of that partner of yours."

Dixie walked into the room and smiled at Roy and Hank. "Hi, fellas. Kel, you've got a call on line three. It's Mike Roberts from Ortho."

"Thanks, Dix." Brackett stuffed his hands in his lab coat pockets. "Why don't you give Roy 5 milligrams of Diazepam after you check his blood pressure. It'll take the edge off."

"Thanks, Doc," said Roy. "When can I see Johnny?"

Brackett sighed. "Maybe later. Right now I want you to rest." He turned to Captain Stanley. "Hank." Brackett turned and left the room.

"Dix," Roy put his arm on Dixie's.

"What is it, Roy?" Dixie paused while wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Roy's arm.

"Is that all that's wrong with Johnny, or is there something you're hiding from me?"

"Roy, we're not hiding anything," Dixie assured. "Now you listen to what the doctor said and get some rest."

"That's right, Pal," Hank said. "I'm going to check on Marco. You get some rest, and try not to worry about that partner of yours."

Roy nodded. "I need to call Joanne," he said with a sigh.

"That's already been taken care of," Hank replied. "She's on her way."

"Thank, Cap."

Hank patted Roy's shoulder before turning to leave the room.

Once outside the exam room, Hank leaned heavily against the wall, shoulders slumping, eyes closed. My God... half my crew's down... how did I let this happen? If only we had known about the drugs... if only...

"Dixie, please. What is it? There's something you're not telling me." A growing panic arose in Roy.

Dixie continued inflating the cuff, then stopped as her eyes studied the pressure dial on the sphygmomanometer. The only sound in the room was the hissing of the escaping air as she read his blood pressure, and Roy laid his head back on the exam table, sighing heavily in frustration.

"Come on, Dix!" his voice suddenly rose in anger as she remained silent, busily removing and re-wrapping the BP cuff around its stand. Just as suddenly, he assumed an almost pleading tone. "I need to know. Please."

A single tear escaped her eye, and Dixie brushed it away hurriedly. "I'm really not supposed to say anything. Doctor's orders." She turned and walked to the medicine cabinet and removed a clean syringe, needle, and a carefully selected vial. "I'm going to give you a little diazepam; help you relax some and counteract the effects of the amphetamines."

Roy felt his hands begin to shake with renewed intensity and his heart start to pound. An almost overwhelming panic continued to rise in his chest, causing him to begin to gasp.

"He's dead, isn't he?! Oh, God!" He buried his face in his hands as hot tears burst from his eyes. "Oh, my God, no!"

"Roy! No, Roy, he isn't dead. Johnny is NOT dead." She reached for his hands. "Look, I wasn't supposed to tell you this, but what you're imagining is worse than the reality. Look at me."

Roy turned his red-rimmed eyes hopefully to his longtime friend. "Then what is it? What's wrong with him?"

Dixie drew in a long breath, then began:

"I'm afraid that when Dr. Early examined the x-rays, he discovered that one of Johnny's vertebrae, T-3, was dislocated in the fall. As far as we can tell, there's no paralysis, but it looks very, very bad on x-ray. It's pressing on the spinal cord. His spine is in a very precarious position right now. One wrong move, and...."

Roy's eyes widened in horror, his stomach constricted as he recalled the bouncing of the ambulance. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he hissed between clenched teeth.

Dixie hastily retrieved an emesis basin and thrust it under Roy's chin. "Let me get you a cool cloth," she said softly.

"Thanks, Dix. I...I think I'm okay now." He licked his lips reflexively.

"Doctor Brackett didn't want us to say anything until we knew more. But we're not going to move Johnny another inch until the neurologist and orthopaedist have had a chance to examine him and study the x-rays. And you," she punched Roy's chest with her finger for emphasis, "are not going to do him any good by working yourself up. You need to let this Valium do its job." She injected the medicine into the port in Roy's IV. "Lay here and rest, and I promise I'll let you know the minute I hear anything."

Roy nodded his understanding. He didn't trust his voice at this moment.

Dixie squeezed his arm reassuringly, then turned and walked quietly from the room.

"Oh, Johnny," Roy whispered as he studied the white ceiling tiles through tear-blurred eyes.

Joey dumped the soiled linens into the laundry bin in the hallway. The drug dealer he was cleaning up after had been sent upstairs. As he stripped off his latex gloves he caught sight of his best friend, Doug, exiting the elevator pushing his obligatory X-Ray machine before him.

"Hey, man! How's things in 'Radiation Land' today." he clapped the stocky X-ray technician heartily on the back. Doug simply rolled his eyes.

"Oh man. We are swamped. You Orderlies have got it easy. Let all us hard workin' folks do all the hard stuff and you just come in and sweep up." He loved teasing Joey. He knew his friend actually had a thankless task but he couldn't resist the urge to tweak him, anyway. "Actually, Joe, my man, I am running behind. If you have a minute I sure could use some help. But this guy has a back injury so do exactly as I say, ok. No movin' this dude."

Joey shrugged his acceptance. It sure beat wiping up puke. He followed Doug into the exam room. The nurse smiled at them both and stepped out without having been asked. She knew the routine well. No accidental exposure of hospital staff if it could be helped.

Johnny's world had reduced itself to a surrealistic montage of smells and sounds. He had attempted to open his eyes a time or two but the task proved beyond his drug hampered capabilities. He felt curiously detached from his body, as if his mind existed in a time and place of his own. Considering the circumstances he felt this was probably a blessing. In some dim, remote corner of his brain he remembered the conversation he had had with Dr. Early. The admonition to lie as still as possible, the explanations. He couldn't seem to bring himself to feel too concerned at the moment.

Johnny had heard Joe Early leave instructions with the nurse before he left. He had listened to the soft rustling of her uniform as she leaned over him to take his vitals. Her perfume had clung in his nostrils like honeysuckle on a warm day. The swish and hiss of the B.P. cuff had sounded alarmingly loud in the quiet room. Then the sound of the door opening and two young, male voices announcing that X-Ray had arrived. He heard the soft squish, squish of the nurses shoes as they strode from the room and the squeaky wheel on the portable X-Ray machine as it was wheeled in. The odor of soiled linens wafted by with one of the men. Johnny let it all drift by. The two men were speaking now.

"So, Joey, what'choo been up to today, hmm? ER been as busy as X-Ray?"

"Yea, actually. It's been hopping ever since that explosion downtown. Some kinda drug lab or something. Guys came in all strung out on Meth. Guy I just cleaned up after took in too much of that shit and just stroked out. Brain couldn't take it, I guess."

Johnny could hear the squeaks of the X-Ray machine as they positioned it carefully around him. He didn't think he liked where this conversation was going. Joey continued.

"Police said he was breathing in those fumes. He's a veggie, now. A diaper dribbler. Too bad. He wasn't very old."

They finished with their careful maneuvering and stepped out to activate the X-Ray. Johnny didn't notice. His mind had suddenly come into focus and had narrowed down to a pin prick of intensity. Only one thought found room in his swirling emotions.

Roy, for all intent and purposes, was gone.

"How many of these you gotta take?" muttered Joey as Doug manipulated the machine again.

"Let's see...." Doug's voice trailed away as he cautiously slid another plate into place. He frowned in concentration, adjusted the plate, then straightened and stepped back, nodding briefly to his companion. "Um..." He consulted his notations as he took the picture. "One more skull, thoracic, cervical...cross table..." He seemed to be mentally calculating.

"Never mind," Joey told him as they made their way back to Johnny's side.

Doug gave a short laugh. "Sorry. It just takes a bit of concentration to make sure everything's in the right place. Otherwise it's just a wasted film. And this is the second set of x-rays I'm doing on this guy." He moved the machine away from the table and pointed. "I need you up there."

"What happened to this guy?" Joey wondered as he swung around the head of the table. His gaze on the patient, he didn't see foot of the IV stand. He tripped.

It was only a small stumble. Joey reached out, grabbed the IV stand with one hand to keep it from toppling. With the other, he leaned instinctively toward the more stable surface of the examining table. He missed his mark. What he grabbed instead was Johnny's shoulder.

