A Noble Lie

by Dianne

Tag for E! movie Survival on Charter 220. A neighborhood is plunged into chaos after a plane crash that traps Roy and John in a house. Unlike the movie this story will be told from fifty-one's POV, hopefully answering questions that left fans puzzled.

Author's notes: This is a tag for the Emergency! movie Survival on Charter 220. There were plots started and not finished. In this movie, John and Roy have an argument about stuff John borrowed and did not return and it is never resolved. The biggest thing that was missing from the movie was … the crew from fifty-one! Not only were Marco, Chet, Mike and Cap missing entirely, but John and Roy were barely in it either. Characters previously unknown performed all of the rescues including getting John, Roy and their victim from the collapsed house.

The squad is utterly destroyed in this movie while Roy and John are in a house attending to a little girl. Two planes collide midair and crash into a residential neighborhood obliterating everything in their wake including the house Roy and John are working in. A beam falls on John rendering him bloody and unconscious for a long time but in this movie, there is no follow up on that at all, no one treats the injury, and there is no concern.

The plot focused mainly on the people on the plane, which would have been okay if they'd left any room at all for the characters from the regular series. I really thought the plot needed some love, needed the characters we watched for six seasons and mostly needed … an update of sorts. In the seventies it sort of wasn't cool for a guy to show much emotion on TV, they were to be stoic and punch each other on the arm once in awhile as an act of solidarity that said everything that needed saying. On TV now, guys in disaster situations can hug if it's done properly and they can cry which is a marked improvement in my opinion. Guys are humans too. (most of the time hee heee! )

So, I tried to think of this as an episode and figure out what the guys we watched for six seasons would do in a situation of this magnitude. I remembered Roy talking to John about what a noble lie is, how they sometimes argued but always managed to figure it out, how much they love their jobs and how much they care for each other despite being two very different character types. That care extended to Cap when they all insisted he see a doctor when he was freaking out thinking he had arthritis, extended to the whole crew when Cap explained that they were a family. In short, it was a nice TV series that the whole family could watch and for the most part it has stood the test of time.

Well, enough blabbing from me … Hope you like it.

XXXX

John's point of view:

XXXX

I sit with her until the lights die in her eyes. Even now you can tell she was a real beauty. She's surrounded by plane wreckage and impaled by tree limbs, blood red and broken in every way. I'd do something if I could but I wouldn't know where to begin and I've seen enough to know she doesn't stand a chance. The most she can hope for is to give new life and hope to another. I tremble as the last of the warmth leaves her, my hand going cold along with her heart. I don't know how she kept going this long; a lesser would have died out long ago.

Roy's gonna really miss her. They really had this thing. Sometimes I'd catch him just staring at her. He was possessive about her but it never really bothered me, it was just the way it was. And I got enough of her to get me by.

Wait a minute! You were thinking … Gawd! Get your minds out of the gutter for a minute here. Roy's a married man! And Jo's like a sister to me. Have some respect; we just lost a member of our team.

Squad fifty-one is dead!

XXXX

Previously that day, still John's point of view

XXXX

"Jimmy Carter. Twenty-six. Three fingers," I think.

Morton. Why's it always Morton! Even at the triage and first aid centre Roy insisted on bringing me to. Of course he got to skip out and go back to work and I'm stuck here. I need to get back to work.

"Gage … Gage! Follow my finger," Morton says. I try, I really do but how can I when just over his shoulder in the distance another house explodes? Try concentrating on a finger that's too close to your face, causing your eyes to cross as they wag all over the place. Annoying. And painful. And now comes the light.

"Ou-ouch! Doc, easy!"

"Penlights don't have dimmer switches, Gage," Morton growls practically sticking his previously wagging digit into my eye socket for a better look.

"Geez if you wanted to see my brain I think there's scans for that." I lean back but he grabs my chin and turns my head back and forth.

"Listen, I'm fine. Roy said I was fine. Can I go?"

"How long were you out?"

"Twenty minutes."

"No way. You're not going anywhere."

"But Roy said I was fine."

"Is Roy a doctor now?"

"No." I stand up instinctively when I hear Cap's orders go out on the radios all around us in stereo.

"Gage, sit back down."

I can't though. Cap just called the guys to a house collapse and they're one guy short. Me.

Wham! Well, more like … splat. I'm flat out on my back. Morton hooked his foot behind mine and guided me as he put it, down to the ground.

"I don't like the looks of your pupils," Morton tells me.

"Well, I don't like your shoes."

