Goodbye Roy?

by Washingtonmyhome

John has a premonition of Roy's death in the line of duty. Does the premonition come true?

32

Goodbye, Roy

"Johnny," Roy Desoto, paramedic with the Los Angeles County Fire Department, said, absentmindedly playing with the hemp choker around his neck, "You seem quiet today. What's wrong, Junior?"

Roy was sitting on the passenger side of their little squad truck, while John Gage, Roy's longtime partner and friend, drove back to the station after they had responded to a hit-and-run accident.

John stared at the road and stayed silent.

"What's wrong?" Roy asked again.

"Nothing!" John snapped, glaring at Roy.

"John Gage, for God's sakes, please don't shut me out. We're friends and partners, so you really ought to be able to trust me with what's on your mind."

It was unusual for John to be so quiet after the guys had responded to an emergency. Clearly, something was wrong.

"Something I said or did?" Roy asked, wracking his brain to think of what offense he could possibly have committed that upset John. He drew a blank.

"No, Roy, you did nothing wrong."

Exasperated, Roy asked, "Why are you so quiet, then? What's bothering you?"

John deftly backed the squad truck into the garage.

Getting out of the truck, John walked into the station's common room and over to the stove to get some coffee. Roy followed him.

"Okay, Junior, what's eating you?"

"It's silly," John said, pouring his coffee into a cup.

"What's silly about it?" Roy asked.

"You died," John said.

"What?" Roy exclaimed, his stomach doing flip flops at John's words, "As far as I know, I'm still alive, and I have no intentions of dying any time soon that I know of. What are you talking about?"

"I dreamed last night that you died, Pally. It was one of the worst dreams I'd ever had. You died, and I had to deal with it."

"And how did I die?" Roy wanted to know, horrified.

"In a fire, of course," John said, "How else should a firefighter die in the line of duty, except in a fire? And I had to rescue you. You were alive when I found you, Roy, but you died soon after. I'm really scared for you."

"Oh, Johnny, it was just a dream, not reality," Roy said, adding to himself, "I think."

"Roy Desoto," John said, "Who are you trying to convince, yourself, or me?"

Roy, fumbling again with the choker, didn't answer. The playing with the choker was a nervous habit that he'd picked up after his daughter Jennifer had given him the choker for a Christmas gift.

"Stop doing that!" John ordered, yanking Roy's hand away from his neck.

"I can't help it," Roy said defensively.

"I think you can, you just don't want to," John said.

"Uh huh," Roy said, his right hand back on his neck.

Prudently, John decided he'd better not say any more about the dream or Roy's habit of messing with his choker when he was nervous.

Roy put the conversation out of his mind for several weeks. He loved his job as a firefighter/paramedic, and he was good at it. It was dangerous work, physically and mentally, and there was always the chance that the next call he responded to would be his last call. So, he tried, consciously or not, to savor every moment he had, both on and off the job.

One day, Roy awoke with a horrible feeling of impending doom. The conversation with John from several weeks before about a dream that John had of Roy's death, came back to Roy with a terrifying clarity.

"Maybe I should call in sick today," he thought, reaching for his clothes to get dressed. It was the first time in his career with the fire department that Roy had considered calling in sick, and it made him nervous to think that he would do such a thing.

"You can't do that, Desoto," he told himself, putting his clothes on, "You're not sick, and, for all you know, you're just imagining things." With a feeling of dread, he went downstairs for breakfast.

Joanne, Roy's wife, was dishing up scrambled eggs when he walked in.

"Morning, Roy," she said, smiling at him, "How's my handsome firefighter/paramedic this morning?" Joanne gave Roy a little kiss on the cheek, one of their many rituals they'd developed over the years that made both their days just a little brighter.

"Fine," Roy lied, though he knew Joanne was wise to his little white lie.

Joanne poured the coffee into his cup and looked at him curiously.

"You're not fine," she said, "Something's upsetting you, and don't try to persuade me otherwise, Roy Desoto."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Roy said.

"Bull!" Joanne scoffed. She knew her husband too well for him to try to put one over on her.

Roy, for something to do, sipped his coffee, while he tried to figure out how to explain what was bothering him.

"I think something bad is going to happen," he burst out suddenly.

Joanne felt like she'd had the wind knocked out of her. When she found her voice, she asked, "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know," Roy said, "Just that I have a bad feeling."

"Maybe it will pass," Joanne suggested, but without much hope.

"Sure, it will," Roy said, adding to himself, "When pigs fly."

He finished his eggs and toast and his coffee, and ran upstairs to take care of his personal care chores.

"Dad." It was Jennifer, Roy's and Joanne's daughter, a feminine version of Roy. She'd inherited his looks, his sense of humor, his knack for snappy comebacks, and his ability to stay calm under pressure. Roy never tired of looking at or talking to Jen. She was smart, beautiful, and talented, and he was sure Jen would go far in life, no matter what she did with her life.

Roy turned around.

"What is it, Jen?" he asked, putting down his toothbrush, and wondering if he was seeing her for the last time.

