Summary: The siren woke him. Its screech drowned out the laughter of the fire and the screams of terror. It drew him from his slumber like the sunrise. Even though his head throbbed and his vision tunneled, even though he could not comprehend what was around him, he knew that sound. He knew what it meant; knew that it was important. It was an order of the utmost severity; get out or die.
Disclaimer/warnings: No triggers that I can think of. I do not own the men of Station 51, but I do enjoy their company.
Line.
Home for Christmas
"Ah, man, when is B shift gonna get here? I got places to be!" Chet Kelly grumbled as he looked out the window of the station's day room.
It was seven thirty in the morning on Christmas Eve, and the men of A shift were eagerly awaiting their relief. For the first time in a couple of years for many of them, they had the holiday off. In just thirty minutes, each of the six men were free to spend the next four days with their family. They were more than a little excited.
"They have thirty minutes Chet, give 'em a break," Johnny mumbled as he sipped coffee. Oddly enough, the young man seemed to be the only one in the room who wasn't fidgeting.
"They better not be late," Chet grumbled moving away from the window to the table, "I promised my sister-in-law that I'd be there at eight thirty to take care of Lizzy!"
"Is this the first Christmas you get to be there with her?" Marco asked, referring to his friend's four-year-old niece.
"Naw… I was there at her first Christmas, but this is the first she's gonna really remember," Chet said with a far away smile.
Roy looked to Mike and smiled, "It's Justin's first Christmas, though."
Mike smiled and nodded, the new father looked fondly out the window in the direction of home. "Grace and I are going to get his picture taken with Santa today."
Hank laughed, "I remember those days with the girls. Oh the lines were horrible… but the pictures are worth it…. They're so big now. Almost in high school… time flies."
Roy nodded, "Joanne and I went after I got off last shift. One of the volunteer companies was selling trees and had a Santa. Kids got to pick out the tree; they had so much fun… Today we're going to decorate it."
"You make it sound like Christmas is just about the kids…" Marco teased the men.
"Oh, you'll learn!" Chet came back. "Just as soon as you become Uncle Marco!"
They all laughed at that.
"Yeah… I guess. Anahi and Jose have been staying with Mama and I for the last month, with Anahi being so close to delivering. Mama is so excited and frustrated! Anahi won't tell her if she's having a boy or a girl."
"Why not?" Chet asked his friend.
"Well, Anahi didn't want mama to go overboard with shopping for the baby. So, mama can't buy clothes until she knows if the baby is a girl or boy."
"Do you know if it's a boy or girl?" Roy asked, his voice teasing.
"Well… you see, Roy, I'm a lot like my mama…." Marco replied, blushing.
Again, all the men laughed. Then Hank set his eyes on Johnny, the only man who hadn't been a part of the conversation. Over the last few months the men of A shift had grown close. Though only in their first year as a crew together, they were very much a band of brothers.
Mike and Hank had known each other for years, Marco and Chet had been transferred from the same house, and Roy and Johnny had gone through the paramedic program together. They often all shared in each others' lives and in each others' families. However, as Hank thought back over the last few months, a peg of sadness struck the captain. He wondered, and not for the first time, if Johnny had a family, because if he did, he never talked about them.
"What about you John? What are you doing for Christmas?" Hank asked the youngest member of the crew.
Johnny stiffened as he felt the eyes of his shift mates' lock on to him. Though he trusted each of the men here with his life, Johnny had never told them the truth. He didn't have a family to go home to on Christmas. He had been orphaned as a child and he and his Uncle, who had raised him, had a falling out when he joined the fire department. The fire department had become his family so the fact he didn't have anyone to go see, meant he could do something for a fellow firefighter. A fellow firefighter like Andrew Henderson, his former mentor and friend at Station 10, his first station, who did have a family to spend the holiday with.
"Uh… yeah. I am. Gonna go see some old friends," Johnny said with his famous smile, "No kid stories though. Sorry." The last comment made the others laugh and seemed to appease them.
"Oh hey! B shift's here!" Chet called, looking out the window.
Line
"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know…" the voice of Sinatra drifted from the radio only to be drowned out by the giggles and squeals from the Desoto children.
They ran around the living room with their father chasing them. Freshly made popcorn strings were everywhere and ornaments were still in their boxes, currently being ignored. The smell of fresh cookies drifted in from the kitchen where they sat, waiting to be iced for Santa. Cards sat on the mantel, on display for everyone to see. Presents were hidden carefully, away from curious eyes, waiting to be wrapped that night when little people were tucked in bed and listening for reindeer.
It was Christmas Eve in the Desoto house, and this year Roy would be home for the holiday. Joanne watched her family fondly from where she hung tinsel. The smiles on her children's faces were brighter than any star's, bigger than any sky's, as they played with their father. They were so happy to have him home…
Tears formed in her eyes when she thought back, looking over their Christmas letters to Santa. They had both asked for only one thing from the jolly character, their father. When Roy had seen it, he had promised his wife come hell or high water, he would be home. It just so happened, that this year, Christmas fell between his shifts.
Joanne watched Roy scoop Jenny up and listened to her daughter's laughter. Chris was jumping and giggling, calling out to his sister that he would save her. Roy's laughter joined Jenny's as Chris wrapped his small arms around his father's waist in the best bear hug a six year old could give. This was all she wanted, in one scene, and Joanne felt a single tear of pure joy run down her face.
She dabbed at it and whispered, "Thank you Santa."
Line
Chet sat with his niece on his lab and a picture book before him. He was happily distracting her while her parents finished up their last minute errands. His brother's house was neatly decorated. The home smelt of fresh baked goods and fresh cut pine. Giggles filled the air as his niece listened to him read with funny voices.
Soon, Chet's parents and his sister and brother-in-law would be over. They would go to mass together, then come home and sing carols. His niece would beg to wait up for Santa, and his brother and sister-in-law would let her. She'd fall asleep on the couch and be carried to her bed. Chet would write a note from Santa to her and leave it at her bedside. He never wanted her to stop believing in Santa, not if he could help it.
The lineman couldn't, for the life of him, picture anything better than this.
Line
Marco helped his mother in the kitchen, much to the amusement of his sister. But she was not allowed to do anything this year, her mother had so decreed. This year, she was going to give the family the best gift it could ever ask for.
The kitchen door opened and in walked Jose, Anahi's husband, with a bag of groceries. A happy shout rang through the room and Marco quickly gathered the bag and began unloading it for his mother. Jose gave his mother-in-law a quick kiss on the top of her head before going over to his wife and fussing over her. Marco shook his head, a smile the size of LA County on his face. He had never seen his family so happy.
"God is good," his mother said in Spanish with a beaming smile and tears in her eyes as she watched her children, "my children are healthy and happy, my first grandbaby is coming, soon we will have the whole family and many friends here, and my Marco is home! God is good…"
Marco hugged his mother and kissed her forehead, tears in his own eyes. He looked over to his sister who leaned against her husband, smiling ear to ear and gave her a wink. She laughed at his antics and patted her belly. This was happiness.
Line
Mike, who rarely spoke at the station, was talking up a storm with the Stanley children as the two girls hung on every word he said. He was recounting to them a fire call that he had run with their father, while helping Hank to finish the last minute decorations for the party the Stanley's were hosting. In the kitchen Ellen, Hank's wife, and Grace, Mike's wife, fussed over the Stokers' new baby boy.
Lori and Susan, Hank's girls, laughed delightedly as their father tried to prevent Mike from telling any more stories, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Mike was on a roll, and all Hank could do was blush and shake his head.
