Note: I went to a blood drive at my school the other day and while I was waiting for my turn this story played itself out in my head. I decided I had to write it. I would think it's safe to say that due to technological advances and the like, things are different now than they were back in the days of Emergency! For the sake of the story, although it may be inaccurate (fanFICTION), let's just say that it's the same procedure now as it would have been back when the show was on the air (minus computers).

In case anyone wonders, the episode Snakebite, where Johnny professes himself to have been squeamish around the IV he had inserted, is where I get the idea that Johnny is afraid of needles.

I don't own Emergency! and I don't make any profit from this.

For Station 51's A shift, walking into work on Wednesday morning was just as normal as any other day. The crew tended to arrive about half an hour early for their shift, but as was sometimes the case, the station's C shift was not there when John Gage stepped out of his car and into the fire station. Shouting a cheerful "good morning" towards his Captain, Johnny made his way into the locker room to change into his uniform. Roy was already there.

"Morning," his partner called, looking over his shoulder at Johnny. Gage smiled.

"Good morning, Roy. How was your time off?"

"Ah, you know, the usual," Roy answered, but Johnny could see from the smile that lingered in Roy's eyes that he'd had a good time on his days off with his wife and children. Johnny didn't press the issue, knowing that Roy wouldn't want his good mood spoiled, and instead he started unbuttoning his civilian shirt. Soon enough the sounds of the Squad and the Engine could be heard from the apparatus bay as C shift returned to quarters. Together the county's best paramedic team, now fully dressed in uniform, made their way to greet their friends.

It came as a surprise to both men when they walked into the dayroom and found Chet, Marco, Mike, and all of C shift crowding around a paper that Captain Stanley was still in the process of pinning to the bulletin board. Johnny found his curiosity piqued and stepped forward, standing close behind Chet and balancing on the tips of his toes in order to try to read over his crewmates' heads. It was a lost cause. Instead, exercising patience that managed to astound even himself, Johnny stepped back, walked over to the coffee pot, and poured himself a cup of steaming coffee – he could tell just by the first sip that Mike had made it. Chet was close on his heels, having apparently seen the notice.

"Morning, Chet," Johnny and Roy called together as Chet leaned against the countertop, giving John a look that caused the latter to defensively look around for danger. Chet didn't speak, just continued to give Johnny that look, so Roy finally cleared his throat.

"Say, Chet, what was that notice there on the announcement board?" Chet's gaze was redirected away from the youngest member of the shift, and Johnny shot Roy a grateful glance. It wasn't that Johnny disliked Chet; just the opposite, actually. It was just that when Chet gave him that look, it never spelled good news for John Gage.

"Oh, that. Well, there's a blood drive this Friday at Station 36, and Cap thought we might all be interested in knowing about it," Chet explained casually. Johnny tensed. Blood drives meant needles…

"Well, all right," Roy said, not quite enthusiastically, but in a tone that clearly told John that Roy would be one of the first in line to donate.

"You guys planning on going?" Dwyer, from C shift, asked the three men in the kitchen, having overheard their discussion.

"Sure," Chet agreed with a shrug.

"I'll be there," Roy said.

"Maybe I'll see you there," Dwyer shrugged. "Anyway, I've got to get home and mow the lawn. See you guys later, yeah?" Dwyer left, and the crew of C shift filtered out after him, one at a time. Soon enough it was just A shift left. Johnny sat down at the table uncomfortably.

"What about you, John?" Chet asked, and Johnny wasn't sure whether Chet's voice contained genuine curiosity or teasing.

Johnny cleared his throat.

"What about me, what, Chet?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well what.

"Are you gonna give blood on Friday?" By now Johnny had the attention of the entire shift, and he felt even more uncomfortable under their curious gazes.

"Well, I don't know yet, Chet," Johnny answered. "It all depends on what happens this shift, I guess."

He was saved from further questioning by the sound of the klaxon. He ran to the apparatus bay, the rest of the crew hot on his heels.

"Squad 51, man hit on the head with a baseball bat, 14 Parson Street. One four Parson Street. Time out, 0805."

