John Gage's right foot longed to put the pedal to the metal as he drove along the freeway toward Rampart Hospital. He even rehearsed possible excuses for police if he got pulled over should he give in to his right foot's wishes. He assured himself those excuses wouldn't entirely be a lie, he was after all going to the hospital, not that that would in any way be an excuse for speeding; there was no emergency if you didn't count being an hour late for a first date with a hot nurse. Damn brush fires, they paid no heed to the schedules of men.
Oncoming traffic lights interrogated the young paramedic, stabbing into his soot-etched retinas. Why were you late exactly, Mr. Gage; did you decide to skip out on your date; did you decide you didn't want to spend money on her? His smoke parched mouth added to the feeling he imagined when he watched the suspects on Adam-12 eye the cool drink of water on the other side of the bare bulb just out of his reach. He swept his hand over his eyes which did nothing to soothe them but instead created surreal trails of red lightning from brake lights that stretched out for miles.
Yep, John's date was bound to be angry. He imagined her slipping out of her white, sensible nursing shoes into a pair of black stilettos, freeing her hair from the prison of that ridiculous white hat to fall softly to her shoulders and slipping into a little black dress. She would wait for five minutes before clicking on her heels angrily out the door and end up in hair rollers and flannel with a pint of ice cream and a bad chick flick behind her before he could explain why he failed to pick her up after her shift was through at this rate.
A flower/cheap sunglasses/tube sock vendor's cart was parked under an overpass. John pulled his Land Rover over and slammed it into park. He leaned to his far right to rifle the dashboard for loose change or bills.
"Ow!"
John righted himself from his leaned position to inspect his right side where his favorite white button-down cotton shirt was currently absorbing a silver dollar sized blood spot.
Why would victims run from a burning house into a damned cactus field? Had no one heeded the adage of 'out of the frying pan and into the fire'?
"Great," he muttered, exiting the vehicle to bend his side view mirror down for a better look. The bandage he'd placed on the small cactus wound was either somewhere in his truck where his date would no doubt sit or step on it or had migrated down into his boxers. Neither scenario was good, not that he thought his date might see his boxers tonight … she'd have probably stormed out once she found out that bowling shoes clashed with little black dresses. That's not what he'd tell Chet, however.
John jumped out of his Rover. His side view mirror refused to cooperate to show him the wound. It screeched its rusty discontent at its current position loudly as he failed to stifle a mild cuss of pain. He tried standing on his tiptoes, leaning painfully forward to look straight down at it but to no avail. The wound was just out of his peripheral vision. John un-tucked his shirt more and the old lady vendor gasped as she peered out of her dusty, rounded windshield with withered curiosity mixed with a healthy dose of disgust. Her side window screeched down as if in answer to his rearview mirror and a wrinkled finger wiggled at him from a two inch gap.
"You there, young man, what is wrong with you? There are perfectly good service stations where you can do that," the old lady admonished.
"What? Me? No … you have it all wrong, see I wasn't gonna …" John stammered.
As John struggled to tuck his shirt back in a police cruiser pulled in behind his Rover. The old lady got out of her vehicle very sprightly then, snapping back a branch of a scrub tree into her would-be customer's face as she passed him to get to the officer.
"Arrest this man," she demanded. "He was going to pee on the side of the freeway right there in front of me!"
"Wait a minute," John pleaded, licking his split lip from the tree branch to the face. He pivoted, his shirttail catching on the bent side mirror and sending him sprawling to the gravel. The rush of colder air and the ripping of cotton on his back told him things weren't going to improve any time soon.
John heard the distinct tsk tsk from the old lady. The officer's boots kicked up dirt as John let out a long, low sigh which sent puffs of dust up his nose and into his eyes as he lay flat on his stomach.
"Okay, I'm gonna need you get up real slow with your hands over your head," the officer instructed, his duty boots pivoting under John's dirt smudged nose.
John knew better than to argue. Better to stand up and explain, only that proved a little difficult now that the pains from his last rescue made themselves known.
"I wasn't gonna pee, honest, I was just checking this wound, see?" John explained rolling onto his back.
The officer drew his gun and thumbed his radio.
"Whoa! Now wait a minute here, I haven't done anything!"
"L.A. I have a suspect matching the description of the APB on the wounded bank robbery suspect, request back up and an ambulance to exit 400 on Sepulveda."