"See if I invite you next year!" Hank grumbled the hallow threat as Mike laughed.
Each year Hank said the same threat. Each year Mike laughed it off. There was no reason it was going to stop now.
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Station 10 was quiet. There was an air of stillness to the familiar place, one that came from more than just a slow day. It was peaceful, familiar; like home. Johnny sat in what had once been his favorite chair, a book in his lab as he lazily read. Behind him, two of his fellow shift mates played cards. The two linemen were out in the yard playing catch. Each man was enjoying the calm.
Captain Ballinger walked into the day room from his office and poured himself another coffee. He looked over his men, content, before his gaze fell on the young man in the chair reading.
Johnny Gage had come to him a fresh cut boot; so green he nearly glowed. But the boy had, had firefighting in his blood. He was eager to learn, eager to grow, and eager to help. It took awhile for the seasoned men of station 10 to accept him when he had come, he had been the first boot they had, had in five years, but Johnny had a way of warming up to people. It wasn't just that he reminded all the men of their favorite kid brother, especially with that crooked smile. It was the amount of respect he showed to each man, the interest he showed in learning, and his ability to take criticism for what it was meant for.
Station 10 had taken the young man under their wing and turned him into a rescue man, but not just any rescue man. Johnny Gage was the best in the county, if not the state. There was nothing that Johnny couldn't get out of and no situation that he couldn't resolve.
It was no secret that Ballinger had a soft spot for the kid, and when Johnny had been under him he had become something of a father figure. So when Ballinger had been asked to talk to Johnny about the paramedics program, it had pained the elderly captain. He knew Johnny was a shoe in for it, but he also knew that it meant a new assignment for Johnny. He didn't want the kid to go, but he knew it would be selfish for him to keep the kid there too. It had been one of the hardest things for him to do to accept Johnny's transfer request to Station 51.
Looking at the boy now, he knew it had been the right thing. Already, not even a year later, Johnny had become one of the best paramedics in the state, second only to his partner. The realization brought a sense of closure for Ballinger, and pride. This was his boot, his man, who had gone on to achieve so much.
With a silent step, he shuffled his way over to Johnny and sat on the couch near him. "What'cha reading, Boot?" he asked in his gruff voice.
Johnny gave him a half smile as he looked up, "Moby Dick."
"You and your classics," Ballinger huffed, "how many times have you read that thing?"
"Only about a dozen," Johnny replied, smile still on his face. Ballinger had given him the book when he had left Station 10.
"What are you doing here anyway? Working overtime on Christmas, you should be out with some cute girl."
Johnny shrugged, "nah. The girls can wait until New Years. Besides, Andrew's daughter is having her first Christmas."
Ballinger nodded, Andrew was one of his rescue-men and one of Johnny's mentors. Johnny had taken his shift so that the new father could be home with his wife and daughter.
Once again, Ballinger was filled with pride. This was his boot.
Line
Hank Stanley opened the door a smile on his face. The family standing on the steps was greeted by the sounds of laughter and Christmas carols. "Roy! Joanne! Hey there kids!" Hank greeted with a handshake for Roy and a hug for Joanne.
"Hey Cap," Roy said with a smile, "sorry to come by…"
"Nonsense! I'm happy to see you! What brings you out this way?"
Joanne pushed the children forward, causing Hank to look down at them. He noticed then that Chris held in one hand a cookie tin, and in the other, his sister's hand. Kneeling down to Chris' level, Hank looked at the two small children, a happy smile on his face.
"We made cookies, and we wanted to give you some," Chris said handing the tin to Hank.
"Mu'ry Chris'mis, Cap'ain S'anley," Jenny added and gave the old smoke eater the best hug that a three year old could.
Hank laughed and returned the hug, before turning to Chris and giving the boy a handshake. "Well thank you both, what a wonderful gift. Hey, so, do you think you two can help me convince your parents to come in? We have fresh made fudge and Mrs. Emily is letting the kids help make the gingerbread house…"
The kids looked up at their parents eagerly, their eyes shining. "May we stay daddy?" Chris asked.
"P'eas?" Jenny added.
"We couldn't impose Sir," Roy said, suddenly feeling awkward.
"Nonsense!" Hank stated standing up, he winked at Joanne and added, "Mike, Grace and the baby are here."
Joanne laughed; Hank knew very well how close Joanne and Grace were, "Well, now we have to stop in Roy. I have to see that little boy."
Roy shook his head a smile on his face, "Alright. For a little bit."
Line
The party was in full swing at the Lopez home. It was as if the entire block had come to celebrate the holiday. There was laughter and shouting, music and singing, food and dancing… One of the men had dressed up as Santa and was passing out gifts to the gathered children.
It was loud and chaotic, but there was nothing in that home except love. You may not have been able to hear yourself think, but you knew that you were exactly where you should be. Still, it could be a little overwhelming. Which is exactly why Anahi and Marco had hidden away in a corner of the kitchen for a moment.
"So many people," Anahi said with a laugh as she took the glass of water from her brother.
Marco laughed, and he sat next to her at the kitchen table. He studied her hard for a moment, taking great effort to see past the little girl he had only ever thought her to be. Anahi was five years younger than he, and he had always been over protective of her. So much so, that the first time he saw Jose holding her hand, he had punched him only to be slapped by his sister. That was years ago though, and had become just a funny story. Now, his sister was twenty two.
She had married Jose right out of high school, something that Marco wished she hadn't done, but they seemed so happy. Jose was well on his way to becoming a vet, only one more semester and then he would be hired as an apprentice by his internship. Anahi was also almost finished with nursing school, though that was going to be delayed a little with the baby. Still, Marco had no doubt that she would soon be Nurse Anahi Maria Lopez Melendez.
The amount of pride he had for her was beyond words. With a soft sigh, Marco pulled from his pocket a small box and placed it in front of his sister. "I know it's early, but I think it'll be okay," he said with a wink.
His sister laughed at him and shook her head, "Oh Marco, what did you do?"
"Go ahead and open it," he replied with a smile.
With another shake of her head and a smile, Anahi delicately opened the box. The smile turned into a look of surprise when she pulled out a beautiful St. Monica pendant made of silver and pearl. Tears fell from her eyes as she looked at her brother.
"Marco…" She whispered because she knew how much this must have cost her brother. She wondered how he could have afforded it.
He simply stood and kissed her on the top of her head, "Feliz Navidad."
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Chet sat in the quiet of his brother's living room with his niece asleep in his lap. She had begged her uncle to stay up with her to look for Santa, and so he had. Looking at the clock, it was almost midnight, almost Christmas. Carefully, he stood up, gathering the child in his arms.
"For a moment I thought you were both asleep," Peter, Chet's older brother said.
Chet looked over to him with a soft smile, "I almost was."
Peter studied his brother, smiling sadly to himself. It was the first time in a long time that he could remember seeing his brother relaxed. Chet had always been high strung, but there was a difference between his antics and his tension. Chet had never seemed to have a worry growing up and then he had been sent to Vietnam.
Peter had avoided the draft because he was in the police force, but Chet had gotten drafted right out of high school. He had spent three years in the war and it had changed him. The first year he was back, he didn't laugh, he didn't sleep, and he barely talked. His family thought for sure that they were going to lose the young man and they were terrified.
Fire fighting had saved him though. It had been a fluke, Chet running into an old friend who showed him around his firehouse. It was just a small act of friendship, but it had breathed new life into him. It had given him a new purpose, and if Peter had to guess, in Chet's mind a chance at redemption. Still though, it was not an easy profession. Chet had seen friends die. He had seen people on one of the worst days of their lives. He had seen pain and fear in the faces of the people he swore to protect. It took its toll on him.