Johnny's eyelids flew up. Every muscle in his torso seemed to spasm at once. He attempted to draw in a breath, choking on the tube he inhaled instead. The buzzing in his head, which had abated, roared back with a vengeance, and the things around him blurred into unrecognizable forms. His body arched again with the muscle contractions. Johnny closed his eyes and tried to swallow. Again, the tube got in the way. He began to cough.

"Shit!" Joey jumped back in alarm.

Doug was already yanking open the door and shouting into the hall.

"I'm sorry, man," Joey kept repeating. "I'm sorry!"

Johnny's eyes were wide open again, blinking rapidly at the overhead lights. The machines around him beeped and buzzed in a well-orchestrated cacophony of disaster warnings.

Sharp pain was shooting across his back, and a strange tingling settled over his belly. God, please.... Johnny was dimly aware of movement at his side and near his head. A jumble of voices echoed around him. The cruelest phenomenon was that he couldn't pass out. His head swam, his side was on fire, and his back had a very sharp knife in it--in several places. Something cold slid into his arm, but he barely noticed. Finally, the spasms eased, until all that was left was the trembling of his entire body. The tingling faded.

Johnny let himself drift in and out, doing his best to ignore the doctors, who were demanding answers, and the nurses, whom he was certain were poking him with knitting needles. He was foggily aware of a gradual decrease in the frenzied activity around him. He floated away.

Johnny swam up from the depths and opened his eyes. The world remained fuzzy around the edges for a minute or so, then gradually refocused. A face hovered into view. Johnny swiveled his eyes slowly away from the lights overhead. Why are the lights moving?

"Johnny?" Joe Early's voice was unnecessarily loud. Johnny winced. "Sorry," Joe smiled, lowering his voice. "You're headed up to surgery. Just relax, and when you wake up, you'll feel a whole lot better."

Explains the moving lights. The motion stopped and Early disappeared from view a moment. Another face loomed. This one wore a blue mask and a matching hat.

"Mr. Gage?"

Johnny started to reply, startled to discover once again the tube in his throat. "Take it easy, Mr. Gage," the blue mask told him.

Johnny let the air be pushed in and out of his lungs.

"That's it. You'll feel a little poke here, and it'll all be over..."

As he heard the words, Johnny did, indeed feel a little sting somewhere down near his hand. The lights blurred and faded, sound along with it.

"You okay, Cap?" Mike Stoker leaned against the doorjamb and watched as Hank Stanley wearily massaged his temples.

Hank lifted his head slightly without opening his eyes. "Yeah," he replied, tilting his head back and rolling it from side to side. He lifted his shoulders.

Even from several feet away, Mike could hear the joints cracking and resettling. He allowed himself a small smile. "Long shift, huh?"

"That's a master of understatement," agreed Hank, finally opening his eyes and gazing with bleary eyes at his engineer. Stoker looks about as bad as I feel.

"Guess none of us is getting much sleep tonight." Like Hank, Mike was dressed in t-shirt and turnout pants, heavy-duty boots peeking from beneath the cuff of the pant legs. His hair was tousled, and dark circles outlined his penetrating blue eyes in testimony to the unsuccessful attempt at slumber.

"Chet still watching TV?" Hank might have smiled if he weren't still so anxious.

Mike nodded and glanced at the clock over Hank's desk. It was a little after two. "Think it'll be much longer?"

"No idea." He sighed. "I guess the phrase 'It shouldn't be much longer' is a relative term, huh?"

Mike studied his captain for a minute. "It wasn't your fault, Cap," he said quietly.

Hank shook his head. "I handled this one pretty badly, Mike. Never should have allowed the two of them to work so long alone--"

Mike interrupted. "Cap, even Johnny and Roy didn't know they were inhaling anything other than air in there," he insisted in his calm fashion. "No one thinks you did anything wrong today." Well, yesterday now, I guess.

"When you're in command, you spend a lot of time second-guessing yourself when something goes wrong on a call," Hank told him.

Mike shook his head. "And if some idiot hadn't decided that the world needed more illegal drugs, we wouldn't have had that call to begin with."

Hank gaze at him levelly. "When are you taking the Captain's exam?" he wondered wryly.

Mike's eyes crinkled slightly. "Next year," he replied.

Hank nodded. "You've got a great future."

The sudden blaring of the telephone startled them both. Mike half-spun toward the bay before he realized the sound wasn't the klaxon's summons.

Hank snatched up the phone as it began its second ring.

"LA County Fire Department, Cap'n Stanley speaking." He looked up at Mike and nodded. Mike stepped forward. A clatter of boots behind him announced Chet's presence. "Yeah, Doc, what's the word?" A pause. Mike and Chet watched intently for some sign from the Cap that all was well. "Uh huh...What does that mean? I see...Yeah, right, I remember..."

Mike and Chet watched as Hank's face became suddenly still.

"No," Hank said, his voice catching slightly, "no, that we weren't aware of...That explains the...of course...Bottom line, Doc...Okay...how long--right...right...Would it be all right if I stopped in after end of shift?" He glanced up at the men in the doorway, then looked away again. "Okay, I'll do that. Doc, thanks for calling. I appreciate it.... Yeah, you, too. Good night." He replaced the receiver slowly and dropped his head into one hand and massaged his eyebrow a moment. Then, he looked up and took a breath.

"Well, he's out of surgery--came out about an hour or so ago. Dr. Early says he waited for John to come out of the anesthesia before he called so he could give us the complete picture. Johnny came through it fine. He's still very groggy, and evidently he's in a lot of pain, but things look good, mostly."

Mike tensed again. "Mostly?" He had just started to relax.

Hank drummed his desk absently. "I guess it was pretty hairy for a while there, until he was stable enough to be operated on." His fingers stopped their restless movement and he gave the crewmen a steady stare. "They repaired four broken ribs and a nick in one lung, and they're also watching him for complications from the concussion." His head moved slightly. "Seems he's one miserable fella right now."

"That's not all," surmised Mike.

Hank shook his head. "No, that's not all," he admitted. "There was a complication we weren't aware of. Seems he dislocated one of his vertebrae." His arm twisted as he pointed to his own back. "Right about there."

"Ouch," muttered Chet.

"As if that weren't bad enough," Hank continued bleakly, "before they could determine just how badly it was situated, he got bumped during the X-rays."

Mike's eyes widened.

"Cap..." Chet's voice sounded very frightened. "Is he...is he paralyzed?"

Roy awoke with a start, feeling foggy and disoriented. His surroundings had a twilight quality of low light and muffled sounds. It didn't take long for him to realize he was lying in a hospital bed in a dark room illuminated only by one recessed light overhead and the sliver of brilliance seeping under the heavy hospital door from the corridor.

Roy looked to the window. Although the curtains were drawn, it was obviously night time. How long have I been asleep?

"Roy?"

He hadn't even noticed her sitting in the shadows. The face of his wife, his angel, drew near. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Jo," he croaked, then tried to clear his throat. He smiled.

"How do you feel?" Joanne asked, her face registering her concern. She brushed a lock of his hair from the bandage on his forehead.

"Pretty weird," he admitted. "What time is it?"

She glanced at her watch. "It's almost 11:00. You've been asleep for several hours."

"Where are the kids?" he asked. "Are they okay?"

"They're fine. I called Renee and she was able to come right away. She can stay overnight with them, no problem." Joanne hesitated. "They're a little worried about their dad," she said with a sad smile.

"Maybe you should call them," he suggested. "I could talk to them-"

Joanne shook her head. "No, they're probably asleep by now. I told them you were going to be fine."

"Yeah, I guess so." He cleared his throat again. "Honey, could you see if I can get something to drink?"

Joanne picked up the water pitcher on the table. "It's empty. I'll be right back." She stepped to the door and swung it open, flooding the room with light and activity.

Roy winced at the sudden brightness. A sharp pain lanced through his skull as he felt his pupils contract. He reached up to rub his eyes only to encounter the large bandage on his forehead. Wonder how bad that is.

