No Hard Feelings

By: Zeng Li

Based on the characters and 'world' of the 1970s TV series "Emergency!"

The game was over, and 51 had pulled off the win. Men who were weary and sleep-deprived coming into the game were now jumping around the gym and hefting Chet Kelley, their hero, onto their shoulders. Roy watched from the sideline, only half smiling. A win meant advancing, but the thought roused nothing but dread.

Part of him pushed to join the celebration, especially in light of the slaughtering that 16's men had dealt to them in the first half. His right ankle was still shaky from the injury that took him out of the game earlier, but without which Chet would not have been in to substitute. His teammates didn't notice him, which made him feel both excluded and happy to remain stealthy.

Roy folded his arms, hugging his arms around his chest less for warmth and more for the psychological need to block the world out. His colleagues were out there sweating, but he'd long cooled down along with the ankle which was sore and stiff from the ice treatment he'd given it to prevent swelling. He really didn't need to be bashed around in the revelry for a win he had nothing to do with.

As he turned to hobble back to the locker room, he heard his captain's voice call out.

"C'mon, pal!" Hank Stanley waved to him. "We won!"

Roy limped forward one step, laying on a little extra awkwardness to remind anyone watching why he wasn't up to jumping around. Besides, he wasn't the team's hero. Chet was.

Marco slid the temporary idol off his shoulder, and all eyes of five smiling faces were on Roy. The injured man couldn't find it to smile back but instead looked on with dread as if any one of those faces would suddenly bound onto him like an over-excited dog. The likeliest of them being Chet Kelley or John Gage.

"You all right, Roy?" the captain's expansive smile slackened a little, his heavy eyebrows shifting with concern.

"Fine…" Roy said sullenly, his voice unheard over the echoing sound in the open gymnasium.

The first dog to pounce was Johnny, but he'd barely made it past center court when he pulled back his vigor a little. The rest of the team advanced more slowly behind him. Ever the feline personality, Roy felt a bit like prey. He shifted his weight, again intentionally showing his weakness and perhaps exaggerating it a bit.

The gimpy stagger, however, was a bit of an antidote to the team's excitement over their miraculous win in the closing seconds of play. He didn't mean to bring everyone else down from their much deserved celebration, and he didn't want their attention, especially not Chet's.

"How's the ankle, Roy?" Johnny asked, advancing slowly towards his partner. His concern was genuine but his smile intimidating.

"Fine…" Roy said softly as before, but this time heard by his all friends.

Johnny was fully tamed by the time he got close enough to touch Roy lightly on the shoulder. The younger man's eyebrows were cocked unevenly out of concern. Neither paramedic really knew what to say to the other.

Hank stood behind his men, hands on his hips with his tall frame towering over the others. Chet was the only one still smiling, brimming with arrogance just waiting to be spewed. Roy wanted to punch the man in the moustache and hopefully take out a few teeth in the process.

Instead, he faked a smile. "No, no…I'm glad for you…for us…" he said unconvincingly. The forced smile betrayed him, saying "go away" instead of "I'm really happy."

"Roy…" Johnny chastised him with a dragged out drone. Half of the older man's face twitched up into an awkward smile. The younger paramedic clapped him firmly on the shoulder, his own face cracking with a bright toothy grin. "We're going on to the Finals! What do you say!?"

Roy rocked slightly under the pressure of the over-joyed hand, maintaining as much of his mannequin pose as possible. "Swell…" he said plainly, his eyes shifting over to Chet.

"Hey…" Chet saw the glance right away, pulling a full serving of bitterness from it. He shrugged, pointing his hands to his own chest. "I got your back, pal. Don't be sore at me. It all worked out in the end."

"I'm not sore."

Chet slid up to Roy's other side. Roy recoiled slightly, looking down at the shorter man. "Some of us got just got hidden talents, you know?" said the firefighter. "Others of us…"

"Chet!" Johnny berated him, reaching over to playfully shove the self-proclaimed phantom before he said anything to insult his partner. "He knows he dropped the ball, you don't have to remind him," Gage added, claiming any insult credit for himself.

"Yeah?" Chet came back. "And how many times did you drop the ball, right into 16's hands until I came along and saved all our butts?"

"Don't do us any favors," Roy grumbled.