The gun had most of John Gage's attention but he managed a weak squeak of, "Um, th-this isn't a bullet wound, it's a … a cactus thorn wound. I got 'em all over, see?"
John made to lift his shirt slightly but the sound of the gun cocking made his arms shoot into the air again.
"See, Officer, just like that, he was going to take his pants off!" the old lady moaned, turning around but craning her neck to look back over her shoulder just the same.
"Are you on drugs, son?" the officer unhelpfully asked taking in the tiny punctures up and down the paramedic's arms from cactus thorns and his red-rimmed, smoke irritated eyes.
John wished he was at this point. And that cop was hardly older than he was, who was he to call him son?
"No, sir, you have the wrong person, if you'd just let me explain…"
"I have to tell you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," the officer supplied helpfully.
Images flashed in John's mind as he stood on the majestic steps of the L.A. County Courthouse surrounded by reporters all asking him why he had to pee on the freeway. After two days of no sleep and exhausting brush fires it was almost comical. Almost…
"Okay, here goes, after my shift, I was late for my date so I swung by the bank to get…"
Wrong words.
"I have to stop you until I read you the whole Miranda Act," the officer said as John forgot his prone prisoner stance to swipe his hands through his hair in frustration.
"And you don't look dressed for a date, Sonny Jim so lies won't get you anywhere either," the old lady unhelpfully supplied as John subconsciously searched the ground for her two cents which surely had to transcend the luck barrier and be lucky pennies or something.
"Like I said, I was dealing with fires and…"
"Arson too? Have you no decency?" the wrinkly-apple-faced woman asked indignantly until the officer asked her to please sit in her truck.
"NO! I'm John Gage, fireman-paramedic with L.A. County, station fifty one."
"Get him for impersonating a fireman too!" came the muffled voice of the woman from inside her truck with the windows now rolled down fully.
Sirens wailed in the distance. John chanced a glance up at his wristwatch. He was now an hour and a half late for his date, his shirt was ruined, and he felt a slight trickle of blood tickle down his side to disappear into the waist of his jeans. His normally strong arms shook slightly with exertion from holding them up after such grueling shifts. The slight muscle tremors unnoticed by all but him seemed to be accompanied by a weird drum-like tattoo until John realized that his Rover was now spluttering into death, out of gas as much as he was.
"You should get him for idling too, officer; the air here in L.A. is bad enough without hooligans like this idling for hours." The old lady's voice was almost drowned by the sirens as they loomed ever closer. She added a dramatic cough to make her point.
"You're a … a fireman?" the officer coaxed.
"Yes, and I'm just coming off a shift, a very long shift. I wasn't trying to …" John blushed deeply; "pee, either, I was checking my prick…"
The old lady fainted.
"Cactus prick!" John wailed blushing deeper, and almost getting up to help the passed out old prune to offer his assistance.
"Stay where you are, I'm gonna need to see some I.D."
And here's where the story really fell apart.
"I forgot it back at the station," John explained. "See I never made it to the bank and even if I had it would've been closed so I went through my glove box and found enough money to buy my date some flowers to apologize for my lateness. I was gonna give 'em to her and drive back to the station for my wallet and I.D.
"Driving without a license!" the miraculously awakened old woman yelled in triumph, her finger now able to wave freely at him unlike the feeble attempt from the small space earlier.
When the familiar sirens of a squad followed the ambulance John looked up to give thanks for small miracles … tiny, infinitesimal miracles really but the officers who arrived at the same time waved them off with instructions to wait.
Two plainclothes officers approached the young officer with the gun trained on the suspect. The senior officer's eyes roved to the blood spot on John's left side. He stepped forward and frisked the paramedic who squirmed in discomfort as hands roved tender areas where he'd pulled thorns from earlier.
"Okay, lie on the ground and let the paramedics check you out. I want your hands at your side at all times, is that clear?" the officer instructed.
"Yes sir," John said, humiliation laced in both syllables. But surely this would all be over in a minute or two.
John stayed quiet until Brice's face loomed over him, the gun in the background seemingly not fazing the perfect paramedic in the slightest.
"Hi, Craig," John said casually, a resigned half-grin, half-grimace on his face.
"Gage?" Brice bellowed incredulously.
"You can call me John, I'm off duty and while this is a crisis situation technically, I'm sure it can all be resolved if you'd just tell these guys who I am," John said amicably.
"You know this guy?" the gun-toting officer asked.