"Well, his funny bone's not broken," Dixie calls over, the picture of calm in a sea of misery. The injuries aren't serious at this station but the shock of loss is. The major trauma cases were stabilized and sent to St. Francis or Rampart.

"Dix, Roy told me I'm fine." I know that sounded whiny but I can't help it. Morton's standing in the way of my job and I need to get out there.

"Compared to what?" Dixie asks. "John, a plane pretty much landed on your head. I think you're entitled to take this one off."

"Et tu, Dixie?" I place my hand over my heart.

In answer she tosses Morton the bandages he asked for. And then Morton proceeds to make a big production of winding it around my head a thousand times until I look like a mummy. This is ridiculous. I'm fine. Roy said so.

Morton presses an ice pack into my hands.

"Stay here. I've gotta check on a few people. If you pass all your neuro checks for a few hours, I'll let you go home."

So I do as I'm told. For about five minutes until the radio makes it impossible to sit still. There are trapped victims waiting for someone to come for them and the guys need help. Night's fallen and it's a bit cold. Hypothermia can set in even in this weather in injured people. Speaking of hypothermia, I realize I'm wearing Roy's turnout coat. He must have put it on me at some point. I don't remember that…

The heck with this. Morton's busy and no one's looking. My helmet fits over the bandage nicely but it hurts like hell. Oh well, it'll hold my brain in if my head decides to explode like it's threatening to. I know what you're thinking, you're on Morton's side! I'm fine. Roy said so. We're short staffed and guys from other counties are just starting to trickle in now. Darkness is falling fast and the hope of finding survivors grows dimmer with each minute.

I look left and right. No one's looking. Dix is run off her feet and Morton's calling an ambulance for a woman who's just arrived with a broken leg. So I tuck the ice pack into the pocket of Roy's turnout and take off.

I'm not a half block … or what used to be a block anyway, away from triage when I hear something that makes my blood run cold.

"Momeeee!"

The sound makes me jump. It was so bright with the floodlights at triage that my eyes haven't adjusted to the dark yet. There's no one around. I fish around in Roy's pocket for an HT but he must've taken it with him. I creep over the unstable mud leading up to a gaping hole and look down into a pink bedroom. I don't even know where the rest of the house is; it's as if the pink bedroom simply was swallowed up and lowered like an elevator. Bedside tables stand upright and curtains still hang on dainty brass rails in broken windows that stare blindly into mud.

I swallow convulsively searching for what to say. Words aren't coming to me easily.

"Okay, it's okay. We're gonna get you out of there …" We? Where did I get that one? There's no we. I yell as loud as I can for help into the night air but with all the sirens and fire and water no one hears me. I can't remember when the last call for silence to listen for tapping or signs of life from victims was. They'd probably hear me if they have another one soon.

Should I run for help and hope the kid can hang on that long? I take two steps away from the hole, my hands going to my head to stop the dizziness and realize I can't make it that far. Guess that's what happens when a plane lands on your head. Okay then, the kid only has me for now. God help her.

A plank that's embedded into what must've been the garage will do for a walkway over the hole. My arms shake as I drop it across the gap. But I don't have the balance to walk the plank … It was a mistake to leave triage. Spots dance before my eyes but there's no backing out now. I crawl out onto the board, vertigo assaulting me the minute I'm fully on it. I dare to go with one hand and shine Roy's flashlight downward sweeping and calling for the child.

"Listen, you'd really be helping me out here if you'd make a little bit of noise. Tap something near you or call out, okay?"

Nothing.

The flashlight beam's painfully slow in the complete darkness that descends on a neighborhood with no streetlights and no ambient light from anywhere. It's blacker than black. The beam finds a neatly made bed complete with little white ruffles of lace and pretty pillows that haven't even fallen off it. But what it finds next nearly knocks me off the plank.

Beside the bed is a small child, leotard-clad legs splayed out at odd angles lying on her tummy. But that's not what bothers me most … the horrible angle of her neck … so wrong. The words from the E.M.S. manual jump off the page to haunt me, black on blaring white incompatible with life.

Sweat breaks across my brow making me cold.

No…

I fumble for an HT I already know isn't there.

"Momeee!"

Oh God. I drop into the pink room knowing there's nothing I can do but try to make this kid comfortable … The landing takes my breath away, the other aches from the accident making themselves known. I try so hard to sound calm. My hand reaches out as I approach the little bed and kneel beside it. Except I have no idea where to touch. Delicate wrists and fingers tangle in blond ringlets and she's so much like Roy's Jen I'm glad Roy isn't here even though I need him so badly right now. My hand shakes as I reach to take a pulse, speaking nonsense the whole time about things being okay. Remember how I used to feel about lying? Yeah, I change my mind; the truth sucks.