The captain broke the banter. "Gentlemen…"

The first to make amends was Johnny who slipped an arm around his partner's lower back, still eyeing Chet. His gaze softened as he raised his arm up to encourage Roy to lift his. "I got you, pal," he said, dipping slightly to allow Roy to drape his arm over his shoulders. "Easy does it, all right?"

Marco firmly eased Chet aside before the man had any ideas of trying make up for being a jerk by helping Roy. The Mexican took Roy's other arm over his shoulders.

Roy relaxed a little, not harboring any real resentment for Chet aside from the usual mismatch of personality traits. "I'm all right, guys," he said. Marco and John held his wrists where they dropped over their shoulders, making him a virtual prisoner to accepting their help.

"It's okay, Roy," said Johnny. "Let's get you off your feet and get some ice on that ankle."

Roy protested as his friends turned him towards the locker room. Mike Stoker and the captain gave him friendly pats on the back. "I just got done putting ice on it…"

He used his friends for support, lessening the weight exerted on his ankle but not staying off of it entirely. After a few steps, Johnny's arm around his back tapped him.

"Hey, hey, hey… Come on, Roy," Johnny said. "Stop walking on it. You can lift your foot. We got you."

"I'm all right… It's just a little strain. Walking will keep it supple." Roy tried to withdraw his captured hands from the men, but they held him with more force than he put into his failed attempt at refusing their help. He continued putting a moderate amount of weight on his foot, and his partner's foot nudged his. "Johnny, I said I'm all right!"

"I heard you!" John said as the team followed them into the locker room. "We're just gonna help you anyway. We haven't forgotten about you."

He and Marco sat Roy down on the wooden bench between rows of lockers. It didn't go unnoticed that 16's men were still bitter over the upset that they were keeping away from the men of 51. As such, 51 had the locker room to themselves for a while.

"Don't mind if I have a look?" Johnny asked, crouching in front of his friend. "Marco, can you get him some ice?"

"I don't need ice!" Roy said firmly without yelling. "Any more ice, I'm going to get frostbite."

Johnny caressed Roy's ankle in a strictly professional manner with both hands, feeling the coolness of the skin from the recent self-application of ice to the injury. "All right…all right… Never mind. Marco, go see if there's a compression bandage in the first aid kit."

Captain Stanley lifted a foot onto the bench next to Roy, leaning his elbow on one knee and rubbing the other hand briskly between his senior paramedic's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Roy," he said.

"For what?" Roy asked, anything to distract himself from the motherly attention his partner was giving his ankle.

The captain's large hand gently squeezed his shoulder before releasing. "Just take care of that leg, okay?"

"I'm sorry, too, Roy…" Chet entered the senior paramedic's space. "For ruining your game, which you were oh-so obviously doing a good job at, by some form of flawed logic."

Roy reached out to shove Chet, but Johnny beat him to it, giving the sarcastic man a much harder push than Roy would have. "Beat it, Chet!" Gage said.

The captain jerked his head to one side to tell Kelley to back off. "Come on, guys. Get into some sweats so your bodies don't cool off too fast."

Marco returned from checking out the locker room's first aid kit. He just shrugged.

"All right, I might have one in my bag," said Johnny, getting up and leaving Roy alone.

Roy leaned back on his hands, his gaze cast down to the floor and his sock-covered feet. The guys around him busied themselves with their own clothes, giving him some space to breathe, and to feel a lot more alone.

His ankle wasn't throbbing. At worse, it was a very mild sprain, likely to be sore in the morning or after long periods of inactivity. A bandage would help support it while allowing him to remain active on it and keeping the surround muscles from stiffening up. It already felt like it could benefit from heat therapy instead of cold. He mindlessly massaged his lower calf while the rest of the guys were changing.

Johnny was the first one back to his side, having put on his sweat pants and shirt and retrieving and rolled elastic wrap from his bag. Roy smiled genuinely for the first time since reuniting with his teammates. He lifted his foot out so his partner could address treating it. Johnny pulled the sock off and threw it playfully at Roy, forcing the older man to catch it before it hit his face.

Typical Johnny.

"Doesn't look so bad…" Gage pressed the side of the ankle gently to check again for any swelling, of which there was none. He wound the bandage around Roy's foot and ankle, taking his time to make sure it compressed and supported the injury just enough without being too tight.

Roy turned his eyes nervously, making sure no one else in the locker room was paying the two of them any excessive attention. Like most men at the station, he wasn't overly fond of being a patient or harboring any kind of injury.