Peter understood that.
But in this quiet hour, watching his baby brother cradling his daughter, there was the old Chet. The happy go lucky one that he had thought lost so long ago. It was a precious moment.
"Want me to take her?" Peter asked needing to speak so that he knew this moment was real.
Chet shook his head. "I got the runt," he said looking at her face.
The clock chimed then, signaling the new hour… the new day. Chet leaned in and kissed the sleeping girl on her forehead, "Merry Christmas sweetheart."
Line
At Station 10, very different chimes were ringing. The screeching of tones had shattered the peace of their silent night. The stillness of Christmas was lost to the chaotic flurry of activity as the men of the station dressed in their bunker gear and hastened to their apparatuses.
First out the door was the utility squad, the engine right behind. Together, they raced towards the given address. They didn't have far to go before they saw the first signs of their enemy; the smoke was hanging low in the night sky, as if to envelope the burning building. In the star light, they looked like friendly gray clouds and the ash that drifted down from it could have been snow blanketing the street as if to create the illusion of a winter wonderland. Still though, it could not smother the glow that emanated like a beacon for the somber men.
They followed their beacon, each one saying a prayer to their deity of choice. This fire, unlike others that the men had faced, brought with it a deep sadness. This was no simple tree fire that they were pulling up to; this was an apartment building. This was dozens of people's homes that were lost to the beast and with it, the joy of their Christmas.
The scene, like any other fire, was chaotic. People were huddled near the burning wreckage, crying and clinging to each other. There were loud sobs and screams from the victims as they watched all they knew be devoured by a careless monster. Still more screams when the people looked up to see that some of their neighbors were still inside.
When Station 10 arrived, this is what greeted them. This chaos. But the men did not flinch. Ballinger picked up the radio and called for a ladder and a second and third alarm before the engine had even stopped. His linemen were out the door as soon as they felt the engineer apply the brakes, pulling lines without being instructed. They made for the entranceway, knowing that was the point to protect at this moment. The squad had pulled up a little ahead and the two men jumped out and gathered their gear. They were already dressed when their Captain approached them.
"No heroics, either of you. If it's too hot in there, you get out. The ladder's on its way. You got that?"
"Yes sir," replied Matt, the driver and older of the two rescue men.
Ballinger locked eyes on the younger man there, "Gage?"
"Do we have paramedics coming?" Johnny asked, eyes sizing up the building.
"We've got you. They're sending us Station 51 and 18," Ballinger said.
"Each person that comes out coughing should get some oxygen Cap. If after five minutes they don't stop coughing or if they start getting worse, call me," Johnny said. It was the best compromise he could come up with. He knew Sam and David from B shift would be more than able to take over care when they got there, but he knew they were also ten minutes out. They couldn't wait ten minutes to make entry.
Ballinger nodded and repeated, "No heroics. In and out."
"Yes sir," the two rescue men replied before they made their way into the belly of the beast.
Line
As he walked into the inferno, the chaos of the fire scene seemed to fade away and Johnny was left in the silence of the flames. All around him was thick black smoke being pierced by orange specks of light. He was instantly drenched in sweat as his body began to overheat. For a long moment he didn't know which direction was up or down, which way was left or right, and the only sound he could hear was the sound of his breathing behind his mask. Then he felt his partner's hand on his shoulder and the moment passed.
"I'll go up," Johnny shouted to be heard over the nose that was suddenly surrounding them.
Matt glanced up at the floorboards. Currently, they looked safe enough, no visible holes or charring, but they couldn't see the supports. There was no telling how stable the structure was and one misstep could bring all five stories down on top of them. "We don't know if it's hit the center column John," he said to his friend.
"I know. That's why I should go. I'm lighter. You clear down here. I won't go farther than the second floor. It didn't look like the fire had gotten to the third floor yet. We might get lucky," Johnny replied.
Matt nodded. He didn't like it, but they didn't have much of a choice. There were people trapped and their second assignment was still at least eight minutes out. "Be careful," he called to the younger man who was already making his way to the stairs. Johnny waved his hand in reply, saving his air, as he began his dangerous climb.
Line
Outside the building, Ballinger had setup command and was organizing the attack the best he could with his closest backup still six minutes out. The seasoned firefighter had been on many fire scenes, and sadly this was not the first Christmas fire he had seen in his long career. He had a feeling he would see a few more before his time was done.
This fire, while ugly, was not the worst he had ever seen. Most of the people seemed to be out, at least according to the superintendent. The ones who weren't were mostly on the fourth and fifth floor, what looked like ten or fifteen. The fire was mostly on the second and first and seemed to have a slow progression. His two line men were attacking what he hopped was the worst of it, buying the other two stations time to get there.
He had already arranged for Station 51 to attack the fire from the west and use their ladders to get the few souls trapped on the third floor. Ladder 18 would get those on the fourth and fifth. The two teams of paramedics would be responsible for checking everyone over, and as soon as they arrived he had every intention of pulling Johnny from search and rescue to go and be a paramedic.
As of right now, everything was under control. It was a horrible tragedy for these folks to witness. It was a sad Christmas, for sure. But this wasn't the worst that Ballinger had ever seen.
The sound of Engine 51 drew him out of his thoughts and he returned to the present. "Engine 51, have a team enter from the west for an interior attack. Tower 18, what is your ETA?"
Line
The last apartment on the second floor had been cleared. As far as Johnny could see, there had been no one in them. Looking out the window, the young man could see the familiar lights of Station 51's engine and squad pull in and he felt his heart strengthen just a little. It may not have been his shift, but it was his station and that helped to lend him courage.
John moved away from the window and made his way back into the main corridor. The paramedic had every intention of heading back to the command center knowing very well that his fellow paramedics would need his help. He had every intention of keeping his word to Matt and sticking to the second floor and not going any higher. That was until he heard the call for help.
He didn't know how he managed to hear it over the roar of the flames and his own breathing echoing inside his mask. But he did. It was desperate call born of bone chilling terror; the kind of terror that stemmed from certain death. It was the kind of cry that he could not ignore.
Raising his HT to his face, Johnny pulled his mask away just far enough so that he could be heard. "HT 10 second floor to Command," he called.
"Go for Command" barked the tough voice of Ballinger.
"Second floor is clear. I hear cries for help coming from the stairwell to third floor. Current path is clear. Okay to investigate?" John asked as he replaced his mask securely over his face.
"10-4," came the barked reply and with that permission, Johnny made his way to the stairwell door.
The wooden frame of the door wasn't hot. The hall surrounding the door wasn't smoke filled or covered in soot. It appeared for all intent and purposes that the fire had yet to reach this part of the building, but the moment Johnny opened the door he knew he was in trouble.
Fire had a funny way of sneaking up on a man, especially in drafty old building. It didn't take but a spark to ignite a new fuel source, and one good cross draft was all it took for that ignition to flare to life. One good up draft, and you had a ball of heat and fire spitting up at you from the depths of hell. It happened often as a fluke, some twisted spite of nature. The perfect storm of conditions; a narrow stairwell, burning embers falling on old dried wood, and the sudden introduction of fresh oxygen…
Johnny never even saw the person calling for help. He never even made it out onto the landing before the back draft blew him back into the hall. He felt his world rattle as he landed full force on his tank, head snapping back. His skull made a nasty 'thawk' sound as it connected to the wall, or maybe his tank… he wasn't sure what he hit it on. Darkness was clouding his vision as he sank to his knees. He was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe, let alone stay awake. He knew he should; sleeping was bad. He had to move, to get out, but he didn't know how. He couldn't convince his legs to work or his body to remain upright.