"Squad 51, ten-four, KMG 365," Captain Stanley answered for them as he and Roy drove out of the station, lights flashing and sirens wailing. The "rescue" turned out to be a false alarm; apparently a man had been playing baseball in the back yard with his kids, and had been hit in the head when one of the children had let go of the plastic bat. A concerned elderly neighbor had seen the incident and called the paramedics, but by the time the Squad got there, there was nothing for John and Roy to do but return to the station. The neighbor had apologized profusely for wasting their time.

"We should go to Rampart and pick up some supplies," Roy suggested. Johnny called dispatch, and soon the pair were walking through the Emergency Room Doors and towards the base stations where they knew they'd find Dixie.

"Hiya, Dix," Johnny greeted as she looked up from whatever she was signing.

"Oh, hey, Johnny, Roy. What's brought you in here so early?" Johnny could tell that there was real concern in her voice, so he quickly shook his head.

"Just here to pick up some supplies."

"Yeah; we'll need a few new IV kits and saline bags," Roy elaborated. Dixie smiled and handed them a box full of the requested supplies as well as a few bandages thrown in on top. Roy signed for the supplies. Johnny was just about to lead the way out to the Squad when Dixie's voice called them back.

"Oh, you guys, did you hear about the blood drive on Friday?" she asked. It wasn't the first blood drive in town, but it was the first one that Dixie had ever made a point to inform the paramedics of. Johnny looked down at the ground and cleared his throat again, softly.

"Yeah, we heard about it. Cap put a notice up back at the station."

"You thinking about going?" The nurse's words were casual, but Johnny knew they were directed at him.

"Well, I'm not sure yet, Dix. Depends what happens on this shift." He told her the same thing he'd told his coworkers back at the station. It wasn't really a lie, he told himself. Not really. If he ended up in the hospital, or if he got severe smoke inhalation, how could he give blood? Although, he also knew that those were just hollow excuses.

"Hmm," Dixie agreed thoughtfully. She seemed to buy the excuse, and Johnny gratefully escaped out the Squad. Roy followed behind him at a slower pace. As soon as he was in the driver's seat, though, Roy turned to face Johnny with a raised eyebrow.

"Johnny… it's okay to choose not to give blood, you know," he told his friend. Johnny first felt relieved by his partner's words, and then irritated.

"Roy," he said, "I'm perfectly capable of giving blood, y'know." Roy sighed as if he'd expected an argument like this.

"Squad 51 available," he spoke into the microphone, and both men waited for LA's response. Then Roy turned again to face his young partner. "Look, Johnny, I know you're capable. All I'm saying is that it's perfectly okay to be afraid of needles. There's tons of people who are, and there's nothing at all wrong with that. If you don't want to give blood, you shouldn't have to feel pressured into it just because it's what your shift mates are doing."

John's breath caught, and sweat broke out on his forehead. How did Roy know? How could Roy possibly know that he, John Gage, was terrified of needles? How?

"I'm not afraid of needles, Roy," John denied, though he realized after he had spoken that he had perhaps been a bit too defensive. Roy just sighed again and put the Squad into gear, pulling out of the parking lot carefully in order to avoid the nurses and orderlies running back and forth.

"Johnny, there's nothing wrong with being afraid of needles," Roy reiterated.

"Yeah? And when I'm the only one from the station who doesn't show up to give blood, what happens then?" Johnny asked. He realized his mistake a second later. "Not that I'm saying I'm afraid, Roy, but that's what people would think, wouldn't they, if everyone else from the station showed up except for me?"

"Not necessarily; look, Johnny, there are blood drives all the time in different places around the country. You wouldn't be the first, and you certainly wouldn't be the last, who chose not to give blood simply because they didn't want to. That's a personal choice that you have to make, and no one is in a position to judge you for it, no matter what you decide."

"Chet…"

"Chet is a lot of things, but uncaring is not one of them. If he realizes how much it bothers you, I'm sure he would stop talking about it. I know he won't judge you, either. Johnny, it's your choice. Not Chet's, not Dixie's, not Captain Stanley's. It's up to you."

