Partnerships
Originally published in Brave and True: Journals of Squad 51 by Of Dreams and Schemes Press in 2000
John Gage collapsed into the passenger seat of the squad, pulling the door shut behind him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, listening to the familiar sounds of his partner, Roy DeSoto, taking his usual place behind the wheel. They sat in silence for a few moments; then Roy started the motor, slipped the squad into gear, and pulled away from the emergency entrance at Rampart, heading them home at last.
It had been a long, hard, busy shift, and this last call had been particularly tough. Station 51 had been rolled out of bed just after midnight for a single car accident. The engine crew, their job done once the victims had been extricated, were back at the station by now, unaware of how badly things had gone from there. The driver, a husband and father of two, had been pronounced dead of massive head trauma upon arrival at Rampart General; both paramedics had known they would lose him long before they got him to the hospital. His family had been in the car with him, but they had been wearing seatbelts – unlike the driver – and so suffered only minor injuries. It was the third time this shift they had lost a patient. Roy and John had still been in the waiting area when the news was broken to the wife.
After several blocks, Johnny shifted uncomfortably and broke the silence. "Man, I hate it when they end like that," he said softly. When Roy didn't answer, he glanced over to find his partner intent on the rainy road ahead of them. The two had worked together for several years now, and something in the way Roy looked, or drove, or sat, raised a new concern in the back of John's mind. It took little effort to figure out what was bothering the older paramedic, in light of what they had seen in the last few hours.
"Thinking about Joanne?"
Johnny really liked Joanne DeSoto. It took a special person to send someone she loved off each day, not knowing for sure if she'd see him again, and Joanne was that kind of person. He had spent some time in hospital waiting areas with her, waiting for word after Roy had been injured in some fire or another, and had seen her pull herself up when the doctor approached, bracing herself for whatever she was about to hear, trusting that everything would be okay. He had held her hand when the news was not good, and exchanged relieved hugs when it was. He had driven her home while she did her crying in the car, so she could face her children dry-eyed and confident. He hoped that when he decided to settle down – in the far distant future – he could find someone with that strong a spirit.
Roy didn't react to the question for a moment. The voice of the woman from the accident was still with him, as she sobbed in Dixie's arms, begging to know who would take care of her family now. And her family looked a lot like his.
"Yeah." He drew a deep breath. "I mean, we're not exactly in the safest line of work here, you know. Something could happen to me tomorrow. Of course, we just saw tonight that even safe jobs don't keep you safe. That guy was a plumber."
"I know." Johnny considered his words carefully. "Roy, you know Joanne is tough; she can handle anything that comes along. And I'm looking out for you, partner," he added with a smile. "I'll get you home at the end of the shift."
"Yeah, if it's not you who gets me killed," Roy retorted in kind; Gage's propensity for attracting disaster was almost legendary. He was quiet for a moment, trying to decide if he should explain further to his unmarried partner. Maybe it was the late hour, or the lack of sleep, but he gave it a shot. "It's the little stuff, though: cleaning the gutters, fixing Chris' bicycle – stuff I do all the time …"
Johnny nodded slowly, seeing what he was getting at. "Well," he said seriously, "I'm looking out for you; what make you think I wouldn't take care of them?"
Roy glanced over at him in surprise, quickly shifting his gaze back to the road and navigating a left-hand turn before trying to reply. It wasn't that he hadn't thought Johnny would do that for him; it was just that they had never discussed it so openly before. But as he gave the matter some conscious consideration, he realized that discussion had never been necessary. He remembered coming home from the hospital after having his tonsils out – for the second time – and finding the lawn mowed, the hedge trimmed, and the car washed, all courtesy one John Gage, Firefighter and Paramedic. And there were at least a dozen outings featuring Johnny and the DeSoto kids on their own, to the circus or the park. Joanne had voiced the opinion that Johnny took the children along so that he could act like a kid himself, without being conspicuous, but she knew as well as Roy that Johnny truly enjoyed spending time with the children. He supposed that, as long as both he and Johnny were looking out for each other and Joanne and the kids, it would all work out in the end, no matter what happened on the job. And that made it a little easier to head out the door in the morning.
"Yeah, I know," he said at last, and pulled himself up a little straighter. "Thanks for reminding me, though."