He collapsed, face down, tank pressing into his spine and busted ribs. Eyes, unfocused, stared into the new flames that spat up the stairwell and climbed through the door. They were reaching out for him, and he could feel their heat. He knew that the moment they touched him, they would consume him and he was terrified. His last thought as darkness took him was that the fire was laughing at him.
Line
They all heard it, everyone on the scene. It made them pause in their work, made them freeze to their very core. A blast that rattled the very frame of the structure… it could only mean one thing.
"Back draft! Third floor is now engulfed," came the voice of Stilwell, the captain from 18.
"All men, sound off," Ballinger ordered, heart racing. He had six men inside that damn building. Two searchers and four for an interior attack, and then there were the civilians that 18 were still trying to get to.
One by one, each crew counted in. Bit by bit, Ballinger felt fear unclench its fist from his heart. That was until he realized one man was missing.
"Command to HT 10, repeat role call."
"This is Cooper, I am clear Captain," came Matt's voice, and it held every bit the fear that Ballinger felt.
"Command to Gage. What is your status?" Ballinger snapped, already making his way to the front of the building. All around him, he saw men moving. Out of the corner of his eyes, the paramedics from 51 were gearing up. They had heard him say "Gage", and Ballinger knew that they were going to go in for him. It would have to be them. Johnny was a member of their station; they wouldn't let anybody else go in.
"Damn it Johnny, answer me. That's an order…" Ballinger snapped, frantic. To hell with protocol and staying in control, his man was down.
There was no reply by the time Sam and David reached the captain, set to go. "Sir," Sam said, waiting for his permission to enter.
Ballinger looked at the building, which was now almost fully involved. The sudden back draft had seemed to breathe new life into the beast and it was now gobbling hungrily at anything it could reach. He had seen this before, the way the flames reached. Collapse was imminent. It would be suicide to make entry now.
His heart breaking, Ballinger hung his head. He would not lose any more men to this beast. "Sound the retreat signal."
"Johnny—" David began, but was silenced when Ballinger placed his hand on his shoulder.
The old smoke eater was crying silently as he watched the flames devour its prey.
Line
The party had died down, and most had left. Only the men of Station 51 remained with their families. The children were all asleep, tucked in the guest bed or their room while their parents' stayed up talking.
The radio was on low, Christmas music playing softly as the six shared stories. Each were fully enjoying the company of the others without a care to be had. They fell into a comfortable lull in the conversation for a few moments, and Roy got his first good look at the time. It was two in the morning, and more than time to be headed home. He was just about to say that when the music was suddenly interrupted, attracting everyone's attention.
"We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news. Moments ago, an explosion ripped through an apartment building in the eighty block of Greenspring Road…" came the voice of a very serious sounding reporter.
"That's 10's first due, isn't it?" Mike asked.
"Yeah, and our second," Hank responded.
"The explosion is a result of a fire that started nearly an hour ago. Fire crews are on scene battling the flames, but there are reports that they are halting rescue efforts in lieu of the explosion. There are unconfirmed reports that people are still trapped inside, including one fireman. Stay tuned to WJ613 and we will bring you updates of the unfolding tragedy. Now back to your regular schedule program."
The last words of the reporter had gone unheard by those gathered. They had stopped listening to him the moment he said "including one fireman." With those three words, all the joy had been sucked out of the room. Each man bowed their heads, sending out a prayer to whoever would listen for their brother that this would not be their last fire. Their wives each exchanged knowing glances with each other; it was not their husbands in that building… this time.
"You don't think it's one of ours?" Grace asked after some time, her voice soft.
Mike sighed and hugged her near. She was still new to being a fireman's wife.
"They're all one of ours," Ellen answered softly, her hand gripping onto Hank's. "Every single fireman is one of ours."
Joanne looked to her husband who was staring quietly into space. "Roy?" she called softly, her hand lightly stroking his hair, "What'cha thinking?"
Roy swallowed hard, fighting with the emotions inside his head. He sighed softly as he turned to his wife and hugged her close, "Just a poem I heard once… I think about it every time…"
Roy didn't finish that thought; he wouldn't let his mind finish that thought. There was still hope. There was still a chance. The reporter had said it was unconfirmed and as long as it was unconfirmed… there was still a chance.
"What poem," Joanne asked, easing out of his grasp.
Again Roy sighed, suddenly feeling very old. "When I am called to duty, God, whenever flames may rage, give me the strength to save some life whatever be its age. Help me to embrace a little child before it is too late. Or some older person from the horror of that fate." Roy stopped, his voice choking slightly. He couldn't finish the poem, and he couldn't look at those gathered, ashamed of his own emotions.
He shouldn't have been, for in an equally choked voice, the stoic Mike Stoker picked up the rhyme. "Enable me to be alert and hear the weakest shout, and quickly and efficiently to put the fire out. I want to fill my calling and give the best in me, to guard my neighbor and protect his property."
When the words became too much for the engineer to finish, Hank too took his turn reciting the Fireman's Prayer, "And if according to Your will, I have to lose my life, please bless with Your protecting hand, my children and my wife."
Line
The siren woke him. Its screech drowned out the laughter of the fire and the screams of terror. It drew him from his slumber like the sunrise. Even though his head throbbed and his vision tunneled, even though he could not comprehend what was around him, he knew that sound. He knew what it meant; knew that it was important. It was an order of the utmost severity; get out or die.
John Gage did not want to die. He tried to move his arms, but pain flared throughout his back and chest. It was a pain so fierce, so intense it made him cry out. He sobbed out a word from a language he had not spoken in many years. If there had been any other ears around to hear him, he would have been embarrassed, as it where he was alone and so he allowed himself to once again call "*Eyday!"
He collapsed in pain and exhaustion on the floor, the sound of the fire's laughter covering his sobs. His head was too heavy, his chest too tight, and body too weak to move. John Gage did not want to die, but he could not find the strength to stand either. Outside he heard the siren sound yet again, perhaps its final blast. He sobbed out once more, "Eyday…" Before he lay still.
His chest and back burned with pain and heat and it was so hard to breath, even with the mask supplying him with air. He knew that he should be sweating, he knew that it was a very bad thing that he was not, but he didn't really care. He couldn't stand. He couldn't move. Dehydration really wouldn't matter in the end.
The fire had bowed under the doorframe now. It was in the hall and crawling its way towards him. He cursed the siren that woke him just so he could see his death approach. He shut his eyes, unwilling to face it.
"*Kʰe kawi!" came a shout causing him to open his eyes again. "Kʰe kawi!" the voice called again, forcing him to turn his head away from the flames, back towards the smoke. Then he saw it, a figure in the smoke, in the room he had cleared only minutes before. He was confused, because he had been so sure there was no one there. But he could see a figure now, in the smoke. It was the outline of a man.
"*Pʰidijin. *Pʰasu:l. Pʰidijin."
Johnny reached out his hand towards the figure, his mouth working but no sound was coming out. The figure hovered for a moment, before moving away. John sobbed out again, and pushed himself up to his knees. It was not easy, and it cost him dearly, but he was desperate. He had seen a figure in the smoke. Someone needed help. He had missed someone and now they needed help. He crawled, slowly and painfully, only his stubbornness keeping him going.
He bowed his head low and kept putting one hand in front of the other while dragging his legs along. He had lost all track of time, all account of his progress. He just kept going forward. So it was a surprise when his head bumped into the wall. He looked up, astonished as he saw the windowsill. For a moment, he had no idea what to do, he just stared at it, but then he heard the voice again. "Pʰidijin. Pʰidijin," and he knew then what to do.