"Gah-ah!" My hands fly to my mouth to cover the swearing that followed. The flesh is stone cold and hard. I was too late for this little one.

Come on Gage. Why the hell are you acting like you've never done this before? Like you've never seen a dead … Get your head in the game, there's someone else down here who needs you.

I gently toss a blanket over the still little form. I may have seen this before but it never gets easier.

"Momeee!"

My head is playing tricks on me. Okay, so Dixie was right. I should have sat this one out. Because that call is coming from … Okay, I know head injuries can screw with a person so I lean over again plucking the edge of the blanket up and forcing myself to reach for a carotid artery which I should have done before. What is wrong with me! But my fingers reach the same hard cold skin they did before. Only this time there's an odd feel to the quality of the skin. I peel back the tiny knitted sweater to find a seam where her head joins to her neck.

It's a toddler-sized doll! I poke it with a stick like a snake or something and turn it over. "Momeeee"! I try to get my breathing under control or I'm gonna hyperventilate and I'm pretty sure that's not a good cure for dizziness. The doll stares at me, one eye half open the other closed, smile still plastered to the plastic face that's split down the centre. Gross! The more I look at it the sicker I feel. "Let's play a game. Let's play a game. Let's play a game," it says.I pick the damn thing up and frantically search for a switch to shut it off. Only it falls off in my hand just like the knob on the TV I borrowed from Roy.

"Peek-a-boo, I see you! Peek-a-boo, I see you!" So much for my noble idea of getting back in the game. Here I sit in a hole, in a pink bedroom playing with dolls. Big, strong fireman freaked out by a doll.

I take a few minutes to catch my breath. A noise in the corner sets my jaw on edge as the stupid doll goes off again but this time the once cute voice is distorted into a droning deep halting baritone. "Come find meee. Come find meeee."

I get to my feet carefully feeling out each step for sinkholes. The carpet is spongy in places and sure enough crumbles away to reveal man-sized holes deeper into the earth. Ah, the new sub basement courtesy of the same plane that tried to kill me.

The door of a little cupboard rattles and I fling it open not knowing what to expect.

It's a real little kid this time, a girl, probably the occupant of the pink room and owner of the doll I pronounced dead a few minutes ago. I reach in slowly trying to keep the lights directly out of her eyes but needing to know how badly hurt she is. She grabs my hand before I can even take a pulse and flings her little body into my chest holding on for dear life.

"Sh-sh, it's okay. I'm Johnny. I'm a fireman and I'm gonna get you out of here okay?"

I peel the little form from me to check her out. She's shivering and slightly cyanotic. I grab a blanket from the bed and wrap it around her small shoulders all the while murmuring reassurances. Her pulse is strong but a bit too fast, probably dehydration and the beginnings of hypothermia. Her arms seem okay but she has a nasty gash on her head and a bruised chin. I tear some cotton sheets into strips and dress the wound and move on to check her legs, which seem okay. I lightly check her spine but when I place my hand on the small tummy to check respiration she cries out. There's rigidity there indicating trauma of some kind. Damn it! I should have told her not to move but when I opened the door to the cupboard she just popped out like a jack-in-the-box.

I pick her up as carefully as I can and the black dots dance in my vision again. Every time I move I can feel my own pulse in my head. I shine the light up to the plank I placed over the hole. I could probably climb up and out but not with her. If she wasn't injured it would be a different story.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I ask as I gently lay her on her little pink bed.

"Abbey Josephine Lindhurst," comes perfectly from her.

"That's a pretty name. And how old are you Abbey Josephine Lindhurst?"

"Four and three quarters. I start kindergarten soon," she says so proudly it breaks my heart.

"Now listen, Abbey, I need to leave you here for just a minute and go on up there and call for someone to come get us, okay?"

She nods, her little blue eyes filling to the brim with tears but she stays put.

I swear this kid's braver than me. She's gotta be in pain and I'm a complete stranger. Her trust nearly kills me. She's paler now that she's moving around and it's only a matter of time we don't have until shock sets in.