"This is fireman-paramedic John Gage with the L.A. County Fire Department," Brice acknowledged much to John's relief until … "What's he done?"
"Brice!"
"BP's a little up, Bob-The-Animal Bellingham offered helpfully as he set up the biophone, shrugging apologetically down at the prone paramedic.
"He was going to pee on the freeway!" the old lady supplied stepping from her pickup only to be told to get back inside by the senior officer.
"Geez I didn't think peein' on the freeway was this big a deal," Bellingham shuddered, wincing at the officer with the gun as if making a mental note to never do that again.
Another cruiser pulled up. A tall, black officer stared down at the non-bank robber, non highway pee-er.
"Johnny?"
"Vince, thank Ga-awd!" Johnny rasped. "Ouch, Brice don't touch my prick!"
This time the old lady didn't faint but sat up straight and put her hand to her ear as if it was a giant ear horn.
"CACTUS PRICK!" John bellowed.
Was Brice grinning? He was.
"Is that or is it not a bullet wound?" the senior officer asked.
"I can assure you it's just his prick," Bellingham chortled.
"Cactus prick," John lamented, rather happy that no one told him to put his hands back down when he covered his eyes for a minute.
"Stand down fellas, this guy's shift just ended, he's not our suspect," Vince instructed. "How you doin' John?"
John heard the hammer of the gun un-cock as it was holstered.
"Man, I'm sorry, but you see how this looked?" the officer said, leaning down to offer John a hand up.
John had to admit, he did see how it looked.
"I'm Drew Burke," the officer said as John took his hand.
"John Gage," John panted as he made to sit up.
"Now just a minute, you can't just get up, your B.P.'s up, you're diaphoretic, you're bleeding…" Brice said sternly.
John grunted as he sat up glaring Brice's stethoscope-laden hand away from him.
"Sixteen, what's the status of your patient?" came Dixie McCall's voice from the biophone.
"Rampart, we have an uncooperative victim at present, will advise you of status as soon as it's established," Bellingham said.
The second police car drove away with its disappointed occupants on the lookout for a dark haired young bank robber with a bullet wound on his right side who'd apparently switched stolen vehicles several times during the chase.
"Look, John, I've gotta go too, why don't let these two check you out and then be on your way?" Vince asked kindly, taking in the paramedic's pale, sweaty features.
"Look, I'm fine, I just hate guns. Anyone would be a little upset after having a gun pointed in your face, being accused of peeing on the freeway, robbing a bank, driving without a license, idling…"
"Well, you were driving without proof of a license," Drew Burke pointed out. "But I think I can give you a warning for that," he added with a slight grin looking to Vince for approval.
Then it all came back to John.
"Why did you pull in after me anyway? I wasn't speeding," John mused, suddenly annoyed all over again.
Bellingham mouthed a new B.P. reading to Brice as John's heart rate increased with the irritation.
"Oh! That … well, I'm new, I get all the assignments no one else wants. I'm here to fine this vendor for operating on the underpass without a permit but of course I'd heard to be on the lookout for a suspected bank robber with a bullet wound in his right side and so naturally I thought…"
"But … but…" the lady stammered.
Now it was John's turn to glare at the old lady who'd taken every opportunity to try to send him to the big house.
"I really do think you should let these guys check you out, Gage, you do look … I don't know paramedic lingo so I'll just use what my wife, Pam always says … peaky. Yeah, peaky, definitely a bit green around the gills."
"Did you get that, Brice? Tell Rampart your patient is peaky, they'll love that, and coming from you, they'll put that word in all the manuals." John groused.
While Brice tried to decide whether he'd been praised or insulted, John got to his feet to watch the exchange between the original 'perp' and the officer.
Officer Drew Burke approached the pickup truck. A tattered pink paper was held out for his inspection from the now rolled up window.
"Your license to operate this stand expired last week," Burke said, crossing his arms over his chest.
John leaned slightly to the left to get a better view just as the perfect paramedic's gloved finger probed the wound in his right side.
"Ow-ouch! What are you doin', Brice? I told you I'm fine!" John said as he hopped on one foot slightly clutching his side. "This is all just one big misunderstanding."
"You have a fever, Johnny boy," Bob-The-Animal-Bellingham told the protesting paramedic while Brice glared at his partner for using familiar first names.