Using the ledge to pull himself up, Johnny managed to get a grip on the window. With the remainder of his strength, he pushed it opened. The cool air hit him like the first drops of a welcoming summer shower. It wrapped him in a hug as if it were an old friend. But it also robbed him of the last strength he had. With a heavy sigh, Johnny flopped over the window ledge, hanging like a rag doll. From his head, his helmet, which had stayed with him by some miracle, fell to the ground below, clattering as it struck.
(A/N: *Eyday – Father/dad, Kʰe kawi! - My son, Pʰidijin - Take off, Pʰasu:l – burning. This is from a Northern Pomo Dictionary. The Pomo tribe is rooted in California. Source: /dictionary)
Line
The paramedics of Station 51 had gathered near their Engine. The last of the residents had been brought down by ladder 18. Two had died in the fire so far and a third may very well die still… two residents and one fireman. Not just any firefighter though, one of theirs.
The rest of the men on scene fought now to control the blaze. There was no saving the structure; it was lost. Their only goal was to keep the surrounding area clear. The paramedics of 51 could care less. As far as they were concerned, it could all burn.
"We can still go in there Cap," David said, eyes glued to the flames, "The south side…"
"Is crumbling. The supports have been eaten away… you could get in but you couldn't get out," Hook answered his man, his normally gruff, no nonsense tone was strangely soft. A fact that none of his men missed.
"Oh Johnny…" Sam said softly, "What were you even doing? You were suppose to be off with the rest of A shift… Damn it! What am I going to tell Roy?!"
Vinnie, the Engineer, put his hand on Sam's shoulder. It was the only comfort that he could offer. He too was at a loss for words. But it was all that Sam needed, at least for the moment.
With a deep and shuddering sigh, the man pulled himself together and looked to his partner. "Dave, we should go see if the boys from 30 need any help now that 18 is gone with their 2. We had a few others who looked like they needed transport…"
"Yeah," David scuffed. He sighed, wishing he could scream out his anger and grief, before following his partner towards the triage area.
The pair hadn't gone more than twenty feet when they heard it, a clatter. On reflex, they looked to the source of the sound, their breath catching in their throats as they watched the fire helmet roll to their feet. They stared at it a moment in disbelief before raising their gazes up, and that was when they saw him.
"David," Sam began, but he didn't need to.
"Cap!" the other man called, running back to his crew.
Sam stayed where he was, eyes glued to the still figure. "That a boy, Johnny. Hold on just a little longer. We're coming to get you."
Line
There were specks of activity. There was the sense that it was frantic and determined, but not the knowledge. He was not sure exactly where he was, but he knew he was not in the fire. He was too cold to be in the fire.
"Jesus Christ…. Look at his back!" a voice that he should have recognized said.
"Get a good listen to his breath sounds, bruises like that could mean…" Came a steady reply, though it was a forced steadiness. That he could tell. "...check his pupils."
A cry left his body when he felt himself jostled. There were soothing words and gentle hands, but they did nothing to stop the onslaught of pain upon his form.
"*Daxa!" He whimpered, causing the hands to pause.
"Nonsensical words…" he heard murmured softly and someone far off repeated it.
Nonsensical? How could it be nonsensical? How could they not understand he was calling for help? "Daxa! *Ditʰale!" he tried again, but still the voices around him didn't understand.
They were talking again about things that only made the vaguest of sense. They were ignoring him, ignoring his words because they didn't understand. And he was in so much pain, and he was so scared…
"Daxa!" he tried again, and he tried to move. A pain so intense ripped through his chest and head that he forgot how to breathe. He hovered for a moment on the edge of an abyss, tittering there knowing that if he fell over he wouldn't make it back out.
"Daxa!" his mind screamed franticly yet again, "Daxa!" But there was no answer. There was a flurry of motion, he could sense it, but there was no answer. No one could hear him; no one knew that he was falling over…
A hand grasped his. It was rough, calloused, and warm. It grabbed onto him with strength and determination that he had thought no longer existed in his world. It tethered him.
"Hang on Johnny. Hang on," he heard a familiar voice say softly, soothingly, but that voice was never soft. It never soothed. It barked orders and called commands...
Johnny opened his eyes, just a little, just enough to see for himself, to confirm what his ears were telling him. And he saw it, but he still couldn't quite believe it. "Daxa…" he said again, finally able to breathe.
Ballinger shook his head, "I'm sorry John. I don't understand. What is daxa?"
Johnny shut his eyes, he was so tired and the darkness there was so welcoming…
"John!" Ballinger barked, forcing the young man to open his eyes again. Forcing Johnny to look at him. "What is daxa?" he asked again, more to give the young man something to focus on. The two paramedics were convinced that Johnny was speaking nonsensical words. That he had some kind of skull fracture, so Ballinger wasn't expecting an answer. No one was.
"Help…" Johnny choked out, "daxa means help…" and then he was out again.
(A/N: *Daxa – Help, ditʰale – pain)
Line
Roy held Chris carefully in his arms while Joanne cradled Jenny. They stood in the entranceway of the Stanley home saying their quiet farewells to their hosts. The holiday spirit had left the group in the light of the unfolding tragedy and the late hour.
Mike had just opened the door to leave when the Stanley's phone rung. Each person held their breath, there was only one reason why the Captain's phone would be ringing at this hour…. The firefighter was someone they knew.
Hank sighed, a sorrow weighing him down as he moved to answer the phone. "Captain Stanley," the others heard him say from the kitchen. They each stayed still as they waited for the conversation to play out. They heard almost frantic murmurs and several times Hank's voice rose before he leveled it off. The tone alone was enough to tell them that this was bad, very bad. It had to be one of Station 51's members; there was no other reason for Hank to be so upset.
After what felt like an eternity, the call finally ended and Hank rejoined the group. He looked every bit like a man in shock, pale, wide eyed, and shaking. He had to lean against the doorframe for support so that he could gather his thoughts. Ellen was by his side the moment she saw him, her hand resting on his back.
"Hank?" she called softly, getting her husband to look at her.
"He was trapped on the second floor… a back draft knocked him unconscious… but they got him out…" Hank began, and the others looked at him confused, because while they understood what he was talking about, they didn't know whom.
"Who, Hank? They got whom out?" Ellen asked.
This time Hank looked directly at Roy, his eyes still wide with fear, "he's in serious condition Roy, but they got him out. They. Got. Him. Out."
"Cap, who is it?" Roy asked, suddenly feeling very hollow.
"Johnny," Hank whispered.
Line
Chet was helping his brother set out the presents under the tree, now that Lizzy was tucked away in her bed. The two joked quietly as they arranged the carefully wrapped gifts enjoying the quiet time before the celebrations began. However, the phone interrupted their moment of brotherly bonding
Peter frowned as he walked over to the annoying device, "Who the heck could be calling?"
Chet watched him as he answered the phone, and the moment he heard his brother say, "Marco," there was a pit in his stomach.
"Chet, it's Marco… He says it's important…. It sounds like something's wrong," Peter said, his voice soft and eyes showing his concern.
Chet swallowed hard, trying to ease the growing fear. He prayed to all he held dear that Marco wasn't calling because his sister had lost the baby as he took the receiver. "Marco, you know what time it is?" he tried to tease, but the words sounded shaky, even to his own ears.
"Yeah. I'm sorry…" his fellow lineman said, and Chet could hear the emotion in his voice. "It's just… I got a call from Cap. I'm getting ready to head to Rampart to meet him, Roy and Mike…."