I go the opposite side of the sunken room from the bed in an attempt not to bring any more mud or debris down on her. Normally I'd be outta here in seconds but this is gonna take some effort. I find enough footholds until I can grab the plank and position my body so I don't overturn it. I sit on the edge panting for a second. It's still too noisy for anyone to hear me. Abbey Josephine Lindhurst starts to cry again … about her dolly whose hand sticks out from under the blanket I put on it. Oh god!

"Abbey, sweetheart, please don't move."

"But Wendy needs me." Abbey reasons and her tears dry up with the determination.

"Please, honey just listen to me for a minute and lie back down?" I'm amazed she does what she's told, eyes locked on to mine.

"Okay, listen, now … Wendy got a little hurt …" Please God don't let it talk, don't let it talk, please! "And uh, I'm a fireman, remember so I know how to help her and right now she needs to stay real still like you until I can call my friends to help us out. And then uh, then we'll get you both out. But right now she really needs that blanket to keep warm, just like I put one on you. Okay?"

"Does her tummy hurt like mine?"

How can I lie and pray at the same time? But I do.

"Y-yeah and she has a boo boo on her little finger too but my friends will fix her right up as long as she stays nice and warm under that little blanket and doesn't move." Please God help me get her out of here!

A booming voice on a bullhorn in the distance calls for silence. It's Cap.

"Cap! Cap! It's John. Over here! I grab a two by four and beat it on the hood of a car and then reach in and pray the horn works in the twisted steering wheel. It does. In fact it sticks and blares out loudly into the inky black sky. Red lights head toward us. They're coming! Thank God. Thank Cap. Thank my brothers. I stay atop long enough for the engine's lights to find me then I disappear into the hole again wishing the noise would stop because I really think my head's gonna fall off.

Abbey's pulse is weaker. The moving did her no good. There's no broken ribs but something must have hit her stomach in the slide. Roy drops down next to me followed by Chet.

"Told you to stay at triage," Roy says, taking Abbey's tiny wrist.

"Something made me leave," I return without regret.

"I see that," he says calmly calling for a stokes while Marco sets up a relay with Rampart that turns out to be unnecessary as Morton drops into the pink bedroom. Morton, Brice and Roy manage to find room and work on Abbey but she wants my hand. I give it to her, stretching as far as I can so as not to be in their way. My head throbs in time to my heart but I'm not letting go. Until the tiny hand slips from mine. She's in shock. The IV's started and she's put on Oxygen and whisked up and away. The distant whirring of a helicopter tells me she'll have a fast trip to Rampart at least.

Morton's head pops back down into the little pink bedroom. "Desoto, I could use a hand in the chopper. Gage, back to triage."

Roy turns to me and claps a hand on my shoulder staring into my eyes. I wince and he shakes his head as if that confirmed whatever he was thinking.

"Brice, check out my partner here will ya? Take care of him." The last part comes out as a direct order and Roy physically stepped so close to Brice when he said it I thought Brice was gonna fall backwards.

"Junior, you did real good. I think you saved her … Listen, I'm gonna be right back after we get to Rampart okay?"

"Her name's Abbey. Her doll's dead," I say dumbly back as he disappears up and out of the hole. He stops for a second and whispers something to Cap. Cap nods his head as I sit down on the little pink bed, the gash in my head itching and hurting. I try to scratch it but the gauze Morton put on it is so thick I can't even feel my effort. Brice turns around and comes toward me.

"No! Don't!"

CRUNCH!

Brice stepped on Wendy.

"Momeeee!"

Brice about jumps out of his skin but I can't laugh. My stomach turns and I think I'm gonna be sick. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it. I can't make it to my feet but my body curls forward and I manage not to get any on myself. The strain leaves me breathless and I think my head's gonna explode.

Brice's shocked face clears and he reaches for the little figure on the floor.

"Don't Brice … just don't." And amazingly, he doesn't.

Mike and Chet hop down into the little pink bedroom like it's no effort at all. They didn't even have to walk … or crawl the plank.

"How come you're not with the engine?" I ask our engineer.

"Slumming it," Stoker says with a tired smile avoiding the doll and the mess on the floor. "Actually, the truth is, Big Red's a code I. She's still drivable but we took some damage in an explosion and our valves and gauges are busted. Most of the fires are out so other engines are taking care of cleanup. So …"

"So Stoker gets to be a nostalgic linesman and help our very own little damsel Gage out of the little pink room," Chet says. "Seriously, Gage, how 'ya feelin'? Roy says a plane pretty much fell on your head."

"I wish he'd quit sayin' that. It makes my head hurt. And really guys thanks, but I can get out of here by myself."