He searched for the bed controls, locating them finally under the blanket on his right. Depressing a button, the head of the bed began to raise with a hum. The elevation of his head caused a sudden, acute spell of dizziness, followed by an unmistakable roiling in his stomach. He clamped his eyes shut against the spinning of the room, scarcely noticing as the door opened and Joanne entered, followed by a nurse.

"Roy?" she cried, alarmed.

"What is it, Mr. DeSoto?" the nurse asked authoritatively. A seasoned caregiver, the signs of his distress didn't escape her notice.

"Just dizzy," he replied curtly, his eyes still shut. "S'all right…it'll pass."

The nurse quickly checked his vitals and checked his IV drip. "Are you in any pain?" she inquired.

"Little headache," he replied. "Not bad." He sank back against the pillow, relaxing at last.

"Feeling better?"

"A little," he sighed.

"I'll get you something to drink. That should make you feel a lot better."

"Thanks," he said.

The nurse returned a minute later with a soft drink in a plastic cup. "Let me know if you need anything else," she advised.

"Thank you," Joanne said gratefully.

"Wait," Roy called to the departing nurse.

"Yes?"

"My partner. I need to know…how is he? Could you find out? Please?" Roy implored.

"Your partner? Who is that?" the nurse asked, frowning.

"John Gage. He was badly injured. Could you find out? Please?"

Joanne felt her heart lurch at the pleading expression in her husband's eyes. She turned to the nurse. "If you could," she added. "He won't rest until he knows. Believe me."

"I'll see what I can do," she answered non-committedly. "Mr. DeSoto, you need to get some rest." The nurse disappeared into the hallway and the door swished shut, allowing semi-darkness to again descend upon the room.

Roy sighed, frustrated. "She's not going to do anything."

"You don't know that," Joanne admonished.

"Yeah…I do."

Johnny observed the nurse who was checking on him with reserved detachment. She seemed not to notice or care about the dark eyes scrutinizing her from beneath a thick fringe of dark lashes.

He felt completely immobile and unnaturally positioned flat on his back. Trying to see anything besides the ceiling tiles was an exercise in eye muscle gymnastics. And the pain…pain with breathing…I recognize that. Must've busted some ribs. More alarming was the excruciating ache in his middle back. He felt like one giant muscle spasm. Why did they lay me on this rock? If I could only adjust myself…

His attempts at even the slightest movement were futile. A feeling of panic began to well up inside his chest, radiating outward. His breathing quickened, exacerbating the knife-like pains caused by the broken ribs. The blips of the heart monitor increased concurrently. The nurse looked up from writing on the chart she held and approached the head of the bed.

"Mr. Gage, how are you feeling?" she asked loudly.

"Can't…move," Johnny managed through clenched teeth.

"No, you won't be able to move. You're in traction," she explained.

"Not…paralyzed?" he asked.

"No. But one of your vertebrae was dislocated in your accident. Your spinal cord is bruised and swollen. We've got to keep you still so it can heal."

Johnny closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. Thank God…

"I'll have the doctor come in and talk to you some more about it. Is there anything I can get you? Are you in pain?" she continued to speak in the exaggerated enunciation and increased volume of an adult addressing a pre-schooler.

"Yeah…pain is...pretty bad," he said haltingly.

"I'll bet. Okay, I'll see what the doctor ordered for you. It'll be a few minutes."

"'Kay," he whispered.

After she left the room, Johnny stared at the ceiling, struggling to recall the events that brought him to this place. His recollections were spotty at best. He remembered extricating the man from the collapsed structure…and being thrown to the ground. Yes, THAT he remembered. Then the events turned hazy in his mind. He vaguely recalled riding in the ambulance, Roy at his side, monitoring him…and then…did something happen? There was some kind of commotion in the ambulance, but he didn't know what.

Where's Roy?

A sick feeling of dread originated in John's stomach as he suddenly recalled the conversation between the two goons in the examination room. "He's a veggie now…a diaper dribbler…"

The nurse breezed back in with a syringe. "Okay, this should make you feel much better."

"No…wait…I need…talk to…doctor."

"The doctor won't be up to see you for at least a couple of hours. You'd better go ahead and take this medication before your pain gets out of h-"

"Please…I need…Roy…is he…all right?"

"Who? Roy?" The nurse swabbed the IV port.

"Roy…my partner…where?"

"I don't know. Don't worry, you can ask the doctor when he comes up later." She injected the medication.

"You…can…call…find out…for me," Johnny beseeched the woman.

"You're going to be feeling better real soon here," she said.

"Could you…jus'…I need…," Johnny slurred, quickly losing his hold on consciousness.

"I'll be in to check on you frequently. Try to get some rest."

But he was already out.

Joanne DeSoto looked at her watch and sighed. I guess Roy was right. They haven't been back to tell us anything. I think I'll see what I can find out. She leaned over and kissed her now-sleeping husband. "Roy, I'll be right back," she whispered. "I love you." Joanne left the room and walked down to the Emergency Department.

Betty stopped Joanne as she got off the elevator. "Hi, Mrs. DeSoto. I heard about Roy and Johnny. What an awful thing. How are they?"

"Roy's still got a pretty bad headache, but he seems okay." She sighed. "I can't seem to find anything out about Johnny. I don't even know where he is and Roy's worried sick about him. I don't think he'll get better until he hears."

Betty smiled. "I can find out for you. Follow me." She led Joanne to the desk and picked up the phone. After a brief telephone call, she scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Joanne. "Room 816." She looked at her watch. "I'm due for my break now. Why don't I come up with you. At this time of the morning, they won't let you in to see him."

"Thanks, Betty," Joanne smiled gratefully. "You don't know how Roy and I appreciate this." She followed Betty to the elevator, and they made their way to the Orthopedic unit on the eigth floor.

The hallway was deserted at the late hour as the two women stood outside Johnny's door. Betty opened the door and peeked inside. "Come on," she gestured to Joanne. "The coast is clear."

Johnny's eyes were closed as they approached the bed. His damp, dark hair was plastered against his sweat-laden brow in sharp contrast to his pale skin. He grimaced and moaned softly beneath the oxygen mask on his face. He peeled open one eye and squinted at the two women who stood at the bedside. "Jo...Joanne? Betty?"

Joanne smiled. "Hi, Johnny." She pushed some of the damp hair off of Johnny's forehead, then grasped his hand. "How are you doing?"

"Hurts...a lot." He grimaced. A veggie. "Sorry...Is Roy...?"

Joanne squeezed Johnny's hand gently. "He's worried sick about you. Betty snuck me up here so I could see how you were doing. We can't stay long. Brackett thinks I'll be able to take him home in the morning if everything goes okay."

"You mean..." Johnny gasped and squeezed Joanne's hand tightly as another spasm fluttered down his back. He caught his breath and let go of Joanne's hand. "Sorry," he noticed Joanne surreptitiously shake her hand behind her back. "You mean, he's okay? He's not...a vegetable?"

Joanne furrowed her brow. "He'll be fine. Where did you get the idea he was a vegetable?"

"Heard...people...talkin.' Johnny's features relaxed slightly. "Tell him...I'll be okay."

Betty tapped Joanne on the elbow. "We'd better get going. The nurses are due to check on him soon." She looked over at Johnny. Man, he looks like crap. "I'll stop by later, okay?"

"I'll bring Roy by before we go home." Joanne leaned over and kissed Johnny on the forehead. He feels warm.

"Thanks, you guys." Johnny smiled wanly at the two women.

Joanne slipped back into Roy’s room as quietly as she could. I hope he sleeps the rest of the night... If he questions me about Johnny, I won’t be able to sugar coat what I saw... all that pain... he’s got a long haul in front of him...

She sat in the chair next to the hospital bed where her husband tossed in a troubled sleep. She closed her eyes and prayed... she prayed for her husband, that God would grant him a speedy recovery, and she prayed for her husband’s partner.