"What? I do not," John snapped as Brice popped a thermometer into his open mouth. More to prove that he did not have fever John left the thermometer where it was and glared at Brice as he read it, his eyes opening in fury as Brice picked up the biophone to report a temperature of one hundred and two point five in a Code I.
"'M'not a Code I, Craig," John said to emphasize that he wasn't on duty yet again.
"Oh, yes, of course, well, uh," the flustered rulebook spluttered searching his mind no doubt for a code for this situation.
"Johnny, I think your prick's infected," The Animal chortled. I think you should let us take you in to Rampart and get it checked it out. You've had one helluva day."
Brice shook his head in annoyance as John grinned with Bellingham.
John declined the trip to Rampart and snatched the antiseptic and cotton from Brice as the annoying man reached for his shirttail. When Brice looked a little insulted John sighed sigh number twenty three that day and tried to make nice.
"I uh, look, I appreciate all you've done, I really do. I'll clean this up, take a couple of aspirins and keep an eye on it, promise, okay?" And with that John went back to watching the lady get her comeuppance.
Drew wrote a ticket and handed it to the old lady who promptly shoved it in her glove box muttering about 'peeing' paramedics and being stepped on by 'the man'. Drew made his way back to Johnny just as he was scrawling his signature across a form on a clipboard before thrusting it back into the bespectacled paramedic's hands.
John looked at his watch. It had stopped. Why wouldn't this day just stop with it?
"Rampart, patient has signed a waiver to refuse treatment at this time. He'll seek treatment from his family doctor if the condition persists," Brice dutifully reported.
"I'm his doctor," John heard Dr. Brackett mutter angrily as Brice signed off.
The empty ambulance pulled away as Bellingham gathered up sixteen's equipment.
Seeing Gage shiver in the rather warm evening air, Brice wasn't prepared to leave quite yet. He lingered, fussing with the equipment longer than Bellingham had ever seen him.
Drew called for a tow truck rather than just an automobile club gas refill. His trained eyes saw impairment of exhaustion in the paramedic's posture as he scrabbled in his dashboard drawing out a few bills. He couldn't let the young man drive.
John made his way to the old lady who had resumed her position in a tattered lawn chair. Her disposition toward him warmed considerably when she discovered that he was about to contribute to her fine-paying fund. Tired, dark eyes scanned the scant variety of slightly past-prime flowers.
"No roses?" he croaked.
"This ain't Rodeo Drive ya know," the lady said, her annoyance returning as she plucked a dozen pink carnations from a plastic bucket of water and fished out a few bills from his hands. The paramedic then climbed into his Rover and placed his head on the steering wheel to await the tow truck.
XXXX
As sixteen had no calls, Bellingham and Brice waited with Drew Burke who now sat filling out paperwork in his patrol car. The tow truck pulled in fifteen minutes later. Drew jumped from behind the wheel, surprised that his former suspect hadn't moved when the flashing yellow lights fell across him over and over again and the reverse gear warning beeps failed to wake him.
The over vigilant Brice made it to the side of the Rover before the other two men. He reached in and felt for a pulse on John's neck.
"Gah! Don't shoot!" John yelled, hands flying up only to crush his fingers into the roof of the Rover and spill the forgotten rubbing alcohol which sat perched in his lap.
"Ouch, damn it, Brice!"
Without thinking, John put his hands to his face only to exclaim in pain when the harsh antiseptic made contact with his already smoke-irritated eyes which started streaming tears, John bolted out of the SUV, cussing loudly but thankfully incoherently. He hobbled around in small, erratic circles on the dusty ground as the tiny cuts in his thighs from the cactus patch were unceremoniously filled with rubbing alcohol which dripped down his legs.
As Brice made to put a hand on the young paramedic's shoulder, Bellingham stopped him. A silent exchange between the two men took place, something Burke could only guess was an argument in favor or not of tackling the further insulted-to-injured paramedic. Bellingham made a face that was clearly a gloat when John stopped, putting his hands out as if in surrender.
"Uh, w-would one 'a you guys mind washin' out my eyes?" John asked meekly, his shoulders sagging impossibly further as he heard the old lady tsk tsk'ing again.
"He peed his pants! He peed his pants!" she yelled in obvious triumph pointing at the spilled rubbing alcohol on his jeans.
Officer Drew Burke looked sorely tempted to arrest her but as any law was concerned, schoolyard bullying like this was usually handled by … well, parents or teachers … of children.