For a few moments they drove in silence. Finally John cleared his throat again, a nervous habit he had developed a while back.

"Roy, suppose hypothetically that you're right, and I am afraid of needles. What happens if I show up and can't do it?"

Roy's response was instant, but Johnny could tell that his partner had put a lot of previous thought into his words.

"Then you tried, didn't you? Say that you get there and can't go through with it. You showed up, you put your best effort into it, and at the end of the day you couldn't do it. That's okay. No one can fault you for that. And suppose that you do give blood, but you hate it and promise yourself to never do it again. That's okay, too, Johnny, because once again, you tried it, you didn't like it, and no one can fault you for that. And if you choose not to go at all? Well, no one can fault you for that, either, because it's your choice to make."

Johnny frowned, staring out the window at the passing scenery as he considered Roy's words. The Squad returned to the station shortly thereafter, and thankfully for Johnny, all talk of the blood drive had ceased.

The rest of the twenty four hour shift passed with rare calmness. The Engine got called out three times for small fires, and the Squad had six more rescues – five of which were legitimate, and one of which was a false alarm. Johnny and Roy both agreed that it was one of the quietest shifts to date.

The end of the shift left Johnny to go home alone and think, which was something he didn't like to do very much of, because it always left him in the position of having to make an informed decision. Johnny was used to being impulsive; even his job demanded it. Having to sit and think wasn't his favorite method of solving a problem. Sitting on his couch in front of the television set he never used, Johnny considered the matter of the blood drive that was now a mere twenty four hours away. He already knew that Roy and Chet were going, and Johnny was sure that Dwyer would show up, too. Mike and Marco were also definite, and although Captain Stanley hadn't mentioned it, it would have been a surprise to Johnny if the Cap didn't show up.

"Aw, come on, John, don't be silly," he told himself, partly because he was ashamed of his own fear and partly because he wanted to talk himself into showing up at Station 36 the next morning. For the rest of the day he avoided thinking about the subject, electing instead to do chores and cook enough food to last for a week. By the time he went to bed that night he had all but forgotten about the blood drive.

When he woke, it was to the sound of his telephone ringing. The phone kept ringing and ringing, and try as he might to ignore it, the shrill sound broke through the last haze of sleep and woke him for the day. Johnny sighed and heaved himself off his bed and to the telephone.

"John Gage," he sleepily muttered into the receiver.

"Johnny? It's Roy," came a voice from the other end of the line. Johnny was instantly wide awake; Roy rarely called him on his home phone, usually choosing instead to wait until their next shift to tell Johnny whatever it was that was on his mind.

"Roy, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, nothing, pally. It's fine. I'm just about to leave for Station 36. I was calling to ask you if you'd be meeting us there." John's blood seemed to freeze. His heart seemed to start attempting to rip its way out of his chest. Judging by the layer of sweat that appeared on his forehead, the air conditioning in John's apartment was clearly broken.

"Johnny?" Roy asked, concerned, when a few seconds passed and there was no response. "John?"

John found himself once again clearing his throat.

"I'm here, Roy," he answered. He was about to tell Roy that he wouldn't be able to make it to the blood drive, but in typical John Gage fashion, he changed his mind at the last moment. "I'll meet you there in half an hour." Before he could second guess himself, John threw on a clean set of clothes and made his way out to his car.

The drive to Station 36 wasn't exactly short, but to John it seemed to pass in a matter of seconds. He could still feel his heart racing in his chest. He felt that the needle itself was reason enough to be anxious, but there was the matter of losing a pint of blood, too. He'd never given blood before; what was the protocol for that, anyway? What kind of procedure did they follow? He should have read up on it before he'd just blindly marched towards his demise, he realized. Stop it, Johnny, he scolded himself. You're being melodramatic.