It’s so unfair. It’s unfair for Johnny to be suffering like he is... for Roy to be sick from an ILLEGAL drug lab... why didn’t they know what was in that building they were working on? Why weren’t they wearing masks?

She stared out the window. The sun is rising just like it did yesterday... like nothing has changed... but somehow, things look different...

A moan from the bed took her from her thoughts. “Roy, are you okay?”

Roy stared at his wife with bleary eyes. “How long did I sleep?”

“Just a couple hours. It’s morning.”

“Any word?”

Joanne frowned. I knew this was coming... She stood and walked to the side of the bed, and took Roy’s hand. “I got to see him a little while ago. He was awake and was asking about you.”

“Is he--?” Roy was afraid to voice the question.

“No, he’s not paralyzed. He’s... he’s in a lot of pain, but going to be just fine!” He's got to be... Roy sighed with relief as he sank back down into the pillows and squeezed Joanne's hand gently. "Thank God. When can I see him?"

"I'm not sure, sweetheart," Joanne sighed softly, trying to banish the image of Johnny's battered form from her memory, "Dr. Brackett should be by soon to check on you, we'll ask him."

"Jo," Roy looked up into her eyes, panic touching his expression, "you're telling me everything, right?"

"Yes, Roy," she bent to brush her lips gently across his, "I'm telling you as much as I know."

"But . . ." Roy held his breath as he looked up at her.

"But I'm not a doctor, Roy," Joanne's eyes dropped, sudden tears clinging to her lashes, "I only know what I saw and what they told me."

"Jo, what did you see?"

"Cap?"

Hank Stanley looked up from the report he'd been staring blankly at for the last 20 minutes. "Yeah, Chet?"

"Mike and I are gonna stop by the hospital to check on Gage and the others as soon as our replacements get in." Chet cleared his throat uncomfortably, "We were wondering if you'd like to come with us."

"Thanks, Chet," Hank smiled briefly, "I would."

"Have you heard anything about them this morning, Cap?"

"I talked to Ms. McCall about 20 minutes ago," Hank leaned back in his chair, "They're releasing Lopez this morning and DeSoto will probably get out this afternoon. They want to run a couple of tests on him since he was exposed longer then Marco."

"What about, John?" Chet asked, not even bothering to try and hide his concern.

Hank rubbed his forehead and leaned back with a sigh, "The good news is, he's not paralyzed, but they're still worried about his other injuries. Dixie was going to check on him and get back to me."

"Cap. Chet." Mike Stoker stuck his head in the small office, "The guys from B shift are here."

Hank rose quickly, clapping his hands together and rubbing them, "Okay, then, let's get changed and out of here."

"How's my star patient this morning?"

Johnny's eyes tracked Dixie's movements as she made her way toward his bed, "A'right, I guess." He tried to take a deep breath, gasping at the sharp pain that radiated through his chest.

"Hey, hey, take it easy." Dixie moved swiftly to his side, placing a calming hand on his forehead, "You know better then that Johnny Gage."

"S'rry, Dix," the corners of Johnny's mouth turned up in a pale imitation of his normally heart-stopping grin, "Won't do it again. Promise."

"Right." A fond smile crept across Dixie's face as she brushed at the errant strands of hair across his forehead, "If there's one thing I've learned about you, my friend, it's that you never stop pushing yourself. But just remember, while you're here I'm in charge and I'm not going to put up with your . . . Johnny?" Dixie paled as she watched Johnny stiffen, his pale face draining of color before collapsing against the backboard, "Johhny? Johnny?"

Pushing back a wave of panic, Dixie hurried to the door and yanked it open, screaming into the hallway, "PAGE DR. BRACKETT AND GET A CRASH CART IN HERE STAT!"

Dixie turned from the door and went back to Johnny's side to start CPR until the crash cart arrived. That was when she noticed one of the leads from the heart monitor lying on the sheet instead of connected to the pad on Johnny's chest. She let out a sigh of relief and reconnected the errant lead. The monitor's whine cut off, going back to the steady beeps of regular heart rhythm.

Brackett arrived, trailed by a second nurse, Mike Morton and the crash cart. Brackett shot a puzzled look at Dixie when the beep of the monitor registered.

"False alarm," Dixie admitted quietly as she felt a blush creep up her neck, over her jaw and into her hair. This happens to nursing students. Not to me! "Johnny stiffened and disconnected one of the leads."

Brackett stepped over to the bed. "Let's have a look." He picked up Johnny's wrist.

Johnny groaned and pulled his eyes open one at a time. "Wha'?"

"Take it easy, Johnny." Dixie gently smoothed the sweat soaked hair from Johnny's forehead.

"It hurts." Johnny moaned and stiffened again. "Oh, God . . . make it stop . . ."

"Another 2 milligrams of morphine," Brackett ordered.

"I'll get it." Morton left the room.

Brackett gently squeezed Johnny's forearm. "We'll have you fixed up in a minute, Johnny."

Johnny closed his eyes and swallowed. "'Kay." He moaned and gritted his teeth as another muscle spasm went through his mid-back.

Dixie kept stroking the dark, sweat soaked hair. She started to tell Johnny to take deep breaths, then remembered the broken ribs and surgical incision.

Morton swept back into the room and back to the side of the bed, where he swabbed the port in the I.V. and injected the morphine solution in the port.

The three, seasoned professionals held their breath until Johnny's jaw unclenched and he let out a quiet sigh.

"Better," Johnny whispered, blinking up at them. He managed to flash a weak grin at them before he closed his eyes and floated away.

Then, almost as suddenly as the pain had evaporated, it returned. Doctor Morton was just turning to leave the bedside when he felt a clammy, damp hand on his arm.

"More..." Johnny mumbled.

Doctor Morton looked questioningly to Doctor Brackett, then to Dixie, seeing the same confusion on their faces that he felt.

"What did you say, John?" he leaned closer to the ailing man's face.

"Mm...mmmorrre..." Johnny's words were slurred, but the grimace of pain of his face was real and convincing. "Still...still hurts."

Doctor Brackett chewed his lip. "I was afraid this might happen at some point. Johnny has suffered quite a few injuries, just since I've know him. As the body becomes accustomed to the pain-relieving narcotics, sometimes it builds up a certain resistance to the point where more and more of the drug is needed to relieve the pain."

"Kel..." Dixie's face became as white as her uniform. "Are you saying Johnny's addicted to morphine?"

"No, not necessarily, Dix. I'm saying his body has built up a tolerance to lower levels of pain killers. He does run a risk of becoming dependent, however. We'll have to monitor him closely and slowly weed him down to lower and lower levels as he heals. The problem right now, though, is that he is in a viscious cycle. The pain makes him tighten his muscles, which in turn cause more spasms, which in turn cause more pain and the cycle is self-renewing. In order to break the cycle and give his back a chance to heal we are going to have to use the higher doses for now." Dr. Brackett made a notation on Johnny's chart and circled it authoritatively. Morton nodded agreement.

Roy pushed the door to Johnny's door open carefully. He had been released an hour ago and had finally made his way to his partner's room with a promise to meet JoAnne downstairs after she had finished with the release papers.

Johnny was lying quietly, contemplating the corner of the room near the ceiling. Glancing languidly in Roy's direction, he gave his friend a lazy smile.

"Roy. C'mon in, pal."

Roy was delighted to see his partner awake and seemingly in good spirits. He moved cautiously and a bit gingerly to a chair near the wall.

"Hey, Johnny. How are you doing?"

Johnny smiled again and returned his attention to the corner.

"Fine. Fine. Sure better 'n a while ago."

Bewildered by Johnny's lassitude, Roy looked closely at the dark haired man's heavy lidded, glassy eyes, which were still fixed on the corner of the room above Roy's head.

"Uh, Johnny? What are you looking at?"

"That squirrel, Roy. Up in the corner."

Roy craned his neck around and looked above him at the empty corner. "Squirrel?"

"Yea, Roy. Jeez. You act like you've never seen a squirrel before."