"Marco, what's happened? What's going on?" Chet asked, his heart speeding up. His friend sounded scared and confused; not at all like himself. Something was very wrong.
"There was a fire at an apartment building tonight. Something went wrong…." Marco began, his voice choked.
"Who?" Chet asked now knowing exactly where this was going. "Are they…?" but Chet's voice caught in his throat.
"No. No, we're going to Rampart. I don't know what condition he's in, but Chet… Johnny was working overtime at 10. The fire… Johnny… it's Johnny… he was trapped."
"John?" Chet repeated in a small voice. He felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. He and John may fight like cats and dogs, but the younger man was just like a kid brother to him, perfect to tease but with a need to be defended.
"Yeah. I'm on my way to Rampart now. I'll come get you?" Marco asked. There was no questioning if Chet wanted to come, because Marco already knew the answer to that. Johnny was one of theirs, and he needed his brothers right at the moment more than they needed to be with their families. And, in all honesty, his brothers needed to see him, to reassure themselves that he was alive, more than he probably needed them.
"Yeah. Sure. I'll wait for you outside," Chet said and he hung up the phone with a shaky hand.
"Chet?" Peter called to his brother, after Chet didn't move for a moment.
"I… I have to go Pete. A friend… one of my shift mates… he's been injured," Chet said softly, "Tell everyone I'm sorry…."
"No need Chet. We all understand," Peter replied softly.
line
Ballinger sat in the waiting room of Rampart Emergency, head bowed in a silent prayer. The rest of his station had gone back to quarters to shower and change. He refused to leave. He had stood down his station in no uncertain terms. If 10 was going to run again tonight they would have to call in C shift.
He was not leaving.
The halls of Rampart were quiet, even with the sudden influx of smoke inhalation victims. Apparently, most people were respecting the peace of the holiday and had decided to stay home. The few that were there eyed the old smoke eater with soot on his face and still dressed in his bunker gear. He had a grim expression and his eyes were locked on the doors that lead back to the exam rooms.
51's paramedics had scooped Johnny up so fast after he blacked out the second time…
They had rattled off words that made no sense to the old man. Pneumothorax, skull fracture, concussion, hemorrhaging, flail chest, smoke inhalation… they made no sense….
"Art?" came a familiar voice interrupting his thoughts. The tired man who still had soot on his face looked up at his fellow Captain.
"I'm sorry Hank. I should never have sent him in…" he said softly.
Hank sighed, and sank into the chair next to his friend. Roy and Mike took seats across from the Captain, both silent but clearly upset. Especially Roy.
When the elder paramedic had heard the news about his partner, he had grown pale and shaky. He had barely been able to help his wife get his son into their car before he and Mike climbed into Hank's and headed to the hospital. He said nothing the whole way there and one look at his face told you that he was trying very hard not to believe the news.
"What happened Art?" Hank asked after several moments of tense silence.
"Apartment fire with people trapped. Our closest help was ten minutes out, we didn't have time to wait. If there was anyone still on the second floor, we'd have lost them. Johnny said his path was clear. I gave him permission to move to the third floor. There were no visible flames… I should have pulled him. Had him come assist 51's paramedics but he heard someone calling for help… He got caught in a back draft, pushed him back hard. The building became unstable then. We couldn't send anyone in…." Ballinger's voice drifted off there and he looked past the others, into flames that they couldn't see.
"How'd he get out then?" Chet asked from behind the captains, startling the others.
They all looked up to find Marco and Chet standing there. There were nods of welcome as the two linemen took nearby seats, but everyone's attention was very much on the older captain.
"He made it to the window. 51's paramedics saw him… your B shift got him out," Ballinger said.
The men of the A shift took a long moment to say a silent prayer of thanks to their fellow station members. Then Roy asked the one question that they all were dreading, "How… how bad?"
Ballinger sighed, tired. "I don't know… he was shocky. Having problems breathing. They said something about a pneumothorax and head injury. He wasn't making sense, kept saying words that didn't make sense."
Roy paled, and he shifted. He above all there knew how bad those signs were. "Was… any burns?" Roy asked, after taking a moment to gather himself.
"No. None that we could see… the bruising though…. His whole back…." Ballinger shook his head and sighed, leaning forward. "I'm sorry Hank."
"It's not your fault," the younger captain reassured. He understood though, that guilt. You send a man into a fire you hold your breath until they come out. God forbid, they don't come out, or come out injured… it could take a lifetime to learn to breathe again.
"What I don't understand is why Johnny was working. I thought he said he was going to see friends for Christmas…" Chet pondered up loud.
Ballinger shook his head, "He works every holiday. You didn't know that?" The others exchanged glances, all looking a little surprised. Ballinger studied their expressions and humphed, "Guess not."
"Every holiday?" Roy asked, his voice betraying his surprise.
Ballinger nodded, "Since I've known him. He picks up shifts for some of the family men. Always has at least for the big holidays."
"Why? I mean, doesn't he ever want to go home and see his folks or something?" Chet pondered, still very confused. He'd take any holiday he could get to spend with his family. He thought that was true for everybody.
Ballinger shrugged, "He don't have much of a family. I think he lost his folks a ways back. Has an uncle, but don't say much about him. Think he's got a aunt in these parts but she travels or something. Never mentions them."
The men of A shift shared a look over the head of Ballinger, each one suddenly feeling very guilty. They had all been so very caught up in their own plans and their own excitement that they just hadn't noticed Johnny's silence. Looking back though, their youngest member had always seemed to skillfully dodge the subject of his family that they had just seemed to stop asking. He seemed to prefer it that way.
After a long moment of comptimplation, Roy took a deep sigh and let it out slowly. "Well," he said softly catching every one's ear, "if he makes it out of this, he's never working on Christmas again, that's for sure. I'll see to that."
"I'll help," Chet agreed.
"Si," came Marco's quick reply.
"I'll make it an order," Hank added and Mike nodded his agreement.
Ballinger just shook his head. He was still too caught up on the "if" to worry about anything else.
Line
Kel Bracket frowned as he examined the X-rays displayed in front of him. His skilled eyes traced over every detail of them, first going to the skull series, then the chest, and finally back to the skull. Next to him, his counterpart, Joe Early, was doing the same.
Just behind them on the exam table was Johnny Gage being tended to by Dixie. The young hose jockey was battered and bruised. He had come in to their ER with a possible flail chest and a pneumothorax in his left lung. To make matters worse was the suspected skull fracture that Dave and Sam warned him about.
Right away, Kel had gotten X-rays and had the OR set up for a chest tube and emergency surgery. Johnny had been put on a low level of oxygen until they could rule out any head bleeds and that seemed to be helping him hold his own. As for his skull, Bracket could definitely tell that Johnny had a concussion, which was clear.
The sluggish way his pupils moved, the fact that he was in and out of consciousness, and the fact he had vomited a couple times in transport were all good indications of a pretty sizeable concussion. As for the "nonsensical words" that seemed to have Sam and Dave most concerned… Bracket wasn't convinced that it was an indication of anything. Nor was his consulting doctor.
"I don't see it Kel…" Joe finally said, breaking the strained silence. "I don't see a skull fracture. The broken ribs are there. But there's no indication of a skull fracture or pneumothorax."
There was an audible sigh from his fellow doctor that made Joe glance over. The relief on his face was uncharacteristically clear to see. "Dixie," he called to the nurse that was standing by Johnny.
She looked up from her work of changing the bandages around the newly inserted chest tube, meeting the doctor's eyes. Dixie had been taking care of Johnny since he had been brought in. Every aspect of his care was looked to by either her or under her careful supervision. "Yes Kel?" she asked as she finished her task.