Recognizing Roy's car, John parked in the parking lot and made his way cautiously into the fire station. The Engine and the Squad were both out on a run, but a group of chairs set off to the side marked a well-packed waiting area. John recognized Roy and everyone else from A shift, as well as half of C shift. Craig Brice was called back to a separate room as Johnny watched. There were a few civilians there as well, chatting cheerfully with one another. Johnny was relieved to note that he wasn't the only one who appeared nervous; even Chet was fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

"Johnny!" Roy called, and John made his way over to his best friend. "You've got to sign in on that list on that table over there, and then you just come and sit until they call your name. There are some informational pamphlets that you're supposed to read, too."

Feeling like his body had been set on some automatic setting, John fumbled with the sign in sheet. Finally managing to scribble his name, he picked up a pamphlet and dropped heavily into the seat next to Roy. John wasn't sure how he felt about reading the provided information; he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know what the procedure involved. Still, he took a quick peak at the pamphlet and was relatively unsurprised at what he saw. Deciding that it wasn't safe to read any more, he tossed the pamphlet back onto the table.

The donors who had completed their blood donations walked past every few minutes. Most stopped to grab a snack and sit for a while, but a few simply got into their cars and left. John wondered if he should take comfort in the fact that no one had yet passed out, or if he should feel nervous that if anyone did pass out, it would probably be him. Every so often, a Red Cross member would come out to the makeshift waiting room, look at the clipboard, cross off a name, and call someone back. John knew exactly how many people were ahead of him, and each time one left, he felt himself growing more and more nervous. His palms began to sweat.

"Johnny, are you okay?" Roy asked quietly from beside him, trying not to draw the attention of the rest of the crew. Even as he spoke, Marco was called back to a separate part of the fire station – what Johnny quickly recognized to be the dorms. He shot a glance in Roy's direction.

"Fine, Roy," he answered.

"You know, if you want to leave, no one will think any less of you," Roy told him again. For a brief moment, John honestly considered it. Then he took one look at Chet, who seemed just as nervous as he was, and changed his mind. If Chet wasn't going to panic, Johnny promised himself, then neither was he.

"I'm okay, Roy," he said. Roy let it drop. Johnny took the opportunity to take deep, calming breaths, focusing on calming his racing heart. One by one, Dwyer, Captain Stanley, Mike, and Chet were called back. John was left alone with Roy, who watching him with a mixed expression of humor and concern.

"Johnny…"

"No. I want to do this, Roy." As soon as he said it, Johnny realized that it was true. He wasn't keen on the needle, but he wanted to do this, to prove to himself that he was capable of facing his fears.

"Roy DeSoto," a polite middle-aged woman called. Roy stood up and followed her, leaving Johnny alone. There were a few strangers sitting in the waiting area, but he was too busy trying to calm his nerves to talk to them, and they left him alone. In less time than he had mentally prepared himself for, a man came to get him. Johnny found himself sizing the guy up; about twenty seven years old, clearly competent; someone who knew what he was doing. Good.

"My name is Noah," the guy told him. "Have you ever given blood before?"

"No," Johnny answered, wondering why that was relevant while hoping that it wasn't.

"Okay. Well, since you've never done this before, let me explain how this is going to work. I'm going to check your vital signs – pulse, blood pressure, temperature. I'll also have to check the level of iron in your blood. Then you'll answer some questions, and then we'll go ahead with the actual donation. Okay?"

"Okay," John agreed, sounding more confident than he felt.

He was led into the front of the dorm where his vital signs were taken and recorded. Johnny was embarrassed when he realized that his heart was still beating too fast in his chest, but the man seemed to realize he was nervous and didn't say a word. So far, so good, Johnny thought; he'd managed to sit here for this long without losing his cool yet. He was asked to complete a questionnaire – mostly just questions about his medical history – and after he'd finished, he was led to a bed. John noticed with some relief that Mike's bag of blood was almost full; Mike hadn't started long before Johnny, and if Mike was almost done, then Johnny could hopefully get this over with quickly, too.

"Now," Noah said, "When I do this, you need to try not to move your arm, alright? I'm going to give you a stress ball. Squeeze it every three or four seconds; roll it around in your hand; whatever feels comfortable."