"Oh. That squirrel." Roy thought frantically. He didn't want to upset Johnny and cause him to move.

"Roy! Don't move!" Johnny hissed.

"What?" Roy whispered.

"It's right behind you now. I think it's getting ready to jump onto your shoulder."

Roy sat perfectly still. Johnny was watching a spot slightly above Roy's shoulder. He smiled, suddenly.

"He's a cute little sucker, Roy. Are his claws scratching your shoulder?"

"Uh . . . no, Johnny. I can't feel a thing." Roy answered truthfully.

"How can you stand that?" Johnny asked in wonder.

"What?" "He's sticking his wet, cold nose in your ear, Roy. How can you stand that without fidgiting?"

"Oh . . . uh . . . I'm used to that sort of thing. JoAnne sticks her tongue in my ear all the time." Roy was thinking frantically. He wanted to talk to Dr. Brackett. Johnny seemed overmedicated.

"Roy?"

"Yea?"

"I really didn't need to hear that."

"Oh. Uh, Johnny? I . . . uh . . . need to go find JoAnne. You gonna be O.K.?" Roy stood slowly, edging toward the door.

"Sure! I feel just fine, Roy. Don't worry about me." Johnny grinned soporifically. "Roy?"

Roy paused at the doorway. "Yea?"

"The nurses are going to be pissed if you walk through the hallways with that squirrel on your shoulder."

"Uh . . . yea. I'll just . . . sneak down the back stair and let him loose outside. O.K., Johnny?" Roy looked anxiously at his doped up partner but Johnny's eyes were now peacefully closed.

"A squirrel, huh?" Brackett couldn't smother the grin that spread across his face.

"Doc, I didn't think it was all that funny." Roy was a little surprised at Brackett's reaction.

Brackett shrugged unconcernedly. "Frankly, it's a lot better than some other things I could think of, Roy. Be thankful he's hallucinating small and harmless creatures instead of werewolves and vampires."

Roy pondered the thought a minute. Johnny had, indeed, seemed happy. Come to think of it, he hadn't seemed to be in any pain. Roy's gaze sharpened. "Doc, just how much morphine is he getting?"

Brackett's smile faded slightly and he leaned his arms on his desk. "Right now, he's getting a fairly high dose," he admitted. "But don't worry," he interrupted when Roy started to object. "We're monitoring it very carefully, Roy. The last thing we want to occur is for Johnny to become addicted. It's bad enough he's developed a tolerance for the drug." He stood and came around his desk. "Look, why don't you go home and get some rest. You've had a rough day, too. You know we'll take good care of him."

Roy sighed and nodded. He scratched his eyebrow and stood up. "Guess I just can't swing away from the fathering instinct," he grinned.

Brackett clapped him on the back. "We should all be so lucky as to have someone who cares. Now, go on home and let us tend to the people who really need it, huh?"

As the door closed upon the paramedic, Brackett's face returned to its customary frown. He decided a visit to the hallucinating half of the paramedic team might be in order.

"Get away from me!"

Even as he approached the room from the end of the corridor, Brackett could hear the shouting from within. He sped up and bolted into the room.

"What's going on?" he demanded, then stopped.

Hank Stanley stood with his back to the near wall, gaping at the patient in the bed, whose expression was positively terrified. Johnny's eyes shifted to the newcomer and the expression took on a measure of relief.

"Help me...." Johnny's voice became plaintive, almost helpless. "Don't let him get me..." His gaze darted back to Hank.

"Hank," Brackett said quietly, "go into the hall. I'll explain in a minute." He stepped carefully toward Johnny as Hank slid along the wall toward the door.

"Look out, Doc! He's gonna get you!" Johnny jerked upward toward Brackett, as if to try to help him.

"Johnny, no!" Brackett valuted the distance to John's side, but it was too late.

Johnny let out a strangled cry as another wave of white-hot pain shot through his back, side and chest. He gasped, then closed his eyes as he rested against the bed.

"Johnny!" Dr. Brackett uncovered Johnny's feet. "Wiggle your toes for me," he commanded.

Johnny kept his eyes closed tightly and continued to gasp for breath.

Brackett pulled his reflex hammer from his pocket and ran one side up the sole of Johnny's foot. He twitched his mouth when Johnny jerked his foot back.

Johnny peeled an eye open. "Don't...tickles."

Brackett leaned over the bed rail. "What was that all about, Johnny? What were you seeing?"

"Huh?" Johnny raised an eyebrow. The pain slowly subsided to a persistent, dull throb. He looked around, frowning. "What're you...talkin' 'bout?"

"Yes," replied Brackett. "I sent him out in the hall when I came in. You were yelling out, and trying to get up."

Johnny closed his eyes. "Must've been a nightmare. I was on the roof. That guy kept comin', and there wasn't anything I could do." He narrowed his eyebrows in concentration. "He took out Roy, and Marco, and was goin' after Cap." He sighed and closed his eyes as a groan escaped his lips. After a moment, he opened his eyes. "Is this pain...ever gonna stop?"

Brackett twitched his mouth. "It should be subsiding, now that you're in traction. Frankly, I'm a bit surprised that you're having this much pain." He walked around the bed and stopped at the urine collection bag that hung from a rail. He frowned as he saw red streaks and small clots in the yellow fluid. Brackett looked up as the nurse walked into the room. "Robin, How long has he had hematuria, and why wasn't I informed of it?" he asked angrily.

The nurse met Brackett's gaze. "Dr. Morton was notified of it at midnight. He said to just watch it and he'd discuss it with you this morning. We've kept Mr. Gage N.P.O. just in case you decided to order an intravenous pyelogram."

Brackett smiled slightly. "Thank you. I think I'll call radiology right now and schedule it ASAP."

"Doc?" Johnny put his hand on Brackett's arm. "What's wrong?"

"You've got some blood in your urine." Brackett twitched his mouth. "You may have sustained a laceration, or a very bad bruise to your kidney when you fell, and this is how it's showing itself. The IVP will let us know what's going on." He unwrapped the traction straps around Johnny's waist. "Robin, I need to take a look at his back. Can you help me roll him?"

"Sure, Doc." Robin held onto Johnny and helped him turn onto his side.

Damn. We missed this one. A wave of trepidation played over Brackett as he palpated the large bruise on the left side of Johnny's back. "Sorry, Johnny," he apologized as Johnny winced. He slowly lowered Johnny into a flat position, and reattached the traction straps. He smiled wanly. "We'll know more after we get the results, but you may have had some bleeding that irritated your back muscles along with the dislocation. That's one reason we've been having so much trouble calming your spasms and your pain. We'll put you on some flexeril for the spasms."

Robin looked up from the flowsheet. "Doctor Brackett, here are his morning labs." She pointed to the blood count.

"Okay," Brackett frowned. "Let's transfuse him with two units of packed cells. I'm going to call radiology. Take it easy, Johnny. I'll be back later."

Johnny nodded and closed his eyes.

Brackett stepped out into the hallway. He spied a concerned-looking Hank Stanley, who'd been joined by Marco.

"Is everything okay, Doc?" Hank asked.

Dr. Brackett put his hands in his coat pockets. "Hank, Marco," he acknowledged. "I wish I had better news for you."

"Has he gotten worse?" Marco asked.

"Well, I'm afraid we have a new complication to contend with," Dr. Brackett explained.

"What's that?" Hank asked.

"He may have lacerated or bruised his kidney when he fell. We'll be running some tests shortly to find out exactly what's going on."

"How serious is this, Doc? Could he loose his kidney?" Marco asked.

"I can't answer either of those questions until we get the test results in. I was just on my way to set everything up. Why don't you two go in to see him, but make it brief. He's still in a lot of pain."

Hank looked from the doctor to Marco, concern etched his features. "Okay, thanks, Doc."

Hank and Marco lingered outside Johnny's door after Dr. Brackett walked away.

"Are we going in?" Marco asked his captain, who seemed lost in thought.

Hank shook his head. "This never should have happened," he sighed. "I don't know how I didn't see disaster written all over the situation. It never should have come to this."