"Mom just told me that you're worried about something," Jen said.

"Yes, I am worried, but I'd rather not talk about it right now, if it's all the same to you, Jen," Roy said.

"Okay, Dad," she said, "I love you. See you tonight?"

"I'm at the station tonight, remember?" Roy said.

"Oh, yeah," Jen said, "You'd think I'd remember that. It is, after all, Thursday. And you've been overnighting at the station on Thursdays and Fridays ever since I can remember."

"Well, it's all right, sweetie," Roy said. On a whim, he pulled Jennifer into his arms and held on as if his life depended upon it.

"I love you so much, Jen," Roy told her, "I'm so proud of you. Be yourself, no matter what. Always remember who you are, and never sell out."

Jennifer was embarrassed by Roy's unusually tender affection for her. It seemed a little over the top, even for her dad. "Dad," she said, "You're embarrassing me."

Roy released her from his grip.

"Where's Chris?" he asked.

"In his room," Jen said, still reeling from that excessive loving embrace. She ran into her own room to get her books.

Roy went to Chris' room. "You ready for school?" he asked, wondering once again, if he was seeing his son for the last time.

"Of course, Dad," Chris said. Chris was a male version of Joanne, with her dark hair and her dark eyes. Roy was every bit as proud of Chris as he was of Jen, and he could never get enough of spending time with Chris, just like with Jen.

Chris, picking up his books, looked at his dad, who seemed upset. But unlike Jennifer, he didn't ask what was wrong.

Roy, once again, gave into the impulse to hug Chris as if he never wanted to let him go.

"Oh, Chris," he told his son, "I love you so much. Never be anything less than who you are. Don't give in to peer pressure. Ever."

Chris said, "Dad, you're embarrassing me." It was the same thing Jennifer had said.

"Sorry, Chris," Roy apologized, "I didn't mean to mortify you."

"It's all right, Dad. I love you, too," Chris said, wondering what had gotten into his dad. Grabbing his books, he started downstairs to catch the school bus.

Roy went into the bathroom and turned on the water to rinse his toothbrush before brushing his teeth. He felt peculiar, like he'd just been bonked over the head with a baseball bat. His hand shaking, Roy put toothpaste on the brush and stuck it in his mouth, only to get a mouthful of shaving cream.

"#$&!" he yowled, startling Joanne, who was putting on her shoes. She nearly fell onto the floor.

"Roy! What's wrong?" she asked, rushing into the bathroom. Roy didn't often swear, but when he did, it was big news.

"A mouthful of shaving cream, when I expected toothpaste!" he said furiously, grabbing his glass, gulping some water and swishing it around in his mouth.

"Calm down, Roy," Joanne advised, "They can hear you in San Diego. So you got a mouthful of shaving cream. Is that the worst thing to ever happen to you?"

"I guess not," he admitted, rinsing off the toothbrush and putting fresh toothpaste on it.

"Are you having a 'day'? Joanne asked sympathetically.

"I must be," Roy said, "And it doesn't help that I have that feeling that something bad is going to happen. I don't believe in superstitions, but I wonder if it's Friday the 13th."

"Maybe things will get better," Joanne suggested hopefully.

"And maybe they won't," Roy fretted.

Ten minutes later, Roy left the house, but not before kissing Joanne goodbye and holding her as if he didn't want to let go. Finally, reluctantly, he let go of her and got into his car.

"See you tomorrow?" Joanne asked.

"I hope so," Roy answered nervously, adding, "I love you, Joanne. Remember that."

"I love you too, Roy. Take care of yourself today, and don't stress too much." Joanne told him, trying to dispel the feeling of unease that had taken hold of her since Roy had told that morning that he had the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

"I'll try not to," he said, starting the car. He put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway.

Joanne waved at Roy until he was out of sight. For some reason, Joanne went over to the phone and called her employer, Los Angeles County Public Utilities District, where she was the director of Accounting, and told them she was taking a personal day off. Eight hours of number crunching, when she was concerned about her husband, held about as much appeal as having her teeth pulled out with a pair of pliers and no anesthetic. Luckily, the PUD was very good about giving their employees personal days off as needed.

Roy arrived at Station 51 at his usual time and parked the car in its usual spot behind the station.

He went into the building and straight to his locker to change to his uniform. Roy was feeling really edgy, and it showed.

John was at his locker, already tucking his shirt into his pants.

"Morning, Roy," John said.

"Mmmph," Roy mumbled, opening the locker door.

John took one look at Roy and said, "Are you all right, Pally?"

"No," Roy said curtly. He reached into the locker and pulled out a clean uniform shirt. He was aware of John's perplexed look, but tried to ignore it.

"Roy," John said.

"Leave me alone!" Roy snapped furiously.

John was shocked at Roy's outburst, but he stood his ground.

"No, Roy," John said, "I won't leave you alone. I want to know why you're acting so strangely. And I won't stop pestering you about it until you tell me."