"Ma'am, you have two days to pay that fine, in the meantime, I could look around for more infractions …"
The threat hung in the air creating the desired cone of silence around the irritating old bag while Drew made his way to the back of squad sixteen.
John clutched at his knees in obvious concerted effort not to stop Brice from prying his eyelids open while Bellingham gently poured saline into them.
"John I'm not quite sure but I think you have a slight scratch on your eye," Bellingham said, twisting his fellow paramedic's head slightly to the left. "Did you get soot in your eyes out in the brush?"
John looked up at him with a blurred duh look on his face. He schooled his features before answering. This was not his fellow-firefighter's fault.
"Yeah, I had 'em washed out twice during the last eight hours, the alcohol just burned a bit because they were already irritated, but I'm fine; honest."
Hair slicked back from the ordeal, John shook his head as much to dry his hair as to clear his thoughts. He blinked a few times trying to conceal a squint.
"Okay … well, uh, thanks … again, really guys," John said sincerely as Bellingham's hand on his shoulder became heavier as he tried to stand up from the bumper. John ducked down further and out from under the restraint and headed for his Rover, wincing with every movement.
John approached his SUV only to stop and gape at the odd angle, its front wheels reared in imagined defiance; its rear wheels perched on the ground ready to run away from him like time had done to him all day.
John slapped his bumper as dirt kicked up when his wheels found purchase from the gravel to the pavement and it took off, rear lights gloating back at him, dancing with the yellow revolving lights like this was some sort of party.
"I just needed some gas," the resigned young man said, pink carnations dangling from his limp arm.
A breeze kicked up and John shivered again, more keenly aware of his dampened hair.
"Come on, John, we'll give you a ride to Rampart, maybe your date waited…" Bellingham coaxed.
"We're not allowed to transport patients in the squad except in extreme emergency situations," Brice said, specific rules no doubt about to spew forth.
"He's not a patient, he signed the waiver," Bellingham said. "Look, we need supplies; we're going there anyway, what's the harm?"
John walked up to Officer Burke, hands in the air. "Arrest me, please, if I have to watch this I'm gonna kill someone anyway," he begged.
"Come on, I'll take you to Rampart. I have some forms to give to the jail ward warden at Rampart anyway," Burke agreed staring incredulously as Brice and Bellingham went back and forth on proper protocol.
John headed to the rear door.
"I think I can let you sit up front," the officer smiled as he opened the door and automatically put his hand on the top of Gage's head as he plopped his pained body into the seat.
"Do you believe those guys?" John asked as the squad fell into place behind Drew's cruiser.
Drew looked in his rearview mirror and shook his head. "Yeah, I work with a couple of guys just like 'em."
John looked at the cruiser's speedometer. He felt it would be churlish to point out that Drew was speeding. They cruised along the freeway, Brice flashing his lights a few times along the way at vehicles matching their pace but it was just a warning seemingly as he didn't pull anyone over. It was amazing how fast the traffic slowed around them once they saw the lights.
Drew grinned into the rearview mirror as both vehicles pulled into Rampart's lot.
"Mr. Brice, do you know how fast you were going back there?" Burke asked striding up to Squad Sixteen making sure his passenger had a good view of the proceedings.
"Uh, uh, no, officer, I was uh, um … following at a safe distance to ensure our patient made it to Rampart without complications…"
"But back there you said he wasn't your patient," Burke said, drawing out his ticket book. I'm going to have to notify your captain…"
"No, please!" Brice begged.
Burke winked at John who could barely contain laughing as he sat watching the exchange. This was a prank worthy of Chet Kelly and that was saying something.
Brice was pink in the face, his glasses slipping on his suddenly sweaty face.
"I'm going to let you off with a warning this time, Brice; I don't think we have to notify your superiors but remember when you're not in a crisis situation, you can't drive that way."
"Thank you, officer, it won't happen again," Brice gulped as Bellingham slapped him playfully on the back.
XXXX
John felt crowded as he searched the E.R. lobby for his date, who as expected was not there. Shivering slightly again he made his way to the men's room to freshen up. He glared at Brice who made to follow him in. The mirror afforded him his first good look at his now eight hour old wound. Angry red lines circled a quarter sized wound which when pressed had him sucking in his breath. Head down, shoulders slumped; John made his way to the E.R. desk reluctantly admitting to himself that he needed to be seen.