"Cap," Marco said in his most serious voice. "There's nothing you could have done differently that would have prevented any of this."

Hank nodded, allowing Marco's words to sink in. "Come on, let see if we can do anything for Johnny."

Hank stepped slowly into the room, his heart breaking at the sight of Johnny lying in the bed, his face contorted in pain, "Hey, Pal, how ya doing?"

"I'm . . . I'm doing all right." Johnny winced, trying to smile and failing miserably.

"Is there anything we can get you, John?" Marco asked quietly, "Maybe a magazine? Or something from home?"

"No, Marco, thanks, I don't really need anything," Johnny fidgeted uncomfortably, "Except maybe, well, have either of you seen Roy?" he paused to take a deep breath, "The docs tell me he's all right, but I haven't seen him and . . ."

The two men flashed each other a quick look before Hank cleared his throat, "I haven't seen Roy this morning, but the doctors assured me that he's fine. In fact, when I spoke to him earlier he told me that he'd been by to see you."

"He did?" Johnny's brow furled with concentration, "Huh. Guess I musta been asleep then."

"No, I don't think that was it," Hank and Marco exchanged another look. "It seems you had a little reaction to the morphine."

"I did?" Johnny looked slightly embarrased. "Um... what exactly did I do?"

Joanne watched as Roy finished buttoning his shirt, "You ready to get out of here, handsome?"

"Never more so." Roy tucked his shirt into his pants before leaning forward to give Joanne a quick kiss, "Listen, do you mind if we check on Johnny before we go?"

"Mind?" Joanne laughed as she took her husband's hand, "I was counting on it."

"Yeah, Kel, I've got Johnny's x-rays," Joe sighed.

"And?" Kel crossed the room quickly, his frown deepening as he began to study the x-ray.

"And it doesn't look good." Joe pointed to a dark mass, "Not good at all."

Roy and Joanne stepped up to the door outside of Johnny's room. Roy was unsure whether Johnny would be clear-headed enough to see visitors, but when he heard the voices of Hank and Marco drifting from the room he started to push the door open

Joanne grabbed his arm. "Roy, I'm going to wait out here. I don't want to overwhelm Johnny with too much company."

Roy nodded. "Okay, that's probably a good idea. I won't be long." He leaned forward and gave her a kiss before turning and entering Johnny's room

"Hey! I figured you wouldn't be too far away. How are you doing?" Hank Stanley welcomed his other paramedic and offered up his chair to the injured man.

"Much better. Thanks, Cap." Roy sank gratefully into the chair. "How are you feeling, Johnny? Any more hallucinations?"

Johnny smiled wanly at his partner. He knew about the effects morphine could have on people and was surprised by the tales of his antics.

"Well, Pally, I don't see a squirrel on your shoulder, if that's what you mean."

Roy grinned at the dark-haired paramedic. Johnny continued, wincing slightly as a small spasm coursed through his back.

"Course that doesn't have anything to do with that ostrich standing next to you." He watched in satisfaction as all three men's eyes widened in alarm.

"Just kidding you, Roy." Johnny grinned. Hank, Marco and Roy all let out a sigh of relief.

"It's actually just a chicken," Johnny said with complete seriousness. Roy's eyes bulged slightly and Johnny couldn't help it. He laughed. Which was exactly the wrong thing to do. His back spasmed again and the laugh turned to a moan. Hank reached out a hand and laid it gently on Johnny's arm, turning worried eyes to Marco and Roy.

"Is there anything we can do, Buddy? Call a nurse?" Hank asked softly. Johnny just shook his head.

"It'll pass, Cap." Johnny grated out through gritted teeth.

Roy had just decided to get a nurse anyway when the door opened and Dr. Brackett stepped into the room. He let his eyes sweep the assembled men and finally rest on Johnny. The men looked at him expectantly.

"Johnny, I've got the test results back." Dr. Brackett announced solemnly.

Johnny swallowed, twisting his head to one side again in a vain attempt to find relief. He willed his body to relax and go to sleep, but his body was no longer in communication with his mind. At last, with a sigh, he reached for the call button.

He had slept on and off most of the afternoon. Dozed, perhaps, would be a better way to phrase his periods of rest. The recurring pain had repeatedly awakened him and, as exhausted as he was, it became progressively more difficult to return to blissful darkness.

Probable laceration, Brackett had said, of his kidney. Liver might be involved. They'd watch his blood count and hope it would turn out to be no more than a bad bruise.

Just make it stop hurting.

The door opened and the bright lights from the hall made their garish way into the dim and quiet room, heightening the feeling of surrealism. The diminutive ICU nurse padded softly to Johnny's side.

"Can I get you something, Mr. Gage?" she asked quietly, automatically checking the various tubes, wires, and monitors, then taking in his face. She frowned at the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Water," Johnny replied thickly, swallowing again.

The nurse shook her head slightly and reached for the cloth that lay on the bedside table. "I'm sorry," she told him gently as she dampened the cloth and mopped his face, "you're restricted." His skin was slightly warm to the touch. "You having trouble sleeping?"

"Feeling kinda nauseous," Johnny explained. His eyes closed and he groaned softly.

"Feel like you're going to vomit?" asked the nurse calmly, setting aside the cloth and reaching for his chart.

"No," Johnny replied. "Just nauseous. Uncomfortable."

The nurse made a notation on the chart and set it back down. "Think you could tolerate a thermometer under your tongue?" she asked.

Johnny thought for a instant. "Yeah....I guess...."

The nurse pulled a thermometer from her pocket, shook it down, and placed it in his mouth. She completed a more thorough check of the urine collection bag, the blood pressure monitor, his pulse, and the IV drip. She checked her watch and removed the thermometer, jotting the reading on his chart. She set the chart back on its clip and touched Johnny gently on one hand.

"Mr. Gage, I'm going to have Dr. Brackett paged. We'll see if we can't make you more comfortable, all right?"

Johnny merely grunted a reply.

Brackett arrived a few long minutes later. He smiled reassuringly at Johnny. "Not doing too well, I see, Johnny."

"Been better," Johnny mumbled, closing his eyes against the gentle rocking of the room.

"He's complaining of nausea," Robin said, handing the chart to the doctor. "Temp's elevated, BP's dropping."

Brackett frowned over the numbers and handed the chart back to the nurse. He stepped to the side of the bed and lifted the blanket. "Tell me if this hurts," he directed, lifting Johnny's hospital gown and palpating his abdomen.

Johnny stiffened and moaned in response. "Ahh..."

"Sorry." Brackett glanced at Johnny, then studied his slightly swollen belly. He turned to the nurse. "Let's get him prepped for surgery," he ordered. He turned back to Johnny as Robin disappeared. "Johnny, looks like we're going to have to go in. I'm afraid that bleeding isn't going to stop on its own."

Johnny steeled himself for the usual apprehension that accompanied this kind of news...surgery. But it didn't come. Instead, he felt an odd sense of relief. That's weird...relief at the prospect of getting sliced open. Still, it's better than enduring this pain.

He'd been left alone momentarily while preparations were made. The door to his room was open and he was vaguely aware of snatches of conversation in the hallway. Conversations that concerned him. Phrases wafted in: "...Gage, John, Room ...." "...Dr. Brackett needs..." "...send at least two orderlies..."

John felt the burning of bile rising in his chest toward his throat. He inhaled deeply and swallowed, willing it back down. His body shuddered and he felt the pin prickly sensation of sweat erupting on his already-sticky brow. Man, hurry up and get me under. I can't take this any more.

The elevator swooshed open and Dr. Brackett exited, striding purposefully towards the base station of the emergency department, his expression grim and thoughtful.

Dixie looked up and instantly recognized his no-nonsense demeanor. "What's up, Kel?"

"Dix, I'm heading to the O.R. Johnny needs surgery right away."

"It's not his back, is it?"