"Any time, partner," Johnny grinned. It was getting too deep for him, though; time to change the subject. "Hey, it'll be practically breakfast time by the time we get back, and we finished off the milk at dinner last night. Better make a supply run."
Roy nodded, looking around for a store – he thought the station kitchen might be low on coffee, too. The others might have thought of the grocery situation on the way back from the accident scene, but it was unlikely that Cap and Stoker would have taken the engine on a shopping trip. Chet and Marco might, though …. Roy shook his head slightly, realizing how tired he was. It was three in the morning, they were in a commercial/industrial district, and they didn't need much, so a convenience store seemed the most probable candidate. Spotting one a half block ahead on the right, he pulled up in front of it and shut off the engine. Both paramedics got out and headed inside, Johnny shoving the handie-talkie into the pocket of his turnout coat as they went.
"I'll get some coffee," Roy said. "You grab a couple gallons of milk." The guys on B-shift would thank them later. Or not.
Johnny headed wordlessly toward the coolers at the back of the store, while Roy roamed the aisles, looking for the coffee and seeing if there was anything else they should pick up. He didn't think a place like this would have eggs, so he hoped there were enough in the fridge at the station to hold them through breakfast. After that, they were off for two days, and it would be B-shift's problem. He could see the top of Johnny's head over the rows of snack food and motor oil as the younger man opened a cooler of dairy products at the back of the store.
There were a couple other patrons in the store as well – unusual for this hour, but maybe they needed milk, too. One of them rounded the end of the aisle, looked up at Roy, stopped in his tracks, and turned in retreat. Intrigued, Roy watched him, and tracked down the other young man as well. They didn't seem to be shopping, just looking around – sizing things up, he realized with a start. He and John had just walked into a robbery. Great. Just what they needed. He was too tired for this. He looked for the clerk, and found him studying what appeared to be a chemistry textbook behind the counter, a college kid on a summer job, oblivious to the imminent danger.
Roy began edging toward the door, wondering how he could either warn the clerk – surely the kid had an alarm button somewhere – or get Johnny and get to the squad radio. Before he could come up with anything, though, one of the robbers, tall, thin and blond, saw him moving and cut him off, pulling a small handgun out of his jacket and pointing it at Roy.
"Far enough, Smokey," the kid ordered nervously, waving Roy away from the door with the gun.
Roy looked quickly down at his clothes; having been called out in the middle of the night, both paramedics were still wearing the turnouts they had hastily donned when the alarm sounded, and he was aware for the first time of how conspicuous they were, roaming around a decidedly non-burning building dressed for a fire. "All right, no problem," he replied automatically, holding his hands away from his body as he backed toward the counter. The clerk had risen from his seat in panic, and from the corner of his eye, Roy saw Johnny round the end of the aisle with a gallon of milk in each hand, take in the situation at a glance, and duck back under cover at the back of the store, apparently without being seen.
The robber turned his attention to the clerk. "Open the register, loser. And stay away from the alarm."
The clerk looked at Roy, who nodded. Swallowing hard, the boy pushed a few buttons on the keypad, and the cash drawer popped open. The second robber, a big guy with a dirty black baseball hat who had been silent until now, stepped behind the counter and began stuffing bills into his pockets, as the clerk backed as far away from him as he could.
"Where's the rest of it?" The guy with the hat demanded.
"In the safe –" the clerk began, stopping when a new sound issued from the back of the store.
"Ten-four, Squad 51. Sheriff's Department en route; please repeat your location."
Roy recognized the county dispatcher's voice and winced. Johnny must have called for help with the HT, and forgotten to turn down the volume so the robbers wouldn't hear the response. The larger robber came out from behind the counter and strode menacingly down an aisle. Apparently realizing that his cover was blown and that he was running out of time, Johnny stopped trying to speak quietly and opted for speed.
"The Quick-n-EZ Mart at Hampton and Brunswick! Repeat, the Quick –"
There was a crash from the back of the store, the sound of a display unit coming apart, a brief cry, then silence, broken only by the dispatcher's voice on the HT.
"Squad 51, come in, please. Squad 51, please respond."