Chet and Mike just look at each other and step closer as I get up.

Well, at least they pretended to believe me.

"Roy told us to watch out for you," Chet says.

"Cap says we'll lose our allowance if we lose you again," Stoker chimes in with a grin as he takes my arm around his shoulders.

Brice steps forward and presses his hands in around my midsection checking for injuries before Chet can put a belt around my waist to haul me up.

"Are you done groping our paramedic, Brice? You know there are women who'd pay good money for that if he wasn't so virtuous," Chet says.

"Ha ha very funny, Chet," I say, my teeth beginning to chatter from the cold.

"Here, let me help protect your virtue, Johnny," Mike laughs putting his coat around my shoulders on top of Roy's coat.

Humiliating, that's what this is. Marco sticks his head down into the pink bedroom and just looking at him upside down like that makes my knees wobbly. Now I get why Mike and Chet won't let me go.

"We ready?" Marco asks.

"Slow and gentle," Brice warns.

"Didn't know you cared," I tell Brice.

"Professional interest … that and the fact that a plane pretty much fell on your head. And Roy said something about breaking mine if anything happens to you." Brice actually smiles at this.

Holy hell, who let the dogs out, Brice took a joke!

Marco grabs me under my armpits and Cap grabs my waist.

"Good to see you out of there. Pink's not your color," Marco tells me as he and Cap guide me to sit on the ground.

XXXX

I don't really remember how I got here but I'm sitting in Big Red wearing Roy and Mike's turnout coats now. The window's cracked open a little and Chet's face peeks in.

"If you're gonna hurl again don't get any on Big Red. Mike'll kill ya."

"Shut up, Chet," I remove the oxygen mask that someone put on me.

"Brice, he's awake and cranky," Chet calls out.

Brice and Dixie are packaging up another victim. Chet's in my way and every time I try to get a look or get out of the engine he leans into my view. I dodge to the opposite side of him but instant regret follows me, one because the swift movement brought back the pounding and two because … the victim's dead.

"Where?" I ask Chet.

"We found another sinkhole in the backyard," Chet says sadly sounding exhausted and utterly worn. I swipe my hand over my eyes. "Now before you go thinking … there was nothing you could've done, Gage. He's been dead for hours. Dix says it was probably instant."

"That might be Abbey's father…"

"We don't know that. Don't buy trouble." Chet's moustached face swims into clearer focus when he slides into the cab of Big Red. He replaces the oxygen mask.

Brice steps onto the running board as Chet leaps down after patting my shoulder.

"Any word on Abbey?" I ask Brice.

"None, but Desoto's on his way back momentarily."

Brice removes the two turnout coats and I shiver. He rolls up the window and takes my vitals. I know he's only doing his job but it's so irritating. For the third time today … if it's still today … a penlight stabs into my retinas.

"M' hm."

A hand splays on my stomach and Brice looks at his watch.

"M'hm."

He takes my wrist and his lips move as he counts.

"M'hm."

"Will you cut that out!" I yell, removing the O2 mask again.

"M'hm."

Chet's in the window again.

"Don't sweat it, babe. The walking rulebook has no personality but I doubt you'll die under his care."

I'm too tired to glare when Chet again flips the mask back on me and pops back down when Cap calls him. He's like a gopher tonight, popping up every five minutes to irritate Brice.

Brice's jaw is set as he re-bandages my head. I have to admit he's gentler than Morton any day.

"It was bad today," I say lamely.

"The worst," he agrees taking a minute to swipe his eyes under his glasses. "Lots of fatalities, mostly in the houses."

"Yeah? There were survivors in the plane?"

"Plane-Z, as in there was two of them. Midair collision. I heard one pretty much landed on your head?"

"Now who told you that?" It was only a beam … thrown at me by a plane or two.

"Uh, I believe it was Roy, and then Ms. McCall and then Dr. Morton."

"Yeah well, I've got a hard head. I can take it. Now will you please stop fussing and let me out of here."

Chet's head pops up again. "Cap says stay put. The entire area is secure, everyone's accounted for … one way or another." Then he's gone.

"You've got a nasty concussion, Gage, " Brice tells me. "Rampart and St. Francis are crazy so Morton says you're better off here for now where we can keep an eye on you as we clean up."

"But Roy said I was f…"

And that's when I remember Roy's speech about honesty and the noble lie. He told me I was okay so I'd report to triage thinking I'd be sent back on duty. He knows I hate being kept from my job.

"You were out cold for twenty minutes, Gage … Roy's been worried sick since he found out you walked away from triage."