"No, he's got bleeding in his belly and I've gotta find out where it's coming from. It's not getting better on its own." Dr. Brackett was hurriedly scribbling discharge notes on two of his emergency patients before heading to surgery. "Would you let Mike know? He's going to have to handle the load down here for a while."

"Sure, no problem. It's been pretty quiet anyway." Dixie sighed. "I wonder if I should try to call any of the guys from the station for Johnny. They're not on duty today, but I'm sure they'd want to know."

"They probably would, especially Roy." Brackett snapped the last chart shut and slid his pen into his coat pocket. "I've gotta run. I'll let you know how it goes." Brackett headed for the elevator, hesitated, and diverted his path to the door marked "Stairs."

Dixie stared into space as she absorbed the news.Johnny, you certainly know how to keep people on their toes. She snapped back into reality and picked up the phone.

Dixie hung up the phone as Dwyer walked into the base station.

"Hey, Dix," greeted the cheerful paramedic. "Any word about Johnny?"

"Kel had to take him to surgery a few minutes ago. He's bleeding somewhere in his abdomen." Dix smiled wanly at Dwyer, then glanced at the clock. "It could take a while, depending on what they find."

Dwyer nodded solemnly as his partner, Bob Carlson joined him. "Keep us posted, too. Okay?" He looked at Bob. "Gage is in surgery."

Bob's face fell at the news. His handie-talkie beeped three times. "Give Johnny our best, okay?" He waved as he and Dwyer left the base station.

Dr. Brackett lifted Johnny's gown and studied the bandage that covered the long incision on Johnny's midsection. "You are one lucky guy, John Gage," he muttered as he palpated the rest of the heavily-sedated paramedic's abdomen. "And a sneaky one, too. We were able to suture the laceration to your kidney, and clean out the blood. Plus, you had a nice liver laceration we never expected that had to be repaired. "But," he twitched his mouth when he saw Johnny grimace around the endotracheal tube that hung out of his mouth. "I think you'll make a full recovery." He sighed as John's features relaxed at the end of his exam.

"Dr. Brackett?"

Brackett looked up at the nurse who stood at his elbow.

"I've got a Roy DeSoto on line 2 for you," informed the nurse. "He was calling to see if Mr. Gage was back from surgery yet. He's pretty eager to speak to you."

"Thanks, Mattie," replied Brackett. "Tell Roy that I'll be right with him."

"Right." She opened the chart to the order page. "Were you going to keep him on the ventilator overnight?"

"Yes," nodded Brackett as he pulled the covers over Johnny's sleeping form. "It was a little more extensive than I expected." He watched Johnny's chest rise and fall rhythmically with the cycles of the machine. He's been through a lot, and I want to rest him a little."

"Then you'll need to order something more for sedation and for pain in case we need it later."

Roy hung up the phone and sat wearily on the sofa.

"Dad, my science fair project is due next week. You said you'd help me today," Chris reminded.

Joanne walked over to her son and put her arms around his shoulders. "You dad's been through a lot. Let's give him a day or two till he's feeling better, and then I'm sure he'll be able to help you. In the meantime... why don't you go to your room and get started on the report. By the time you're finished writing that, Daddy'll be raring to help get the project put together."

"All right," Chris muttered as he walked dejectedly toward his bedroom.

"How's Johnny?" Joanne asked anxiously when the room was cleared of children.

Roy sighed and shook his head. "Looks like he'll make a full recovery."

"Oh, that's wonderful news! You had me scared there for a minute," Joanne said as she sat down next to her husband.

"I'm sorry. I know, I should be more excited... but after talking to Dr. Brackett just now, I realized how close we came to losing him." Roy ran his hand through his hair.

Joanne took Roy's hand in her own. "I know," she stated simply. She looked at her husband as tears burned her eyes. Then he put his arm around her shoulder's and held her tight. The dam broke. No longer able to hold back the tears, Joanne wept uncontrollably for the first time since the incident.

"Shh," Roy soothed. "Didn't you hear me? Johnny's going to be fine. Brackett said the surgery was a lot more complicated than he would have liked, and he's keeping him on a ventilator overnight, but he expects him to make a complete recovery."

Joanne shook her head and sniffed. "That's not why I'm crying." She got up and grabbed a box of tissues.

"You're not upset about Johnny?" Roy asked.

Joanne sat back down. "I am upset about Johnny, and relieved that he's going to be all right." This time. "Oh God, Roy... it's just that... that could just as easily be you in that hospital bed. And sooner or later, Johnny's and your luck is going to run out."

Roy shook his head. "I don't want to get into this tonight," he stated flatly.

"Then when, Roy?" Joanne asked. "The next shift you work could be your last!"

Roy shook his head. "Not tonight," he stated adamantly. He stood up and walked to the door. "I'm going to the hospital."

"Roy, you can't drive yet! Let me get a sitter and I'll drive you."

Roy absently fingered the bandage on his head. "Joanne, I'm fine. I can drive. I won't stay long, I promise. I just need to see for myself that he's okay."

Roy couldn't help but notice the worried look on Joanne's face. He leaned over and gave her a kiss. "I'll be fine, don't worry. And we'll have that talk soon. I promise."

Joanne gave a half-smile as her husband turned and left the house.

Dixie stepped quietly into the recovery room, her eyes automatically scanning the read-outs of each patient as she passed. Approaching the bed she sought, Dixie paused a moment to take in each the still features, her gaze more personal then clinical.

"Oh, Johnny," Dixie sighed softly, brushing an unruly lock of hair away from his forehead before reaching to take his pulse, "what are we going to do with you? It's beginning to seem like you spend more time here then you do on the job."

"How's he doing, Dix?" A soft voice inquired from behind.

Stealing her features into a professional mask, she turned to respond, "His vitals are improving." Dixie moved to the end of the bed and picking up the chart that hung there to record Johnny's vitals.

Peering over her shoulder, Kel smiled, "Looks like he should be coming around soon." Squeezing Dixie's shoulder, he turned his attention back to the still figure, "The surgery went well, Dix. He's going to be fine."

"Yeah, this time," Dixie looked up at him, "But what about the next time? How many times can we continue to patch him up before there's nothing left but patchwork?"

Kel met her eyes for a moment before turning away, unable or unwilling to answer her question.

Johnny struggled for consciousness. It seemed only a moment ago when the pain had radiated through him and he had begged for the surgery that might grant him some relief; when he had been wheeled into the OR and felt the warm tingly sensation of the anestesiologist's medicines begin to flow through his veins. Now he was aware of pain; searing pain, but somehow not as threatening as it had been before. He realized the surgery must be over, as the bone-chilling, blindingly bright Operating Room had been replaced by the pre-warmed blankets and dim lights of the Recovery Room. "I gotta stop visiting this place so often," Johnny thought sleepily. He wavered between sedation and consciousness, ever more aware of the burning of his incision.

As more of the mind-numbing medications left his system, the pain gradually built to an almost-unbearable level. He was about to give voice to his need for pain relief when he relized the familiar gagging sensation of the ventilator tube.

His eyes snapped open, his ears suddenly alert.

"...there's nothing left but patchwork?"

"Oh, God, nothing left but patchwork..." Johnny thought. He heard Dixie's familiar voice, but it brought no comfort. His stomach suddenly churned with fear and the effects of the anestesia.

"He's coming around!" Dr. Brackett exclaimed excitedly as the buzzing and whirring of the heart and respiratory monitors suddenly increasing caught his attention. He rushed to Johnny's side.

"You okay, Johnny? Can you look at me?" Then, over his shoulder to Dixie he whispered, "Get him 50 of demerol and 25 of phenergan ready."

Dixie nodded knowingly as she rushed to the medication closet and drew up the ordered hypo. She could hear Johnny's increased activity as the bleeping of the heart monitor continued to increase.

Suddenly, the air was filled with a high-pitched piercing alert tone. Icy fingers of fear gripped Dixie's heart as her feet flew back to Johnny's bedside. Her mind struggled to comprehend the images.

Johnny's face... pasty.

The oxygen saturation reading... 92... 87... 84... 82...

