Title: Misfire
Author: Yuma
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Okay, this gets a bit more Adam-12 than Emergency! I fear but gonna give it a try anyway because I was watching Fifth season's 'Tycoons' and there is a scene at the end which WOULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE. For crying out loud, do ya know how annoying that is? LOL.
"Station 108, Station 51, Ladder 17. Structure fire. 215 Grand Boulevard. Two one five Grand. Cross street Coulson. Time out 634."
"Station 108."
"Station 51, KMG 365."
"Ladder 17, KMG 563."
Roy pulled the squad up across from the scene, making a face as he squinted through the haze of gray smoke that hung around the streets and the wide-eyed, pointing bystanders.
Chet already had his arms shoved through thick loops of inch-and-a-halves. The stocky fireman lumbered determinedly away from their engine, unraveling lines of flat hose. Within minutes, with Engine 108's firemen doing the same, a scurry of tan turnout coats and black helmets, the ground looked like a giant bowl of Marco's spaghetti had spilled out onto the streets.
"Roy, I think I see people." John pointed to a third floor window with a frown. He hopped out of the squad, yanking the bay door open from his side.
By the time Roy got the squad into park, John was already pulling on a face mask and shouldering his yellow tank.
"Station 51, Engine 108. Come around to the south side of the building. Ladder 17, vent the roof."
"Engine 108."
"Ladder 17."
Cap's orders rang out of their handie talkies as Roy shrugged on his own gear. He jogged alongside John towards the agitated bald man in a soot-streaked green suit, gesturing and pointing as he spoke with Cap.
"John. Roy." Cap flicked a dark look towards him but Roy knew it wasn't for them. "Building manager here thinks some of the people on the third and fourth floor can't get out."
Unbidden, Roy's eyes traveled up the building to the flames shooting from the second floor. Fire licked higher, stretched hungrily for the third floor. He bit back a grimace.
"I saw some people on three," John volunteered. He turned to Roy.
Cap waved down the other squad, holding up three fingers. "Squad 108 can get three."
Roy nodded as he pulled on his gloves. "We'll get four."
Cap gave them an aborted nod and a hand gesturing towards the building. It was all he could spare, already turning around to direct Marco and Chet to another hot spot. But Roy and John didn't need further instructions.
As soon as Cap moved, Roy and John ran towards the fire, their strides matching and quickening as they crossed the burning threshold.
"Engine 51, HT 51. Squad 108 reports third floor has been cleared."
"10-4, 51."
By the time they reached the fourth floor, John and Roy were drenched in sweat. Even with the spray from the hoses, the vapor from quickly evaporating water on the second floor was hot enough that John found himself blinking hard to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes. There was a brief moment where he was sorely tempted to pull his mask up, wipe his face dry and clean the condensation off the face shield. But it was only a brief moment. Eating smoke didn't have any appeal.
Roy was banging with a gloved fist on the door in the middle of the hallway. "Fire department!"
John did the same with his end of the hallway. He hammered 410 with a fist over and over until it ached. "Fire department! Anyone in here?"
Even though there was no answer, John broke the door down with his pry bar. He could hear Roy mimicking him, breaking in with a few sure strokes of his ax.
Roy stuck his head out into the hallway. "Nothing!"
"Same here!" John reported. He coughed, heard Roy do the same. Then they moved to the next doors.
"Fire department!"
"Anyone in here! Fire department!"
"Fire depart—Johnny! Got a live one here!"
Despite the thick smoke, John knew exactly where Roy was; he'd been placing his partner in the map he drew in his head each step of the way. He was certain Roy did the same.
Still, it came as a shock when his hands, waving out in front of him in a search pattern, bumped into Roy sooner than he expected.
"You got him?" John had to shout to be heard behind his mask. He gripped Roy's coat by the shoulder, ready to transfer the body from across Roy's shoulders.
"Yea." Roy gave John a short wave. "Rest of the floor clear?"
"No one else I saw." John gave an uneasy glance over his shoulder. The urge to check again never really went away.
"HT 51, HT 108. Request assistance on three. Man trapped."
John caught Roy's eyes widening behind his mask. He gestured downstairs with his handie talkie. "Go. I got this."
"You sure?"
"Yea, I'll be all right."
With a grunt, Roy hefted his charge higher on his shoulders. John followed closely behind, eyes glued to Roy's footsteps each rickety wooden step down.
"Engine 51, HT 51. We got a man trapped on third. I need the K-12."
"HT 51. Marco's on the way, John."
"10-4."
Roy kept one ear on his handie talkie as he laid his patient on the yellow tarp Squad 108 had already laid out by their squad. Before he could do anything more than take off his air mask, his patient began to flail his arms, coughing, choking.