"Well he shouldn't have lied to me…" I want there to be venom in my voice but I can't muster it. Roy knows me too well. He knows I'd have argued reporting the injury.

"We about done here?" I ask Brice.

"I just need to call in your latest vitals and then for now, yeah, we're done," Brice replies.

I pick up Roy's turnout coat but his words from earlier sting me. I'm at fault so the sting is from realizing I've been a bit too dependent on him lately. I meant to return that stupid TV, just never got around to getting the knob fixed. I meant to return all the stuff I've borrowed. I just don't know what happened.

"Don't go to sleep, Gage," Brice orders me. I'll be back in twenty minutes or so or Desoto will be back by then."

"Don't sweat it, Brice, I'm sure the gopher'll be sure to annoy me enough that I won't sleep … for a week."

I slip back into Mike's coat, wipe the steam from the window and peek out of the huge front windshield. Stoker's wearing a nameless spare coat we keep for emergencies.

I lean my forehead into the cool glass of the door. That's when I see her … one red bulb circling and going out for a minute only to do a lazy repetition over and over again. The squad! We left her parked outside the house like we normally do. She was still running. Someone must have forgotten to pull her battery cables and kill the engine because she's still chugging if I'm seeing this correctly. God it's been hours.

I glance around and slip quietly from Big Red. My eyes flick over her once magnificently kept surface but she's all scrapes and dents down one side now. I think she'll live though. I falter a few times before catching my stride and make my way toward squad fifty-one down the block.

It's stupid really. Hot tears fall down my face and I slide down to sit with her. Tomorrow old Charlie'll whine about busted engines and dead squads and a new squad will be requisitioned as soon as HQ shuffles some papers to find money that they'll say they don't have. They have it. We all know it. They certainly aren't paying it to us. Oh yeah, the spokesman, Dick Friendly, who's not actually such a bad guy will call up the newspapers to report on the devastating financial burden this will place on the fire department and with much fanfare a new squad will be delivered to fifty-one. Except it won't be her.

Yeah, I know it's stupid to become attached to a vehicle but … there are memories here. She was my first. My first roll to an emergency where I really felt like I could make a difference. I remember studying all the compartments, memorizing every part of her. Roy and I laughed in here, fought in here and healed in here. It's been a long day and it's getting the better of me. I can't let Chet see me like this so I think I'll just sit down for five minutes and then make my way back to the engine before Roy gets back and catches me acting like a girl whose lost her dolly … okay, so not a good metaphor. Gah!

XXXX

Roy's take on things

XXXX

You'd think by now I'd learn that my partner is unpredictable; that in the six plus years we've worked together I should expect the unexpected … well to expect the unexpected kinda makes it expected … I expect. God, now I even sound like him. I'm beyond wiped out but that comes with the territory when a plane pretty much crashes on the house you're working on a young kid with a head trauma in. And speaking of head trauma, John took quite a blow to his head too when a beam fell on him. Well, it didn't actually line him up and fall on him, he sort of dived under it. He's kind of like a cat, hears things before they happen, has that weird sixth sense. We all heard the crack-boom of imminent doom but before we could react, John leapt up from taking vitals and sprawled across the bed earning himself a total knock out but saving that little girl further injury.

Trees have obliterated the unit … our unit. The driver and passenger sides are caved and I'm sure glad we weren't in it when that happened. As I get closer my heart sinks to my stomach. There on the front passenger side is John's turnout coat, the lettering of his name on the back impaled by a utility pole that's snapped off its base. If he'd been sitting there … I can't think of that now. I'm glad he's wearing mine. It's pretty cold now.

I step up to the twisted metal that was our squad. Part of me that my partner no doubt influenced somewhere along the line wants to take her pulse. I remember staring at her from the driver's seat of Big Red when I was up for promotion to engineer and turned it down. Even from up there, the squad held her own, looked powerful, called to me.

"She's dead," my partner's voice calls from the ground somewhere near the front of the squad causing me to nearly jump out of my boots. How the hell does he do that? I didn't make a sound and there's no way he can see me from amongst that fallen jungle he's in.

I creep to the front of the squad stepping over branches and broken taillights. The squad is only a thing. I need to see how my partner is.

I look down at John and sigh. Someone's cleaned up the blood that trickled down his forehead but the bandage is crimson and heavy, no doubt from the exertion of going after more victims when he was told to stay put at the triage centre. John's pupils are huge. He's sitting leaned up against the front bumper and he ironically picks up our spare, broken-to-hell defibrillator and puts the paddle to the metal.