Roy started for his friend, only to be cut off by the blond with the gun again. They waited tensely until the hat-wearing man returned to the front of the store, dragging Johnny by the upper arms to dump him in a limp heap at the head of the aisle.
"Idiot called the cops!" he growled.
"Yeah, I heard." The blond, apparently the leader, turned back to the clerk. "Open the safe so we can get out of here."
"I don't know how," the clerk stammered.
Frightened into more desperate action, the robber with the gun moved behind the counter himself, pointing his weapon directly at the clerk's head.
"Then I guess you'd better figure it out!" he yelled.
"Look, Donnie, let's just take what we got and get outta here, before the cops show up," the Hat put in nervously.
"Shut up!"
As the clerk bent to the safe behind the counter and started fiddling with the dials, Roy began sidling toward his motionless partner. Donnie looked up at the movement and swung the gun in his direction. Roy stopped in his tracks.
"I just want to check on my partner, okay?" he asked, as calmly as he could.
Donnie and the Hat glared at him for a moment, then Donnie gestured with the gun for him to continue. Not wanting to give them time to reconsider, Roy scrambled quickly over to roll Johnny onto his back, and found his partner half-conscious, blinking blearily at the florescent lighting overhead.
"How you doing, Johnny?" he asked, trying to check vitals and keep the fear out of his voice. Strangely, Johnny's turnout was wet and smelled of beer.
He didn't get an answer. There was a lump forming on the younger paramedic's temple, and his breath was coming in short gasps. "John, you hear me?" Roy tried palpating his ribcage, and immediately got a response. Johnny groaned, struggling to curl onto one side.
"Okay, easy, partner," Roy breathed, trying to catch him and glancing back over his shoulder at their captors.
"Cut it out," his patient gasped hoarsely, batting Roy's hands away. Johnny eased himself slowly onto his back again, blinking several times before bringing Roy into focus. "Whoa. They still here?"
"Yeah. Don't move around, I think your ribs are broken." Roy fished a small flashlight out of a pocket and began checking Johnny's pupils.
"You and me both," Johnny whispered, reaching across with his right hand to support his left side. "He knocked me … through a stack … of six-packs."
"Pretty good whack on the head, too, huh?" Roy added after a moment, putting away his penlight. "Just stay put, they'll be out of here in a minute." He continued trying to make Johnny as comfortable as possible, under the circumstances. A nearby display of picnic supplies gave him an idea. He snagged several vinyl, cloth-lined tablecloths and began ripping the cover off one, glancing at the counter again as he did. Donnie was hovering over the frightened clerk, but the Hat eyed Roy suspiciously as he shook out the tablecloth. Ignoring him, Roy spread it like a blanket over his partner, shoving the other, still-packaged cloths under Johnny's head as a makeshift pillow. Johnny looked up at him quizzically, then nodded as he realized what Roy was trying to do.
The three young men at the counter looked up in surprise as tires squealed outside, and Roy recognized the flash of emergency lights reflected in the glass doors of the coolers. The deputies must have been close when they got the call. An authoritative voice issued over some sort of amplification system, ordering the robbers to surrender immediately.
Donnie grabbed the clerk by the collar and dragged him around the counter, throwing him to the floor by John and Roy, where they couldn't be seen from the door. The Hat scrambled to join them.
"All right," Donnie muttered distractedly; he apparently hadn't planned for this. "All right. We're taking the three of you out of here with us, for protection, to get us to the car."
"We can't handle all three of them," the Hat protested.
"It's that or go out shooting," Donnie hissed. "I could go either way, at this point."
If they started a gun battle, it could only end with more people being hurt, or killed, and Roy had had enough of that for one shift. And Johnny shouldn't be moved, and the clerk looked ready to hyperventilate at any moment. Roy looked at the frightened young man, and at his partner-turned-patient, and knew what he had to do.
"You really only need one of us," he heard himself saying, and was surprised at how reasonable he sounded. "Leave them behind, unharmed, and I'll go with you. You can move faster with just one, anyway."
Four sets of eyes stared at him in astonishment, and Johnny reached for his arm. "Roy –"
"Shut up, Johnny; I know what I'm doing."
"I don't think you do! Now, listen to me –"
"Why start now?" Roy caught his friend's flailing hand and gave him a nervous smile. "Take care of things for me 'til I get back, okay?"