"Easy! Take it easy! You're okay! I'm going to give you some oxygen, all right?" Roy snagged the O2 tank with one hand. He could barely make out the beard and panicked hazel eyes from all the soot. The man's mouth kept opening and closing, gaping like a caught trout.
Roy was jerked down when the man grabbed him by the collar, mouth still moving without a sound.
"Relax." Roy pulled the fingers away. "You're out. You're safe now. Try to relax."
It was still early but Roy could feel the sun beating down his back. He was cooking inside his turnout coat but all thoughts about his discomfort vanished as soon as he saw what was underneath the shirt he cut away. He reached for the Biophone, slotting in the antenna at the same time as he pulled the handset to his ear.
Roy absently wiped the sweat off his chin with a thick sleeve. He spared the building behind him a look, before he checked his handie talkie again. It was buzzing with updates but nothing from 51. Roy told himself that was good; no news was good news. he gathered his focus for the task at hand.
"Rampart, this is Squad 51. How do you read?"
"HT 51, Engine 51. Be advised third floor is now fully involved. Get out of there."
"10-4."
In truth, John wasn't sure what happened. He was watching Marco and the K-12 sparking and whining as it devoured enough floor to get 108's Carter's legs out. He heard Chet one floor below with someone from Ladder 17, hosing Carter's trapped legs where they dangled in the engulfed second floor.
Marco looked intent, focused, his usual smirk missing as he guided the circular saw around for the final cut. "Almost there."
John tensed. He clasped Carter's right forearm. Carter's partner grabbed the back of his pants. Knees bent, they braced and waited.
"Okay!"
"Heave!" John gritted his teeth, lifted and that's when he heard the unmistakable snap of wood and paint hissing, cracking...
"Watch it!"
"John!"
John felt a hard thump land square across his back. He smelled wood. He staggered forward but held onto Carter's arm.
Another thump knocked him down to one knee.
"Drop, Johnny! Drop!" Chet was screaming somewhere below him.
Turnout coats were thick, heavy, but John felt the heat rippling on him. He threw himself down to the ground. He felt hands pounding on him, so hard it left him breathless. He felt the force of a hose's full intensity slamming across his back. And that's when John realized.
He was on fire.
As quickly as he realized it, as fast as it took him to frantically rock left and right before the heat he felt could creep up his exposed neck, the fire was out. He was drenched, shaking uncontrollably, but it was out.
"You all right?" Marco's mask banged into his as he grabbed John by the shoulders. "John, you okay?"
"Is he all right?" Carter had somehow made it out of the hole. He gripped John's right arm hard enough to hurt.
"Yeah. Yea," John managed. "I'm all right." He blinked a few times before he realized the reason he couldn't see was because his mask was all fogged up.
"Let's get out of here." For some reason, John couldn't remember what Carter's partner's name was. He nodded anyway. He willed his knees to stop shaking (he was freezing). With Marco's hand on one arm, Chet's hand grabbed him by the other when they reached the second floor, John found himself being half hauled out of the building. He couldn't bring himself to protest though when he heard part of the third floor roaring to a crash above them, bellowing all the way down to the basement.
"...transport immediately."
"10-4, Rampart."
Roy's head snapped up when the building groaned and finally gave up sections of its upper floors to the fire. The collapse threw up a cloud of ash and smoke that swept over the streets like smog. He heard everyone shouting: Cap telling everyone to get back, Vince and his men ordering bystanders to move back and Chet hollering his name at the top of his lungs.
"Roy!"
Even though from a distance, Roy could tell John was walking under his own power, Carter and Benning bringing up the rear, he felt a knot in his stomach. It could be because he caught John misstep before Marco steadied him. It could be because bracketed between Chet and Marco, John was being steered towards him.
It could be because he could smell it: the acrid stench of burnt rubber.
"DeSoto!" one of police officers shouted from across the street. "Ambulances here!"
Roy waved in response towards the direction of bystanders still staring and pointing at the tableau. He squashed down his irritation as he shouted, louder, "Yeah! Over here!" But he kept his eyes on John as he stumbled under Chet and Marco's guidance to the borders of the yellow tarp.
"Wall," Chet said tersely as he guided John to sit down by Roy's patient.
"Did it burn through?" Roy demanded, talking over John's breathless "I'm okay. I'm okay" and Carter offering to get Roy's patient onto the gurney as the first ambulance rolled up in front of the squad. "How long before it was put out?"
"One, maybe two minutes," Marco reported. "Hey, we gotta get back. Take it easy, Johnny." Readjusting his helmet, Marco headed back towards what was left of the still burning building.
"Later, Gage," rasped Chet. After a moment of hesitation, he jogged after Marco.
"I'm fine. I'm all right. It didn't burn through." Despite his assurances, John dropped his head wearily against Roy's hip when Roy reached him.