"There he is," Brice said unnecessarily as if the next words out of his mouth were going to be get him!
Brackett's arms were folded across his chest as he held open the door to treatment room three while Brice wore an I-told-on-you face.
"I was gonna tell 'em," the irritated paramedic shot at Brice.
"Desoto told me you downplay injuries, I made note of that in case I was ever assigned to treat you or work with you," Brice said.
Bellingham nodded sheepishly and for once agreed with his annoying partner.
"Well, they might be irritating but they seem to care," Officer Burke said, gently patting the young paramedic on the shoulder.
"Yeah … anyway, thanks for the lift, it was nice to meet you," John said, holding out his hand to shake.
"It was?" the equally young officer said incredulously.
"Nah, not really," admitted John. "I hate guns!"
"Listen, let me buy you a beer one of these days to make it up to you, I mean chances are we're going to bump into one another from time to time on the job and I want to erase this first impression," Drew suggested.
"That'd be great," the paramedic perked up warily eyeing the gun in Drew's holster. Drew handed him a card and scratched his home phone number on it.
"Take care, Gage, sorry about your date," Burke said as headed out the E.R. doors.
Brackett cleared his throat and John followed him into treatment three feeling pretty confident since for once in a long while he'd walked into the room under his own steam.
Dixie McCall eased John out of his shirt and helped him lie back on the table. She held up the garment and raised her eyebrows questioningly at it as her foot depressed the lid of the garbage bin. He nodded sadly at his favorite shirt in permission for her to discard it.
"I'm afraid the tip of the cactus thorn is still inside the wound, Johnny," Brackett declared poking at John's side with gloved fingers as the paramedic sucked in and held his breath. "It's fairly deep, Dix start an IV with ringers. John I'm going to add some IV antibiotics and give you something to relax your abdominal muscles and help you relax as well as a local to freeze the area."
"Aw, Doc, are you sure you can't just freeze it and get it out so I can get outta here? Ouch!"
"Just a little prick 'cause your prick's infected," Brackett smiled, clearly enjoying his own joke as Dix slid the IV needle in perfectly.
"Bellingham told you everything, didn't he?" John grouched lifting his head as Dixie hooked up the canula and adjusted the flow of the IV and shot several vials of clear liquid into it.
"Actually it was that officer; he was a bit worried you'd suffered some shock from being held at gunpoint," Dixie told her prone patient.
"Roy's got eyes everywhere," John slurred as the medications took affect. "M'not totally irresponsible, I was gonna tell ya, that's why I came to the desk … well, that and to ask if Melanie waited for me. I brought her flowers…"
Brackett shook his head as he gently probed John's wound again and getting no response from his patient, set about probing around for the cactus thorn tip. John made rather slurred small talk with Dixie as she handed Brackett instruments.
"So, uh, Melanie, sh-she went home, huh?"
"Actually, no, she decided to work a double shift when you didn't show up," Dixie told him.
"Far out, I can give her the flowers still," he said, craning his neck to see what had become of the sad little arrangement of carnations and baby's breath.
"Yeah…" Dixie trailed off, glad that her patient's eyes closed and he drifted into in a momentary sleep.
XXXX
Someone nudged his arm.
"Mr. Gage?"
The voice was familiar but wrong somehow. He looked up into his ditched date's face.
"Melanie, am I glad to see you," he said, his throat very dry causing him to cough.
Melanie crossed the room and filled a paper cup with water and handed it to him as she set about taking a set of vitals and peeling back the bandage of John's wound without a word.
"Look, I-I'm really sorry about our date but …" He gestured over his abdomen as if that would clear everything up.
Melanie responded by sticking a thermometer in his mouth.
"You're normal," she announced.
Somehow John wondered why that was such a bad thing but the look on Melanie's face told him nothing short of an actual bullet wound would have excused his failing to show up for their date. He was seeing a side to Melanie that belied her sparkling blonde hair white smile and flirtatious ways that she'd shown only days ago.
"I got you some flowers," John said lamely, pointing with embarrassment to the green plastic jug that held the carnations that Dixie had so kindly put in water.
"Those are road flowers, Gage. You know nothing about women at all; I should have listened to the others. When a guy doesn't show up for a date with me, they better have roses in a vase with bows and chocolates that they actually spent some time picking up."