Johnny's face went slack with shock as he realized what Roy was saying, and fear took hold for the first time. He tried to push himself up, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in his side, trying to get a handful of Roy's sleeve as the two robbers hauled the older paramedic to the door.
"Roy –!" Something shifted in his side, and his vision went white, then gray.
XXXX
John lost track of time for a while after that. He recognized Joe Porter, one of the paramedics from Station 110, when the man began shining a light in his eyes, and was able to answer questions coherently – at least, he was pretty sure he was coherent. He let his eyes drift closed in the ambulance, and was surprised to hear Dixie McCall's voice a short while later.
"Johnny, are you in there?"
When had he gotten to Rampart? Something had happened. He was supposed to do something …. He opened his eyes, squinting into the bright lights of a treatment room in the emergency wing.
"Dixie?" he asked, or tried to. The act of drawing a deeper breath curled him involuntarily onto one side.
Strong hands caught his shoulders. "Whoa, there, take it easy." That was a new voice, Dr. Early, he thought. "We can't give you anything for the pain yet, John, so just sit tight for a minute."
After a few minutes, the pain began to ease, and he rolled slowly onto his back and looked up to see Dixie standing over him, smiling reassuringly. Dr. Early stood on the other side of the gurney.
"Well, you've been busy this morning, haven't you?" she teased.
It all came back in a rush then: the run, the store, the milk –
"Roy!" he gasped, and would have sat up if several pairs of hands hadn't grabbed him before he could even make the attempt. It occurred to him, through the haze of pain, that these people knew him entirely too well.
"Don't worry about Roy," Dr Early soothed. "He can take care of himself. Let's get X-ray in here, and then find him a room," he said to Dixie, then added for Johnny's benefit, "You took a pretty good blow to that hard head of yours, and I'm betting you've at least cracked a couple ribs, so you get to be our guest for a little while."
Johnny shook his head – they weren't listening to him. Why was no one listening to him tonight? He closed his eyes again – shaking his head made him queasy – and wondered what he was going to tell Joanne. Roy DeSoto was in big trouble for getting him into this.
XXXX
Roy DeSoto knew he was in trouble. The trip from the door of the convenience store to the car had seemed to happen in slow motion, with two deputies pointing their weapons at him from behind the open doors of their cruiser and the barrel of Donnie's gun digging into his ribs. They'd thrown him into the back, and the guy with the hat – Roy hadn't even heard his name yet – slid behind the wheel while Donnie turned the gun on Roy from the front passenger seat. A quick check over his shoulder revealed one deputy headed into the store, while the other slid back into his car. He tried to sit quietly, with his hands in full view, as they tore out of the parking lot with the cruiser in pursuit.
Now it was happening way too fast. He braced himself against the door with both hands as they roared around another turn, and he caught a glimpse of two more sheriff's cruisers joining the chase. Donnie and the Hat were getting more agitated by the second, shouting at each other about whether or not to get on the freeway, but Roy wasn't paying attention. If they weren't moving at such a high speed, he thought he could get the door open and throw himself clear before Donnie could shoot him. As it was, he was pretty sure hitting the pavement at this speed would do about as much damage as a bullet.
He wondered what had happened after he left the store. He'd seen Johnny collapse trying to stop him, and hoped it was just from the pain of trying to move, and nothing more serious. If something happened to him and Johnny …. He knew the clerk would be okay; the deputy should have a squad on the way by now. He was surprised that he was so calm about this. He knew he should be afraid, and on some level, he was; but his mind was moving at least as fast as the car, taking in each detail but not dwelling on anything in particular – survival instinct, he realized distantly.
He had lost track of where they were and how long they had been running. He heard one of his captors swear in surprise – he couldn't tell which one – and looked out through the windshield to see a fourth cruiser drop into place in front of them, slowing abruptly to force them to stop.
"Ram him!" Donnie yelled, and his cohort revved the engine and slammed into the back of the lead cruiser, nearly throwing Roy to the floor. As they slowed again before making another attempt, Roy decided he wasn't going to get a better chance. Besides, all this bouncing around might make the gun misfire and get him shot. Trying not to think too much about the consequences, he reached for the door handle and threw himself to the side, rolling out of the car onto the pavement.