"Clear," he says without enthusiasm and a half laugh, half sob escapes him. The stupid headlights that have somehow managed to remain lit die when he drops the paddle into his lap.

I approach him slowly feeling a bit like crying myself.

And my gut twists.

For the past two days John and I have been … sorta sniping at each other. I take it for granted that John understands the arguments brothers have but only when I forget he didn't have any brothers until he joined the fire department.

"Your coat's in the engine," John tells me.

"Uh, thanks, but you should really be wearing it, it's cold, Junior."

"I've borrowed enough from you … Hell now that I think on it, I even talk to Joanne on the phone every time we have a bad day … or a good day, like that time when we found out we weren't going to jail for theft..."

I remember that day so vividly. John was so happy, told me he had to share the good news with someone too. He practically skipped to the payphone to call Joanne. At first it seemed odd to me and then I realized, when John's aunt died, the last of his relatives were gone. I stopped finding it odd after that and Joanne looked forward to his calls, said he made her laugh. He's like a little brother now. And I might have blown it.

I sit down beside my partner, both of us exhausted and sadder than we'll ever admit.

"Johnny, about earlier, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. If it makes you feel any better my big brother Emerson called and wants his surfboard back … the one I borrowed in 1966. But you see I can't give it to him because I broke it, showing off for Joanne before we got married. He also wants his TV back but I couldn't give it to him because I lent it to you … see I forgot it wasn't mine."

"So you're saying you're just like me?" John says, cocking his head to face me making the heavy bandage finally give up and slide right down over his eyes. He pushes it back up and I don't have anything on me to cut it off and redress it here so I'll have to get him back to Big red right away.

"Well, I didn't say that …"

John just grins in that annoying … God I'm glad he's okay. Well, as okay as a guy can be when a plane pretty much lands on your head.

"We good?" I ask bumping shoulders with my best friend.

"Better than good. We're … brothers."

John attempts to stand on his own but his knees buckle so I take his arm and we both trudge back to Big Red. It's over. Mike's sort of winding down and staring at his engine like he has no idea where to begin, Chet and Marco are talking about being on the news and how it will affect their dating stats for the next few weeks and Cap's dismissing companies one by one on the radio. Brice's hands are on his hips and he really looks like he wants to say something about John taking off but one glare from me and he shuts up.

"Need any help with 'im?" Brice asks.

"Nah, he ain't heavy, he's my brother!" I laugh because if I don't laugh right now, I think I'll cry. Brice shakes his head and Bellingham puts his arm around his partner and leads him away.

"I think you should call Jo, she's probably been watching this all on TV and she's likely worried sick about you," John whispers when we're done laughing.

"No, I think we should call Joanne, from Rampart where you're going for stitches. She's probably worried about us."

"I'm fine, Roy, you said so."

"Yeah well, I lied. I mean a plane pretty much fell on your head."

John glares at me.

Cap gives up his seat up front to John and Mike takes the wheel. Big Red limps along. One by one the floodlights go out and even the Ministry of Transportation investigating the crash is calling it a night. The post apocalyptic-looking neighborhood is plunged into darkness. As we pass the head of the debris field police take up their roadblocks. At least there will be no looting; not that there's much left but something's better than nothing. The community center on the next block is set up and equipped with emergency food and shelter. Lost looking people stand outside smoking or just talking. Smoke still lingers in the air.

We drive to Rampart, Mike cringing like it hurts every time Big Red grinds or clinks. The lot is full but we've always got a spot. The five of us walk in together. Gurneys line the hallways but the chaos is over and orderlies are taking patients to their assigned rooms. Treatment three is open.

Dr. Brackett's exhausted. There's no spring in his step when he walks into treatment three. The four of us leave it to Brackett to make John lie down. Brackett makes a move to take his respirations.

" Respirations twenty three and I'm fine … just inhaled some dust and smoke."

"M'hm."

John rolls his eyes. Brackett takes his wrist.

"Seventy-three, but I'm hardly resting and…"

"A plane pretty much landed on his head," I add unhelpfully earning myself another glare.

"M'hm" Brackett shines a light into John's eyes and I don't think I've heard my partner use such colorful language before. It's not exactly swearing I don't think … He told me it was something his grandfather used to say when he was building something and hit his finger with a hammer. Well, even if it is swearing, I think John's justified this time.

Brackett pulls John's bandage I replaced on the way over here off.