"I think we can go ahead and stand down the OR, we'll put him in the ICU for a bit and monitor him," he said. "He's as stable as he's going to get for the time being."
Dixie nodded, not quit able to hide her relief. Not that the other two men really cared, they too thought of the young man as family. They were silent as the nurse left, eyes glued to their patient. Johnny was mumbling again, the same phrases he had been repeating since coming in.
"That still bothers me, Kel," Joe admitted with a shake of his head, "all indications are that he has a moderate concussion except for the incoherent speech… that's the odd ball symptom."
Kel nodded, understanding his colleagues concern. "I'm not convinced that the words are incoherent, just based off of the structure in which he's using them. It sounds almost like a one sided conversation. Not to mention that both Sam and Dave said he was able to define one of the words on scene when asked. That's a good indication of situational awareness," Kel reassured his friend.
"So what, you think Johnny is speaking another language?" Joe asked, a little surprised at the idea. He had known Johnny almost a year and in that time the young man had never given him an indication he spoke anything but English.
Kel nodded, "It is possible when you consider the patient."
"How so?" Joe prompted.
"Johnny's Native American. He was born and grew up on a reservation. Many of the reservations still use a native dialect. I would wager a bet that his first language wasn't English and as you very well know that when patients are in pain or overwhelmed they often revert to things that are the easiest for them to understand. Like their first language," Kel explained.
Joe gave him a tired half smile and nodded, "It's a good theory. Very reassuring to think about…."
"But just a theory. I know. We'll just have to rely on the X-rays then and ask Johnny about it when he wakes up," Kel chuckled.
"Good plan. Now, shall we go see some fireman and give them an update?"
Line
Dawn had broken and the men of 51 sat in the ICU waiting room. Soon, their families would be waking up and the children would be running down to the tree to see what Santa brought. They had all hoped to be there, it had been all they talked about the last few shifts, but oh how that had changed. Now all they wanted was for Johnny to wake up.
"When are they gonna let us see 'im?" Chet grumbled, the only one of the men who wasn't sitting. The impatient lineman was up and pacing the length of the room while all the others slumped in the uncomfortable chairs.
"Just as soon as he's settled," Roy said evenly, more relaxed than before. There were very few things more soothing to his nerves than an unworried Dr. Bracket
"Art will be back in an hour or so," Hank murmured, eyeing the clock, "we should all think about calling home…" he added.
"I better wait. Mama wants a full update and that means she wants to talk to Johnny." Marco said.
There were some murmurs and a few chuckles but then they all fell back into their own thoughts. Waiting was hard, but at least they knew their youngest would make it.
Line
"What do you think Kel?" Joe Early asked his fellow doctor as they both reviewed the numorouse charts that had accumulated from their difficult patient.
"I think John Gage is going to make me an old man sooner than I'd like to be," Dr. Bracket answered.
Joe chuckled, tired but relieved. The fireman was showing signs of waking up and his breathing was greatly last series of X-rays and blood work had confirmed that he had no pneumothorax and no carbon monoxide poisoning. "I think that's true for both of us. But at least he's stable."
Kel nodded. "I think it's safe to let his firehouse in, but just one at a time," the doctor said to a young nurse who had been helping to settle Johnny in. She smiled and nodded before disappearing to tell the worried men. "I'm going to go tell Dixie the latest before heading to the cafeteria."
"I'll save you a seat, I'm on my way to get some food too. I'll talk to Roy for you first though," Joe said.
"Thanks," Kel called to the retreating doctor. "And Joe!" he called, getting the attention of the other man, "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Kel."
Line.
Dr. Bracket had told the nurse to let the men in one at a time to see Johnny. After all, this was the ICU and the rules of the hospital were to be followed. But the young fireman was tucked in the back corner of the ward, alone in a room that was meant to be a double, and Nurse "Nanny" Fran always had a soft spot for firemen. Especially a 'baby' like Johnny. So when the men of his firehouse 'snuck' in to see him, she just smiled and looked away.
Oh, she would fuss at them all when she did her rounds, grumbling about rules and them getting in the way, but she'd leave them with a smile and a wink. When Art came and checked in with her, she smiled, pointed, and said "bring a chair." She almost drew the line when Roy asked her if their families could come up as well, she had to pause and think a moment. That was a lot of people in a small room, but the young Paramedic said it would only be a few at a time, they were all just worried about the young man. So, she relented, and didn't even feel the slightest bit guilty about it. It was Christmas, after all, and the boy deserved waking up to his family.
And waking up is exactly what Johnny was doing. It was slow going, but he was responding to the people talking in his room. They men from 51 and Art were busy telling stories and making jokes, all while keeping an eye on the young man. John seemed to be following along with them, turning his head in the direction of the speaker and eyelids fluttering as the others laughed. His fists were also clenching and unclenching which Roy reassured the others was a good sign in the case. It was about seven thirty in the morning when the moment they all had been hoping for came, and John Gage managed to open his eyes,
It wasn't noticed at first because Chet had finished telling a story and the others were laughing, but then Roy had happened to catch a glimpse of brown. He smiled warmly, his relief clear to see, and said, "well hello there Junior, welcome back." That caught everybody's attention and the men all turned to look at their youngest, smiles on their faces.
Johnny looked at them all, blinking slowly, clearly confused as to what was going on. When he finally looked back at Roy, he managed a sheepish smile and asked, "what I do now?" That seemed to make everybody laugh and Roy just shook his head.
Art was the one who managed an answer and he in his old gruff way he grumbled, "you gave me a damn heart attack is what happened. I told you no heroics."
Johnny looked at his old Captain, his brow frowned. "There was an apartment fire, right?"
Art nodded, "yeah. It was a big one."
"Johnny, do you remember anything?" Hank asked, and the atmosphere was growing more serious as the others waited for the answer. Each man wanted, and probably needed in some way, to know the details of the events inside that building, but no one wanted to push their friend too hard.
Johnny was still for a long moment, eyes looking blankly into nothing. Roy, knowing that look and knowing his partner, was the only one there to understand the expression. Johnny was confused, and trying to force himself to remember which was making his brain overwhelmed. He'd seen it before with other head injuries and he knew what to do.
"Junior," he said softly, getting his friend's attention, "what is the first thing you remember about the fire?"
"We pulled up, and there were people trapped on the upper floors. Fire was showing on the second and there were people with soot and coughing. I didn't know if I had to be a paramedic or a rescue man," he answered matter of fact.
"But you chose to do something, why?" Roy kept going.
"If anybody was on the first or second floor they'd be dead sooner than later. That was the life threat," Johnny answered and shrugged. He smiled almost sheepishly and added, "you have to address the biggest life threat first."
Roy chuckled, and then explained to the other confused men, "paramedic training. It's a running joke." Turning back to, Johnny he continued, "so you made entry. You started searching. What happened next?"
"I was on the second floor. I thought I heard something in the stairwell, I guess I went to take a look," John answered.
"Do you remember anything after that?" Roy asked sending a sideways glance to the others in the room. He could tell they were also on edge, both wanting to know what happened and hoping Johnny didn't remember.
"No. Not really. I mean… Something bad must have cause I'm in the hospital and you're all here, but I can't remember much except clearing the last room." Johnny frowned then, a thought coming to him. He had the vague memory of crawling towards someone in the smoke, but he couldn't tell if it was a dream or if it happened. The imagine wasn't tangible, it wasn't solid.
"What's on your mind Johnny?" Mike asked, catching the far off expression.