John gaped like a fish as Melanie efficiently did her job. At first he was going to try to plead his case, after all, this was one of his best excuses he'd ever had for not showing up for a date, but something stuck in his mind, the way she'd hissed, 'road flowers.' He wanted a girl who would be thrilled by his tale of almost getting shot by the cops, almost getting blinded by smoke and rubbing alcohol, saving no less than six people from a fire that day and still showing up with … flowers. For the first time in his life, John said nothing as Melanie left the room still scribbling in his chart.
John tapped his foot on the stirrup at the bottom of the gurney he was on, shaking his head in wonder as to why it was there when clearly he wasn't a female and his examination had nothing to do with anything down … there. Thank Gawwwd! he thought to himself. But for good measure he closed his eyes and went over everything that had happened in the last hour making sure he'd not fallen asleep and added some sort of weird alien probing to his miserable day. At this point nothing would surprise him and he found himself very impatient to be discharged. After all, he was normal, even though Melanie clearly thought that was a bad thing.
XXXX
An hour later John was reclining on the gurney watching the last of his IV drain. Surely Brackett would be in to sign release forms. There would the usual warnings to come back if anything went awry and he'd be free … to borrow money for a cab ride home.
The door opened revealing Dixie with a fresh set of scrubs in her hands. She smiled at her young patient informing him that Brackett had officially released him. Her eyes fell on the unclaimed flowers. She wished she could have found a glass vase for them, there were always a few left around after patient releases but she'd been so busy the best she could do was to put them in water in whatever container was around at the time so they wouldn't further wilt.
Dixie began unhooking the finished IV, saddened that her friend wasn't excitedly regaling her with tales of adventure, almost being shot, blinded, saving people and riding in the front seat of a police cruiser with the very cop who nearly shot him.
"I take it things didn't go well with Melanie?" Dixie asked bending John's arm up to stem the flow of blood while she prepared some gauze and tape.
"You can say that again," the paramedic said quietly.
"Well, she wasn't the one for you, then," Dixie said with conviction.
"Yeah…"
"Listen, there's someone here to see you, Dixie told John, come on out once you're dressed.
John slid into the scrub pants grateful at their bagginess around his tender stomach. Still shrugging into the top, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway almost giddy with being freed and not taking any chances lingering longer. The site that met his eyes stopped his momentary triumph. A gurney stood in the hallway, blood blossomed from the abdomen of the person beneath the sheet and suddenly John knew who was under that sheet though his face was covered. The young bank robber had obviously not sought treatment soon enough. Their paths had crossed again and John swallowed hard knowing that he could easily have been the one beneath the sheet if Drew wasn't trained properly to keep a cool head and assess the situation carefully when making an arrest. John's hand went absently to his own abdomen feeling the gauze over the wound that was starting to awaken from its freezing announce pain that was more keenly felt in the presence of the dead young man.
Drew looked up as his superior officer signed papers and spoke to a very solemn Doctor Brackett.
"Hey, Johnny, you don't look so good man; they released you?"
"Y-yeah. Is that … is it…"
"I'm afraid so. Doc said if he'd turned himself in earlier he could have been saved. I wish things were different. Look you'd better sit down."
John let himself be led to the desk. Drew steered him behind it into Dixie's usual tall chair and poured him a cup of coffee. John closed his eyes and took a sip, savoring the heat that he felt down every inch of his chest.
"So, did your date understand?" Drew asked trying to refocus the paramedic's attention from staring at the gurney.
"Nah, it didn't work out," John said, refusing to go further.
"Aw man, I'm sorry. I wish I could make it up to you. Hey, maybe I can drive you home?"
John was just about to take Drew up on his offer when in walked Roy.
Urgh! thought John. Someone woke poor Roy up to come get me?
Roy opened the door to treatment three and peaked in scratching his head in puzzlement at finding it empty. He turned and his eyes widened in horror as he took in the covered body on the gurney which was identically the same size and shape as his partner.
"Hey, Roy, over here," John called quietly past the group of officers and Dr. Brackett still talking in the hall as an orderly removed the dead young bank robber.
Roy's hand briefly lingered over his chest and John could see him take a huge breath of relief. Something warmed his chest besides the coffee.
"You okay, junior?" Roy said, clearly not trusting him to speak the truth as he rounded the corner of Dixie's desk to visually assess him for himself.
"I'm fine, Roy, honest," John told his partner and friend. "Uh, Officer Drew Burke, meet Roy Desoto, my partner at fifty one."