Johnny couldn't watch when Noah applied a tourniquet and spent what seemed like a long time rubbing iodine over the crease in his elbow. He couldn't watch as the necessary tubes and clamps were gathered together. He couldn't watch when he was given a stress ball and asked to squeeze it three times and hold it. He couldn't seem to look away, however, when Noah stuck the needle into his arm. He took a subtle deep breath, tensing, preparing himself for the moment when the dreaded needle would enter his skin. John had expected it to hurt. He had expected to have to hide the pain he was feeling. It caught him off guard, therefore, when he felt a pinch that stung for about a second, and nothing more. Stunned, John looked down at the site, where blood was now flowing into the tube.

"That's it?" he asked aloud, speaking mostly to himself. Noah smiled.

"That's it," he confirmed. "Now you'll just have to lay there. Remember not to move your arm except to squeeze that stress ball. If you need anything, just say so; someone will be over to help you."

"Alright," Johnny agreed, already getting into the rhythm of squeezing the stress ball. It was a strange sensation; he knew the needle was in his arm, and he even thought that he could feel it sitting there, but it didn't hurt.

It didn't make him happy that there was a needle sitting in his arm, and his fear of the situation made him hyper-aware of that fact, but he found that he was able to concentrate on the stress ball in his hand – one, two, three, squeeze; roll, squeeze; one, two, three… – it was an easy pattern, one that he focused on as intently as possible, and before he knew it, the same woman who had led Roy back earlier was standing next to his bed.

"You're about halfway done now," she told him. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine," Johnny replied, and was startled to find that he wasn't even lying.

It seemed like less time had passed than had actually done so when someone else who Johnny had yet to meet was standing near him, disconnecting the plastic tubing and filling separate test tubes with blood to go to the lab. In a few short seconds the needle was removed from Johnny's arm – again, he had expected pain but there was only a brief pinch – and he was asked to hold his arm above his head, pressing gauze on the site.

"How do you feel?" the woman asked, and Johnny smiled.

"I feel great," he said. He watched as the woman taped a new piece of gauze over his vein.

"Now, you may want to sit up slow," she said. He did so, following her advice; he wasn't about to embarrass himself by passing out. To his slight surprise, he felt nothing out of the ordinary. "That okay?" she asked, though Johnny's widened smile had probably already let her know that he was fine.

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed.

"Alright. Go back out to the waiting area and sit for a while. Have some snacks or something to drink. No alcohol for the next twenty four hours. If you think of any reason why your blood shouldn't be used – whether you get sick or you realize you answered a question incorrectly on the questionnaire – call this number immediately." She gave him a piece of paper with a phone number on it. He glanced at it, as well as at the first-aid information provided. He had to remind himself that this was all a precaution.

"Thank you," he said. The woman smiled.

"No; thank you."

He made his way out of the dorm and into the waiting area. Roy, Chet, Marco, Mike, and Cap were all there, waiting for him.

"How'd you do, Johnny?" Chet asked, seeming concerned. John smiled and shrugged.

"I did alright, Chet. How about you?"

"Alright," he agreed.

"Here; have a snack," Roy said, handing him a sugar cookie. John ate it happily, wondering what it was that he was ever afraid of. Though, now that he thought about it, he was sure that he would always be scared of needles; this experience had proven to him, however, that he was capable of overcoming that fear. John looked around at the people still waiting to give blood, and realized that in the future, he might be seated amongst them more often. He was sure this wouldn't be his last time donating.

That's that. For those of you who have never given blood before – this is more or less how it goes. I feel that it's worth noting that while I believe Johnny has a fear of needles, I do not personally share that fear -therefore, I wasn't quite sure how to write it properly.

I chose to write this because I personally know more than one person whose life has been saved by someone's generous blood donation, and I wanted to pay tribute to that. Also, like I said, when you're sitting around waiting to give blood, you tend to see a lot of people with a lot of interesting stories – some are nervous, some are relaxed; some have donated many times, and there are some who obviously have never given blood before. In watching the people at my school who were in line to give blood, I was reminded of Emergency! and this little story came into my head. Despite the slight liberties I took (I really have no idea how it worked back in the seventies) I hope you enjoyed this.