"You're gonna need about twelve stitches but you'll need to sit still with an ice pack until the swelling comes down so it mends smoothly."

As if she can hear through walls, Dixie appears with an ice pack. She pats John on the shoulder and hands the ice pack to me and in seconds she's gone.

"Twenty-three dead, Dix hasn't seen anything like this since Korea. It's been rough. We're all on double shifts."

John's head squishes back into the pillows as I push his hair back and apply the cold pack. After the initial shock of cold he relaxes into the slight pain relief it brings and an audible sigh escapes him.

"I think we can give you a little something for the pain and nausea," Brackett says, noting the slightly green tinge to my partner's face.

I can't help but laugh when my partner holds out his hand expecting a pill.

"Nice try, Junior but you'd likely just throw it up."

Brackett agrees and John motions for us to turn around. I hear the paper under him crinkle as he turns over for his shot.

"Ouch!" is followed by that colorful string of native words as I turn back around. I really must find out what exactly that means. If it's not too bad I'll start saying that instead of the usual semi swear word that I use that gets me a glare from Jo.

Soon Johns' shoulders visibly relax and he blinks in a tired sort of way. The medication is taking effect.

Brackett checks the wound again and the swelling is down considerably. I drape a washcloth over John's face so blood doesn't run into his eyes while he's stitched up.

"Thanks, Doc, John says, sitting up a bit too fast and listing to the left. Chet quickly sits down beside him on the exam table.

"I'm afraid you'll be our guest until morning, Johnny. You'll need someone to wake you for checks. John doesn't argue and this is when we really start to worry.

"Listen, guys, thanks for the ride. I'll see you … next shift?" he looks to Brackett who looks doubtful.

"We'll see."

"Look Doc, Rampart's swamped and it's not like any of us are going to sleep tonight. We're stood down so we were gonna go back to my place for a few beers. We could take your runaway patient with us and wake him for the checks. Promise to bring him back if he wakes up any stranger than he already was."

Brackett agrees and John gingerly gets dressed again. Bruises mottle his upper shoulders and we all cringe in sympathy as he slides off the exam table. I wrap my coat around his shoulders before we step outside. He sinks into the warmth and closes his eyes for a minute.

Big Red doesn't have to be in the shop until tomorrow and Cap takes executive authority. We drive her to my house. Chet and Marco help John inside where Jo folds him into a huge hug. I smile and watch through the window as she swipes some of his way-too-long hair out of his eyes and sees for herself how fine he isn't.

"You okay, Mike?" I ask as Mike pauses in the driveway where Big Red dwarfs my garage and hangs over the sidewalk.

"Yeah … Boy that was really close. I was standing on the other side of her when the explosion went off. God, Chet and Marco were right on this wrecked side one minute before it happened."

I put my arm on Stoker's shoulder and lead him inside for a much needed beer. Jo's already lent Johnny a pair of my L.A.F.D. sweats and a robe on top of that because he's still cold. The guys have beer and John has a hot chocolate in front of him. It's gonna be a long night but it'll be a long night together. Stoker is sincere when he tells us how sad it is that we lost the squad.

"May she rest in pieces," John says sadly holding up his cup and the shiver that accompanies it tells me there's more to his night than I know.

It's testament to the Phantom's discretion when Chet doesn't tease John when he tells us about the dead doll. In fact, Chet took off his helmet that he'd been wearing for some reason and passed it around and we all put some money into it for a new doll for Abbey Josephine Lindhurst who's going to be just fine incidentally following surgery for a perforated bowel. It's when Chet turns back around that we realize why he's been wearing his helmet. His eyebrows are gone … singed off but he's otherwise just fine.

"Wonder if I can get compensation for my eyebrows? Maybe even a free flight somewhere…"

"Your eyebrows didn't singe off, Kelly, they probably ran away from your face," John tells Chet. They go back and forth like that for a few minutes and that tells us that everything's gonna be okay. We all raise our glass … and mug.

There's silence for a long time but it's comfortable. John nods off and I set my watch as Joanne drapes a blanket over his thin frame. I catch all the guys sneaking peeks at him. It's a miracle we weren't killed and we all know it.

So here's to squad fifty-one, Talking Wendy Walker and Chet's eyebrows.

And brothers of course who are not borrowed like items but are yours for life.

XXXX

Author's notes … again. So yeah, the squad was wrecked in that movie and there was no mention of it at all either and given how they seem to feel about it I thought it was proper she at least get a mention too. Cheers!