Dr. Brackett's stern countenance and concern-filled eyes , his frantic voice barking orders. "...Suction! STAT! DIXIE, get me the suction wand, dammit, he's aspirated!"

Dixie headed out of the recovery room and down the hall. As she passed the surgery lounge she paused and retraced her steps. She had been right. There sat Roy DeSoto. He lay with his head tilted back onto the vinyl backrest of the sofa. Dixie approached softly and sat down.

"Hey."

Roy's head rose and he smiled wearily at his friend. "Hey."

"I thought Kel called you at home and told you everything was going to be all right?" Dixie questioned.

"He did. I just . . . I just wanted to see for myself, you know?" Roy glanced away sheepishly. The head nurse patted his arm solicitously.

"I know. I didn't expect anything less from you, Roy. You are a good friend. He did great in surgery. We had a bit of a problem in recovery," Roy's head whipped up but Dixie continued before he could get in a word. "but everything is fine now. He aspirated around his vent tube. That shouldn't have happened and I'm sorry. Turned out there was a tear in the rubber cuff that holds the tube in. We removed the tube and suctioned him. He was awake enough to fight the idea of another vent and Kel thought he was doing well enough so we are going to see if he can do OK without one. He's quite a fighter, isn't he?"

Roy grinned. "That he is, Dix. That he is. When can I see him?"

Dixie squeezed Roy's hand and stood. "I'll slip you in to see him now. You won't have to wait until he gets to his room. Kel thinks now that the surgery is done we should see rapid improvement. He said the back injury was masking the initial symptoms of the damage to his kidney and liver. Now that those are taken care of and the pain decreased, the back should heal quickly. I think we are finally on the upswing." She smiled in relief and led the anxious man through the swinging doors.

Roy was relieved to see Johnny. He looked pale but the lines of pain were gone. The older paramedic was surprised when his partner's eyes opened, albeit slowly and groggily, and slowly searched about until they came to rest on Roy's face. A tired smile tugged at the corners of Johnny's mouth.

"Hey, pally." The dark haired man whispered in a barely audible croak. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

Roy smiled gently at the younger man. "Does seem to be a habit with us, doesn't it?"

Johnny nodded sadly. "One that I'm thinkin' of breaking for good, partner. I'm tired of being the patchwork man . . ." His voice trailed off as he slipped back to sleep.

Roy's startled eyes flew up to meet the guilty one's of Dixie McCall.

"I know better than that," Dixie said, shaking her head in aggravation. Her hand curled around the cup of coffee she'd allowed Roy to buy for her after they'd left Johnny's room. "He must've just been coming out of the anesthesia. I was talking to Kel about how many times he's been in that operating room, and..." She trailed off with a sigh.

Roy found himself in the unusual position of being able to offer comfort to the head nurse. "It's not your fault, Dix," he said. "He wasn't awake enough to understand what you were saying."

"That's exactly why I shouldn't have been having that conversation," she fumed.

Roy placed a hand on her arm. He couldn't recall ever having seen her so angry with herself. "Dix, it'll be fine. When he wakes up, it'll all make a lot more sense to him." He took a large chug of his coffee, but not before he had to stifle a yawn.

Dixie picked up on the paramedic's exhaustion and used it as a place to focus her energy, away from her self-beration. "How long has it been since you've slept?" she asked, her voice softer now, more mother-hennish.

With a wry chuckle, Roy finished off his coffee and tapped the empty cup. "Oh, probably about four pots ago, at least."

Plucking the cup from his hand, Dixie said, "Go home, Roy. Sleep. Tomorrow will be better. For all of us."

Nodding, Roy bid her goodnight, but instead of the exit, his feet led him back to the recovery room. The duty nurse gave him a small smile and went about her work. After having just seen him there with the head nurse, she wasn't about to question his presence. Pulling up a chair to Johnny's bedside, Roy settled in, wincing inwardly as he heard his joints pop and snap. 'I'm getting too old for this bedside vigil stuff,' he though wearily. He only meant to stay for a few minutes, maybe an hour, so there would be a friendly face there in case Johnny woke up. But when Dixie came to check on Johnny herself a few hours later, she found Roy slumped in the chair, his stubbled chin resting on his chest, snoring lightly.

Seeing Dixie's mildly annoyed expression, the duty nurse hurried over, wondering how big a blunder she'd made by allowing the paramedic to stay. "I'm sorry, Miss McCall," she whispered nervously, "but I didn't think --"

Dixie held up a hand to shush her, shaking her head slightly. "It's okay, Patsy," she said softly. She briefly considered waking Roy, but ultimately decided that both men could benefit from a few good hours of sleep, something she sincerely doubted Roy would be getting if she forced him to leave. Instead, she found a spare blanket and draped it over him. After instructing Patsy not to let anyone disturb him, Dixie cast a fond look at the two paramedics. "Sleep tight, guys," she said softly.

Johnny eased himself carefully from the wheelchair and leaned his weight experimentally on the crutches, a muttered, "Okay," escaping his lips as Dixie pulled the chair away. He took a slow step and shifted his hands to a more comfortable position.

"Remember," Dixie cautioned, "no swinging on those."

Johnny favored her with a wry smile. "Aw, Dix, you take the fun out of everything."

"You just be careful," she ordered, returning the smile. "We just got you back on your feet. I don't know about anybody else, but I'd just as soon not have to see you back except in a blue uniform."

"You and me both," agreed the other.

"Here, I'll take that." Roy DeSoto relieved Dixie of Johnny's small suitcase and stepped to his car to stow it as Johnny shuffled after him. With an awkward transfer of the crutches, Johnny managed to get the car door open before Roy was at his side. "I've got it," Roy said, pulling the door wider and taking the crutches from Johnny as the dark-haired man lowered himself onto the seat and swung his legs into the car. He set the crutches alongside Johnny's bag.

"You take care of him, Roy," Dixie commanded.

Roy grinned. "Don't worry," he assured her, "there are at least thirty people fighting for a turn at keeping him out of trouble--most of 'em female." He climbed into the car beside his partner, waved to the nurse, and pulled away.

He glanced at Johnny as the hospital disappeared from sight a few minutes later. Knowing his partner as well as he did, he caught the distinct and sudden relaxing of his features.

"You know, Roy," Johnny offered, a slight smile crossing his face, "why is it hospitals are great places when you work there, but not when you're a patient?"

Roy grinned. "It was kinda hard being a visitor there, for a while, too," he reported.

Johnny's glance slid sideways for a few seconds before turning back to the street. It hadn't been too pleasant as an inmate, but he reflected that Roy would have been sharing a great deal of his discomfort sympathetically, at least.

"We stocked up on groceries for you," Roy was saying. "There should be enough for a few days, anyway. You have PT tomorrow?"

Johnny shook his head. "Day after."

"Okay. Well, we have a whole list of drivers for you until you're cleared to drive again."

"Aw, Roy, you didn't need to do that," protested Johnny.

"You don't know the half of it," Roy laughed.

Johnny studied his partner's profile a minute, then sighed and looked away. "I'm not sure I want to, either," he finally agreed.

His homecoming was thankfully quiet. Roy deposited him in his apartment, handed over his belongings, and left him to his own devices with the promise of a phone call the next day.

Johnny spent a few minutes making his slow and careful way through the rooms on his crutches, marveling at the full refrigerator and well-stocked cabinets. He thumbed through the mail, idly taking note of unpaid bills and mass mailings. A square, buff-colored envelope caught his eye, and he pulled it free and tossed the rest onto the nearby table. Seeing no return address, he leaned on the crutches for support and tore open the envelope, plucking out the card that was inside.

The cover was a cartoon drawing of goofy-looking cat, staring straight out and wearing a silly grin. The caption read, "Just wanted to tell you to hang in there." Johnny flipped it open. Inside was written, "Whatever the hell that means."

Roy's scrawled signature underscored the words, and he had added, "You've heard it before. But, it's good to have you home again, partner. Now, if you'd only hurry up and get back to work!"

Johnny grinned. "You know it, Pally!"