"That's good," Roy said hoarsely. He swallowed as charred flakes of coat fluttered off John's back when he brushed a glove over the bowed posture. The reflective strips were peeling at the ends, the stencils 'LA County' and 'Gage' were lost under the ugly black scorched marks. His partner was right: it didn't burn through even the top layer, but it was close. John's neck had a faint pink strip starting where his stiff collar ended.
"He's in," Carter reported. "Benning is riding with your patient and one of ours because they're both a rush. Cap's got someone bringing our squad back to the barn. Want me to bring your squad in?"
John's head jerked up at the wail of the ambulance peeling away from them. "What? No. I can..."
"Can ride in the other ambulance with me," Roy cut in firmly. "You okay?" He scanned Carter quickly.
Carter grinned, his teeth startling white on a face smeared with soot, blackening even his bushy red mustache.
"Not a scratch."
"Some guys have all the luck," John mumbled. He groaned as Roy hauled him to his feet.
"You lead a charmed life as well," Roy told him as he helped him up the runner into the second ambulance. He ducked in after John in time to see him shiver. "Cold?"
John mumbled under his breath before shaking his head.
Right. Roy shrugged out of his coat. "Here, take mine." He didn't want to see that blackened coat on John for too long anyway.
"Thanks." John's teeth were chattering but Roy was relieved to note his fingertips were fairly pink when he reached for the coat.
"Brr." It took John two tries before he could slip his arms through the sleeves. "Think Chet forgot where the real fire was and used all the water on me."
I would, Roy thought fiercely. Out loud, he scoffed. "I doubt the department will send you a bill."
"Not with what they pay me." John huddled into Roy's coat. He blinked owlishly up at him.
"Why you still got your helmet on, Roy?"
Oops. Roy snorted. "Things were happening pretty quickly." He pulled his helmet off. Whew. Too bad Chet couldn't hose him down.
"You're t-telling me. One minute, I was helping C-carter. The next, I was almost a Roman candle." John shrank deeper into Roy's coat.
Roy wished he had another coat. He reached over and lifted off John's helmet. Just to be sure, he ran a hand through the dark locks plastered to John's head. He ignored the dirty look his partner gave him as he felt the back of his skull then checked his pupils.
"No sign of head trauma," Roy announced.
"Aw, I could have told you that," grumbled John.
"You would have told me that even if you did have a head injury," Roy pointed out as he rolled up John's destroyed coat and stuffed it under the stretcher with a look of distaste. "At least you didn't lose your helmet this time, partner," Roy said in a false, light voice.
"Hooray." John didn't look too thrilled though.
A rap on the doors drew both their attention.
"You boys, okay?" Cap's shrewd gaze whipped towards John. "John?"
John wearily raised a hand.
Apparently, that was enough for Cap. He grunted. "All right. Carter's behind you with the squad. Fire's contained."
Roy glanced to the front where he could see the driver and his partner fidgeting behind the partition. "What's the hold up?"
"A couple of looky loos blocking the road." Cap screwed up his face in disgust.
John blinked, his red-rimmed eyes peeked out from where he was burrowed deep inside Roy's coat. "Our patient got out okay though, right?" He gave Roy a puzzled frown. "Should have gone with them."
There was a twinge in Roy's chest. John was right; he should have gone with his patient. It was a TKO, after all. He wordlessly passed over the spare blanket from the empty stretcher and watched John try to swathe himself in furls of coat and scratchy tan wool. When John tried to suppress another shiver, the twinge in his chest subsided.
Cap checked the fire over his shoulder. "Ambulance went out fine. Heard ETA was three minutes."
John nodded, his shoulders slumping forward. He blinked slowly. Roy was tempted to tell John to lie down on the stretcher but knew his partner would never go for it.
"Once Vince clears those twits gawking over there, he'll meet you at Rampart, Roy." Cap tapped knuckles on the doors. "Got no more passengers for you boys. Everyone else checked out fine."
"Thanks, Cap," Roy said. He rapped the partition behind the driver as soon as the doors closed. "Let's go."
With a wail of sirens, the ambulance inched through the crowds, trying to get through, to be on its way to Rampart.
"Roy?" John still sat on the floor of the ambulance, the collar drawn up to his ears, blanket wrapped around him like a poncho. "Why is Vince meeting us there?"
Roy took a deep breath. That's right; John didn't know.
"Because," Roy told him, "my patient? The guy we found on Four?"
"Yeah?"
"He was shot."
Dear readers: this will be my last story posted here on . I'm still writing, but fear posting to several archives the same story might be irritating for readers. In the future, I'll be posting new and old stories just to AO3.
You've all been kind to me and my stories. I hope to see you at my new home soon.
I'll bring the cookies this time. : )