The impact knocked the wind out of him, and something popped in his left wrist, but he managed to protect his head with his arms for the most part as he rolled. He kept moving until he was off the pavement, laying on his stomach at the side of the road – it would be pretty embarrassing to get run over by a deputy after effecting his own escape. He heard the chase move past him, and as he looked up cautiously, he found himself caught in the headlights of the last cruiser, as it pulled to a stop on the shoulder before him. He heard the door open, and then a deputy stepped cautiously around the front of the car, weapon drawn and pointed at Roy.
"Just stay right where you are," the deputy called. "Put both hands on your head."
Roy quickly complied, wincing as pain shot through his wrist and listening to the footsteps as the deputy came close enough to pat him down. Satisfied, the man rolled him over and helped him rise, looking up in surprise when he saw what Roy was wearing. "You're a firefighter?"
"Yeah," Roy breathed, still not quite believing it was over.
"Guess that makes you the hostage, huh?" Roy nodded, and the deputy helped him over to lean against the hood of the cruiser. "Are you hurt?"
"I don't think so; just bruised," Roy replied. He examined his turnouts for damage in the glare of the headlights, and was relieved to find they had held up well. "Did something to my wrist, though," he amended, supporting the injured wrist with the other hand.
Well, your head's bleeding, too," the deputy observed. "Let me get the first aid kit. Or should I call a paramedic?"
Roy, exploring the cut above his left eye with his fingers, almost laughed, but suppressed the urge, recognizing it as nervous reaction. "I am a paramedic. I can dress it, but I might need your help with the wrist. Look, my partner was still in the store –"
"He's being taken care of," the deputy interrupted, opening the trunk to pull out a metal box with a red cross on it. "Let's get a bandage on your head and wrap your arm, and I'll run you to Rampart."
Roy nodded mutely.
XXXX
Johnny woke up slowly to find someone leaning over his bed and holding his hand. When did he get to a bed? He was supposed to be getting X-rays. He would just have to stop closing his eyes – every time he did, he ended up missing something. He wondered why he wasn't thinking clearly, then decided that the constant pounding in his head was probably the culprit. He blinked until the someone beside him came into focus and became Joanne DeSoto. Seeing that he was awake, she squeezed his hand and gave him a shaky smile.
"Hi, there," she greeted. "How're you feeling?"
"I'm okay," he whispered. There was a sharp twinge in his left side when he drew breath to speak; he'd have to be careful of that. "How did you get here?"
"Hank Stanley picked me up. He's out in the hall."
"Roy?"
Joanne shook her head, not quite meeting his eyes; even in his current state, he recognized her "trying-to-look-confident-while-scared-half-to-death" look. "No word yet. They were headed for the freeway …"
Johnny wanted to be hopeful and supportive, knew that he should be, especially after the conversation he and Roy had had earlier in the squad; but for some reason, his mind wouldn't cooperate – and then his mouth joined the rebellion.
"I'm sorry," he croaked. "I couldn't … stop him." He had to pause for air, then continued, "Stupid, reckless … thing to do, anyway. Don't know where … he came up with … stupid idea like that –"
Joanne's eyes were filling with tears, but she laughed at that. "Maybe from his partner, who always manages to find trouble?" she suggested softly. Her free hand stroked his hair affectionately. "Look, you go back to sleep. I'll wake you as soon as I know anything."
Johnny shook his head minutely, fully intending to wait with her, as he had done before, until there was news; but he fell asleep before he could tell her so.
XXXX
Roy walked into the emergency department at Rampart General under his own power, almost two hours after he had left, with his own personal deputy as escort. He was wobbly with exhaustion, and just wanted to go to sleep; but he knew if he tried to go back to the station, Cap would just send him back here. Besides, he wanted to see about Johnny.
The deputy had radioed dispatch with Roy's name and destination, and Dixie met him in the hall with a wheelchair and an expression that brooked no argument. He was too tired to walk anyway, so he settled into the chair and let her wheel him into Treatment Three.