Drew and Roy shook hands as John filled Roy in on what had happened.
"Sorry you got called, Pally, I'm fine, I was just on my way home," John said.
"Dix said you were fine and would just need a lift home but when I saw that gurney and I could see the top of the guy's head, hair same as yours…"
Drew poured Roy a cup of coffee. By now it was nearly seven a.m. and his shift was ending. Dixie and Doctor Brackett joined them in a cup as the new shift began. Everyone was talking excitedly about John's adventure except him. Roy was encouraged when his friend's eyes focused on a new nurse. John watched as she dropped sheets into a laundry bin and carried fresh ones into treatment three. She emerged shortly after with the plastic water jug of flowers. John's eyes closed. He couldn't bear to see the flowers he knew would be thrown unceremoniously into the trash.
Someone nudged John with their elbow. He looked up. The nurse was carefully arranging the carnations into an abandoned glass vase and filling it with water and plumping up the slightly crushed ribbon that was attached to the vase. She removed a card that read, congratulations it's a boy and carried the vase to a room at the far end of the hall. She paused outside the room and pulled a pen from behind her ear and scratched a new note on a piece of paper. She entered the room and stood over an older gentlemen who lie in the bed with his casted leg in a sling. The patient smiled warmly and took the pen from her and scratched something else on the card which the nurse attached to the bow and patted the old man on the leg and left. John turned nonchalantly and the nurse made her way to another room on the other side of the hall.
John's feet carried him to peak through the small window of the other door as the nurse presented a very frail little old woman in the bed with the carnations. The nurse perched glasses onto the wrinkled face from the bedside cabinet. The little old lady gave an audible gasp of delight, her cheeks seeming to pink up instantly.
"You have quite the husband there, Mrs. Timmins," the nurse gushed, checking her watch and announcing that she had to get back to her duties.
John discreetly followed the nurse back to the desk where she popped the pen back behind her ear hissing almost inaudibly in annoyance and pain as it snagged on a strand of her hair. John was glad for her distraction as he turned to join his friends.
XXXX
John approached the desk and smiled warmly. There stood Officer Drew Burke and Roy Desoto doing his job; regaling the eligible young nurses about John's bravery in the face of a gun, saving people and getting injured in the process, not leaving out one detail that he would have told if he weren't so despondent about his missed date. Well, every detail except that he hated guns and probably would have passed out if he weren't so busy explaining that he wasn't who the officer thought he was…
While this warmed John's heart and his friend's thoughtfulness was clearly not missing the mark as three nurses clung to their words and stole appreciative glances in his direction, John's attention was on the nurse who was checking charts and filling medicine orders. She shook her head almost imperceptibly and smiled with a small eye roll for good measure just to confuse the dark haired young main watching her.
John's chin rested on his hand, the light buzzing of his friend's praises making him grin. He sat on Dixie's chair, his elbow slipping just a bit, his eyes closing from sheer exhaustion and the faded release of adrenaline.
"Are you okay?" the very object of his attention asked as she strode passed him pushing a cart.
"Uh, yeah, fine, just a little tired," he admitted before he could stop himself. If he could have kicked himself, he would have. One does not admit anything but vitality to a woman like this.
"Well, you should get some real rest, you look a little beat," she said pushing the cart once more. When she turned around and glanced at him he couldn't help the lopsided grin that adorned his face.
Roy put his arm around his young friend and led him toward the doors. Drew Burke followed.
"I heard about your date. Officer Burke and I got you set up really well with the day shift nurses; you should be able to ask any of 'em out. Forget about Melanie," Roy said kindly.
"Thanks," John said absently, making Roy wonder whether he should march him straight back into the E.R.. After all, John was usually the one full of stories about his adventures, nurses sitting on his bedside caught up in his tales.
XXXX
"You sure you don't wanna grab some breakfast at my house?" Roy asked as he pulled up in front of John's apartment.
"Nah, but thanks for the offer. I'm fine, really."
"Officer Burke seemed concerned about you. I know you hate guns. Listen, if you need to talk or if you need anything call me. I already told Cap that Brackett signed you off for our next two shifts."
"Okay, thanks, Roy. I'm sorry you got woke up on your day off. I'll call you when I get up, okay?"
Roy smiled as he handed John the paper bag of meds he'd had filled at the hospital pharmacy that his partner had forgotten on the front seat.