"Did they find the man?" Johnny asked looking at Art.
"What man?" He asked, tensing. There had been a body found on the third floor landing. An elderly lady who hadn't made it and a man who succumbed to smoke inhalation en route to the hospital, but there were no other victims rescued from the building and no one was reported missing,
John shook his head, "I'm not sure. I thought I saw someone in the smoke, but it was probably a trick of the light."
Art nodded, "you hit your head pretty hard. What we guess is when you were moving to the third floor, there was a back draft. It pushed you back and you hit your tank. Your back's an ugly site."
"Guess that's why it hurts…" Johnny mumbled.
"That would be the two broken ribs, young man, and the bruised spin," came the stern voice of Dixie. All the men looked to the door wide eyed, like children caught sneaking into places they shouldn't be. She stood there in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes glaring around the room. "Now, is this a hospital or a zoo? The rule is one at a time on the ICU floor, and here you all are packed in here like sardines."
The firemen shifted nervously, all bowing their heads. Nobody wanted the wrath of Dixie. "And to make matters worse, there's even more people here to see you…" She continued, but this time there was most definitely a smile in her voice. She stepped out of the way to allow the two Desoto children room to enter. Both of them racing towards the bed where Johnny lay.
"Uncle Johnny!" Chris called, climbing up next to him, smiling. "Mama said you hit your head," he said, "is it hurting or did your mama kiss it better already."
Johnny smiled while the other laughed at the innocence of the question. "The doctors made it better, buddy," Johnny reassured, scooting up some to make a lap for Jenny to sit on. She leaned against Johnny, wrapping her arms gently around his midsection a smile on her face.
"Happy Chris'miss Uncle Johnny," she said softly.
John ran hand through her hair and smiled at her fondly, "happy Christmas sweet heart."
From the doorway, Joanne got everyone's attention and announced, "we've brought breakfast gentlemen and presents. So, if you would all like to gather in the waiting room, that is probably a better place than cramped in this tiny room."
"And don't you worry John, as long as you're feeling up to it you can come out too," Dixie added, "but first things first and Dr. Bracket needs to take another look at you. Fair?"
"Fair enough," Johnny said with a smile as Dixie and Joanne began ushering everyone out of the room.
Line.
It was only a little while later that Johnny was allowed to join the other, provided he remain in a wheelchair, and didn't over do it. He was delighted to see that not just the Desoto family had come, but the other families of his shift mates were there as well. There was Marco's mother, Mrs. Lopez, who proceeded to immediately fuss over him. Susan and the girls, Grace and the baby… It was wonderfully warm and jovial.
The celebration didn't last terrible long, it was clear to all that Johnny needed rest and so they began to say their farewells. Each wishing him well and a speedy recovery. Very soon, the young man found himself tucked back into his hospital bed with only Roy left.
"Cap, Mike, and I heard about the fire on the radio, ya know," Roy said softly after a long silence.
Johnny looked at him, sleepily, and waited for him to continue. Roy had a point he was about to make, Johnny could sense it coming.
"We heard them announce a fireman was suspected trapped…it never crossed our minds it would be you. You told us you were going to see friends…" Roy said looking at him.
"I did. 10 was my first station," Johnny said with a yawn, "I wanted to give Andrew a shift off for his daughter's first Christmas."
Roy nodded, "Captain Ballinger said you always work the holidays?"
Johnny shrugged. He gave Roy a half smile and said, "I don't have a family and other guys do. I try to let them off when I can."
"It's Christmas Johnny..you could have died…" Roy sighed.
"That could have been any fire though, any day, you know that."
"But Christmas…" Roy shook his head. The thought of waking up and hearing that his partner, his best friend, was dead on this day… It was enough to make you sick.
"I've always worked it. Never bothers me. I'm not a family man, so I just work it," Johnny tried to explain again.
"That's gonna change, Johnny," Roy said. "No more taking others holidays. You have a place to come now."
"Roy, it was never about a place to go… I never minded working the holidays. I mean...they're not my holidays, they're yours," Johnny murmured. He was clearly getting tired.
"You're talking about the reservation, aren't you?" Roy asked, his voice even. Johnny rarely talked about growing up there, and he didn't know if it was because of bad memories or for other things.
Johnny smiled and nodded, "yeah. I am."
"What's it like being away from them, do you miss it?" Roy probbed.
Johnny, half asleep, nodded. "Sometimes I do, most times I don't. I don't think I remember it right all the time. But during our holidays...I miss it the most."
There was a long moment of silence between the two men, Johnny drifting to sleep and Roy lost his thoughts. Than the younger man spoke softly, his voice a sleepy murmur. "If I told you something, would you think I'm crazy?"
Roy smirked, "I already think you're crazy Junior."
Johnny ignored the teasing, or maybe he just didn't hear it, and continued. "I think I remember something about the smoke… The man I think I saw…"
"Yeah, what's that?" Roy prompted, now fully interested. He had spoken to Ballinger after Johnny woke up, trying to judge how much his partner remembered about the fire. Art had told him there were only two dead, and of those two only a lady died in the building. Roy had simply thought Johnny was dreaming about the man, but now he had brought it up again.
"My dad was a fireman Roy, he died in a fire when I was young. My mom...she died when I was a baby, but my dad chose to stay on the reservation, to raise me there. He died in the fire and my uncle took me in," Johnny was almost rambling and Roy was afraid he was going to fall asleep before he got to the point. "I think I saw him in the smoke, Roy, I think he was there."
Roy held his breath for a long moment, unsure what to say. Johnny had a head injury compounded by smoke inhalation and other pain from his ribs. It was the knee jerk reaction to say that he was hallucinating and nothing more, that was after the most likely explanation. Except...people who were hallucinating tended to not know they were. They tended to truly believe what they were seeing was real. Johnny kept saying "I think", and those words, for him, normally indicated his sense of feelings.
Johnny didn't 'know' he was seeing his father, he sensed his father. He thought his father was in that building with him, maybe to watch over or protect him. Roy had felt that too once in 'Nam when he was trapped in a foxhole and the VC were crawling over him. He could have sworn his grandfather was there. A man he had never met and a career soldier who died in WWII, was there comforting him, reassuring him... He didn't know how he knew, but he did. So, he understood what John was telling him.
"Johnny, you somehow managed to crawl to a window after a back draft knocked you out just in time to get Dave and Sam's attention. No, I don't think you're crazy. It makes some strange kind of sense that your father would be there," Roy assured.
Johnny yawned and then mumbled, "that's my thought too."
"You miss him, don't you?" Roy asked unable to understand how a boy could live without his father. He couldn't imagine not having his.
"Katsi:naman," came the startling reply.
Roy's head snapped up, now on edge, his paramedic brain kicking in. There, suddenly, was the nonsensical words that Dave and Sam had said Johnny was speaking. Had the doctors been wrong? Had Johnny's brain actually been damaged? But there was another thought in his head, something from the conversation that whispered to him, quelling the fear. The reservation…his father...was it possible…?
"Johnny, what does that mean?" He asked.
"Huh? Katsi:naman? It means constant ache," he mumbled.
Roy nodded, starting to relax, "and...what language is that?"
"Pomo," he replied.
"And you speak it?"
"I am Pomo."
Roy chuckled, shaking his head. Nonsensical words...more like another language. "Get some rest Johnny, I'll be back tomorrow to take you home."
Johnny didn't reply, already sound asleep.
Roy shook his head, mumbling under his breath once again that next year, come hell or high water, John Gage was going to be home for Christmas.
End.
Merry Christmas.