"Johnny's upstairs," she told him as she helped him onto the exam table and out of his jacket, guessing what his first question would be. "He was a little shocky when he came in, but he'll be fine; just a mild concussion and a couple cracked ribs. Let's have a look at what we have here," she continued, doing a quick preliminary exam before peeling back the tape on the bandage above his eye.
Dr. Brackett came in as she was finishing, setting a clipboard on the gurney next to Roy and lifting his patient's chin with one hand to angle the laceration into the light a little more.
"Morning, Roy. Sounds like you boys had a little excitement after you left here," he commented as he probed around the wound. He began patting his pockets, searching for something; Roy pulled out his own penlight and offered it.
"Thanks. I must have left mine in the other room." He peered into Roy's eyes, then stepped back and returned the flashlight. "Looks good. Dix, cancel that suture kit; this just needs a clean dressing. I'm guessing you're up to date on your tetanus?" When Roy nodded, he went on, "All right, let's have a look at that wrist."
Once the splint the deputy had applied was off, Roy was surprised to see that his left wrist was not as purple as he expected. It had been too dark, standing by the deputy's car, to examine it properly, although Roy had removed his watch in case of swelling. It certainly didn't look as bad as it had felt. Brackett examined it gently, then nodded, looking up at his patient.
"Hardly even counts as a sprain. You know the drill: Tylenol for any soreness, and come back in if it isn't better by your next shift. You're off the next couple of days, anyway, right?" When Roy nodded, Brackett continued, "And you're not going finish this shift, either. Any pain anywhere else? Dizziness? Blurred vision?"
"Nope."
"Anything unusual in his vitals, Dix?" He accepted the clipboard containing her notes, reading through them quickly. "Okay, then. Dixie, let's get a clean dressing on his forehead, and he's okay to go."
"Got it," Dixie replied, retreiving the necessary supplies from a nearby cabinet.
"Oh, Roy," Brackett remembered, "Your wife and captain are upstairs with Johnny; I've sent someone up to let them know you're here."
Roy started to turn toward the doctor in surprise, then realized he needed to keep his head still for Dixie. "Thanks, Doc." He wondered what they had told Joanne; he was sure dispatch had called Captain Stanley when they lost contact with Johnny on the HT, however long ago that was – years, maybe.
"Anytime." Brackett gave them a parting nod as he retrieved his own clipboard, and stepped back into the hallway, whistling as he went.
"He's sure cheerful," Roy observed idly.
"Day shift – and he's early, even. There," Dixie said after a moment, stepping back slightly to examine her work. Satisfied, she handed him his turnout coat. "I bet you'd like to look in on your partner before we run you out of here, huh?"
"Can I?" Roy slid carefully off the exam table and followed Dixie into the hall.
"Sure, for a minute. Like I said, he's got a bit of a concussion, so he may be asleep, but we promised to wake him when you came in."
"Roy?" called a familiar voice from down the hall. He looked up to see his wife, Joanne, headed purposefully toward him from the elevators, with a concerned Hank Stanley right on her heels.
"Roy, are you all right?" Joanne asked urgently, as he gathered her into his arms.
He held her close for a moment while Dixie and Cap withdrew discreetly to the nurses' station a few feet away. She pulled away first, but only far enough to look up at him with concern.
"I'm fine," he assured her, wincing a little as she brushed her fingertips over the bandage on his forehead. "I'm tired, I'm sore, and I really want a shower, but I'm fine."
Not convinced, Joanne looked around for Dixie, who nodded confirmation. "He's all yours, Joanne, but he did want to see Johnny before he left. Room 307, Roy. Don't stay too long, though; I think you could use some rest, too."
"Thanks, Dix." Passing off his turnout coat to Cap, he put his arm around Joanne's shoulder and headed for the elevator. He could hear Cap ask for a phone as they reached the doors; the whole crew was probably awake back at the station, waiting for news.
In the elevator, he abruptly realized something. "Who's got the kids?"
"Hank went by his place and picked up Peggy before he came to get me." After a moment, Joanne asked quietly, "How exactly did this happen, Roy?"
"We stopped for groceries after a run and walked into a robbery," Roy explained – a little shortly, but he wasn't ready to discuss it quite yet. He knew that telling her everything right now would probably frighten her unnecessarily. Bad enough her husband was making a living by running into burning buildings on a regular basis. Now he couldn't even pick up a gallon of milk without getting himself held hostage at gunpoint. He needed a little distance first, so he could talk about it calmly.