"There you go," Johnny said after he finished fastening the clips above the ankle to keep the bandage in place. He pat the sides of his partner's leg, making the older man pull his foot away from the attending paramedic. As Johnny stood up, he scooped up Roy's sneaker and hung it loosely on the man's toes like a hat on a hook.

Roy lifted the foot up and crossed it onto his other thigh, taking the shoe off since in his thoughtless haste, Johnny had dangled the wrong shoe on the wrong foot. He picked up the correct shoe and eased it onto his bandaged foot, tying the laces firmly to help support the sore ankle without over-compressing it. With luck, the whole set-up would lessen his limp and help the strained muscles relax.

His bag was already packed and ready to go. The banter of frustration wafting in from outside in the gym from 16's made him uneasy and ready to leave as soon as possible.

"You gonna be okay for the Finals?" Marco asked, cheerfully smiling as he hefted his duffel bag strap onto one shoulder.

Roy groaned. "I hope…so." He really wanted to say "not", but his mind knew it wouldn't be complementary to the spirit of his friends.

Chet again entered his field of vision. "It's a great strategy, Roy!" he said, over exuberant as always. "I'll be the Power Reserve, we'll lull the other guys into a false sense of security, then Pow! I'll come in in the second half and we'll bowl them over just like we did today."

"Yeah, sure…" Roy agreed sarcastically. "And I'll injure my other ankle so I have a matching set."

"No! Nobody has to get injured!" Chet insisted. "This is the best thing that could have happened to us. Well, not your ankle, but it proves that we can have a winning formula to substitute me in at just the right time!"

Roy rubbed a towel over his face. "Well, I hope you have a winning formula for getting us home because I'm in no condition to push your horrible excuse for a car uphill and back to the station."

Chet's shoulders sagged, the reminder of his car neutralizing some of the winning energy in him. "The wagon. You had to remind me?"

Captain Stanley came up behind Chet, patting the shorter man's shoulder. "We'll call you a tow truck."

"Or a garbage bin," Johnny added. Chet attacked him, and the two of them darted off play-fighting at the other end of the aisle.

"You ready?" the captain looked Roy square in the eyes, towering over the seated man.

"Yeah," Roy said plainly.

"Guess I should call my wife to come and get as many of us that'll fit in her car. I can call Joanne for you if you want. Maybe she should take you to see a doctor about that ankle."

Roy shrugged. "No, I'm fine. Just a little sore. Got tomorrow off, and I'll take it easy."

"Captain's orders," came the reply, the man's serious features raining down on him.

"All right…" Roy sighed, standing up, hopping once to steady himself on the bandaged foot. Hank offered him a hand, but he didn't need any help. He walked slowly but unassisted.

Much to 51's discomfort, 16's men were walking into the locker room as they were walking out. There was a moment of awkward silence until 16's captain held out a hand. "Good game, Hank," he said.

Captain Stanley shook the guy's hand. "Yeah," he said with a lopsided smile. "Good game."

"Sorry, man," someone said to Roy, shaking his hand and patting his shoulder. "You okay?"

Roy had to look up to recognize that it was 16's tall engineer, Brad. He was the guy that had bumped into him and caused him to fall off-balance on his foot. "Yeah…yeah…" Roy stammered. "A little sore. I'll be fine in a few days."

After all, for teams that worked side by side in the dangers of the field, how could friendly competitors stay in the anger of a bruised ego for very long? It made going home easier.

Chet managed to get his car started, claiming that the old carburetor had probably just been flooded. No one was willing to ride with him, and once he drove off, the car didn't get half a block before stalling. Chet got out and called to his friends sitting on a bus stop bench outside the gym. The captain and engineer shook their heads. Marco looked away. Johnny just made a face and next to him, Roy was comfortably seated with his good excuse for not helping wrapped up in an elastic bandage.

Chet left his piece of junk on the side of the road, tempted to leave a "For Sale" sign in the window accompanied by a price of "Free". Unwilling to face defeat, he walked off in the direction of the station instead of returning to the gym where the others waited for Roy's and Hank's wives to come with rides for the men. In the distance they heard the wail of a siren and the air horn of Big Red.

They were too tired to care what adventure the squad and engine were having without them. All they cared is that all of B shift's men would make it back to the station to fight fires and save lives another day. Them, and all the other fire fighters and paramedics of L.A. County and beyond.

= = The End = =