Joanne understood his need to sort it out for himself first, and took his hand in support, content to let the matter rest for now. He was like this after a bad fire, or a rescue that went sour, and while she would listen until he couldn't talk anymore, she knew she couldn't really understand it all, without being there with him. In a way, she was glad of that. It was hard enough, being the firefighter's wife; she could pass on being the firefighter. And she was pretty sure the things she couldn't understand, Johnny got to hear. As long as he talked to one of them, he'd be all right.
The silence of the elevator ride, broken only by very soft, truly awful music emanating from somewhere, nearly moved Roy to tell her the whole story in spite of himself. But then the elevator doors opened on the third floor, and the bustle of people in the hall, even at this hour, changed Roy's mind for him yet again.
"Let's see, room 307." He could tell her later. There would be time.
Joanne led him to the door of the room, and paused just outside.
"Go on," she whispered with a smile. "I've already seen him. I'll be in in a minute."
Roy nodded, returning the smile – she had always known him better than anyone – and squeezed her hand, kissing her briefly before letting go to push the door open enough to slip inside.
The room was dark, except for the nightlight at the head of the bed for the staff to come and go by. John was asleep, and a bruise covered his left temple, but all in all, Roy had seen his friend look much worse. He crossed to the bed quietly; he was afraid to wake the younger man, but knew that Dixie would catch it from John in the morning, if someone didn't fill him in on what had happened. Reaching the right side of the bed, he laid a hand on his partner's arm and shook it gently.
"Hey, Junior, wake up," he said softly, repeating it more loudly when he didn't get a response. After a couple more tries, Johnny finally stirred and slowly opened his eyes to blink at Roy in momentary confusion.
"Roy?" he whispered, careful not to draw too deep a breath. "You okay?"
Roy couldn't stop the grin. "Yeah, I'm fine. Better than you, anyway."
"Good." Johnny appeared to concentrate for a minute. It was obviously a struggle just to keep his eyes open, but he hadn't finished the conversation yet; he just had to plan the breaths ahead of time. "Did they … get 'em?"
It took Roy a minute to realize that John wanted to know if the robbers had been caught. "I don't know." And he was mildly surprised to find that he really didn't care. They paused in silence for a few minutes, Johnny's eyes drifting shut in spite of him. Roy thought his partner had fallen asleep, until he stirred again.
"I'm afraid … I didn't take care of things … very well," he murmured. "Joanne sorta … took care of me … instead. Sorry."
"Well, you were a little distracted," Roy replied sympathetically. "And Joanne takes care of folks pretty well herself."
"Yeah," Johnny allowed, eyes still closed. "But I …"
"Look, Pal, this was just – it was nothing, this time," Roy interrupted, gripping John's hand for a moment. "You always come through when it counts. Don't worry about it." Roy turned as he heard the door open behind him to find Joanne peeking in.
"Is he awake?" she called softly.
"Joanne?" Johnny croaked, opening his eyes and looking around for her.
Grinning in relief, she came to stand beside her husband at the bedside, closer to the head, and leaned in to kiss Johnny's forehead.
"Honestly, you two. Can't you even shop without getting into trouble?" she teased, and was rewarded with a weak version of the infamous Gage grin.
"We tried, honey, honest," Roy protested beside her. "It was Johnny's idea to stop on the way back to the station."
"Hey, you … picked the place, partner –"
"Look what I started," Joanne announced wryly, shaking her head. In her relief to see both her husband and dear friend safe and in one piece, though, she was willing to put up with anything. "We are all much too tired to have this debate right now. You," she laid a hand on Johnny's arm and squeezed affectionately, "Go back to sleep. And you," she turned to Roy, "are coming home with me."
"All right," Roy gave in agreeably. Brackett had already told him he wasn't returning to work; the shift was over in a couple hours, anyway. And sleep sounded really good. Johnny, eyes closed again, was practically there already. "We'll come by and see you later, Johnny."
"Right," Johnny breathed. Roy suspected he hadn't heard that last comment, and was responding on automatic. He patted Johnny's hand one more time before turning to leave.
"Take care, partner."