John was surprised when Roy, who was not a demonstrative person, reached out, took John in his arms, and held onto him for dear life.

"Whoa there, Pally," John said, as he extricated himself from Roy's uncharacteristic embrace, "What's going on?

"Well, uh, Junior," Roy stammered in confusion, blushing, "I just felt like giving you a big hug."

John stared at Roy. "What gives?" John asked, "First, you're terse with me, then you snap at me, then you hug me. What's the deal? This is not like you."

"I don't know," Roy confessed, playing with his choker again.

"Well, if you don't know, nobody else can know, either," John said. He went into the garage to get the broom and the dustpan, leaving Roy with his muddled thoughts.

Roy got changed into his uniform, and followed John into the garage, still fighting his sense of impending doom.

"I have a feeling that something bad is going to happen," he said.

"Repeat, Rampart?" John asked.

"I think something bad is going to happen today," Roy said.

John felt his stomach lurch. "Seriously?" he asked, when he could trust his voice not to shake.

"Seriously," Roy answered, "You know how it is, Johnny, it's always at the back of my mind that maybe the next call we take might be yours or my last call. The feeling normally doesn't last very long, but this morning, it hasn't passed."

"Wow," John said slowly.

Absently, Roy played with his choker some more.

That choker had become one of Roy's trademarks, and one that was unexpected. Roy did not wear jewelry, except for his watch and his wedding ring, and he never wore the ring while he was working. But Jennifer had made the choker for her dad and had given it to Roy for Christmas a few years earlier.

Roy had opened the box to find that choker, and had wondered why Jen had made the choker, much less actually given it to him. It was a lovely little men's choker, made of hemp twine twisted together, woven with three blue ceramic beads that spelled out 'Roy', a small red ceramic bead in the shape of a fire engine, and seven more of the same blue ceramic beads that spelled out 'Squad 51'. It was a nice little thing, and Roy had been touched that Jen had made it for him. That didn't stop him from questioning why Jen had done that, when she knew perfectly well that Roy did not wear such jewelry.

But Roy was a nice guy and a good sport. Not wanting to hurt his daughter's feelings, he'd smiled and said "Thank you, Jen. It's lovely." He'd put the choker on immediately, figuring he would wear it for a while and put it away as soon as he could, and Jen would never be the wiser. But now, Roy felt naked without that choker around his neck. It meant something to him, as well. So, he wore it, even while in uniform.

Roy never knew why Captain Stanley had not told him to take it off, because it was not part of the official uniform of the Los Angeles County Fire Department, or any fire department that he knew of. And there were safety issues, too, because the choker could snag on things or even catch fire.

Captain Stanley figured it was not vital enough to make a fuss about. Roy was one of the best firefighter/paramedics in the department, and all the 'fashion statements' in the world did not change that. If the battalion chief said something, then Captain Stanley would tell Roy to not wear his choker at work. But even the battalion chief had stayed silent about Roy's 'fashion statement'. So, Roy kept wearing his choker, and nobody said anything.

"Roy, don't you think you ought to tell Cap about your feeling?" John asked, watching Roy twist the choker around his neck.

"I suppose so," Roy admitted diffidently. But Roy didn't want to tell Captain Stanley about his feelings of impending disaster. Nor did he want to tell the rest of Station 51.

John, watching Roy's hesitation, said, "Roy, if you don't tell Cap, I will." There was, as it happened, no need for Roy to say anything to the captain.

Captain Stanley had to leave his office to do some business and he'd overheard the entire conversation. "Roy, you don't need to tell me any of it," he said, "I heard it all, Pal."

"Um, sorry about that, Cap," Roy said guiltily.

"Now you have me worried," Captain Stanley said.

"Not half as worried as I am," Roy pointed out.

"I know, Pal, that crap happens in this line of work, but this sounds really serious," Captain Stanley said, "Is there something I can do, Roy?

"No, Cap," Roy answered, "I don't know what you can do. I'm scared, but maybe it will pass." He added to himself, "I hope."

"Well, remember, Pal," Captain Stanley said, "I'm here if you need to talk."

"Thanks," Roy said gratefully.

Just then, the alarm went off.

"Squad 51, man trapped in water hazard at Barfo Flats Golf Course. Cross Streets the intersection of Gage Avenue and Desoto Street. Time out 09:45."

"Squad 51, KMG 365," Captain Stanley responded, while John and Roy hopped into the little squad and drove out of the garage.

Half an hour later, Roy had rescued the golfer from the water hazard. He was covered in seaweed, looking like the creature from the Black Lagoon. It was in his hair, all over his uniform, which was sticking to his body, hanging off his badge, and caught in the choker. John had a hard time not laughing even as he was calling Rampart.

"Rampart, (giggle) this is (chuckle) Squad 51."

"Go ahead, 51," Dixie McCall, head nurse in the Emergency Room at Rampart General Hospital, said into the microphone, wondering what was amusing John.

"Rampart (snicker), we have a male victim (titter) who fell into (giggle) a water hazard at a golf course (snort), nearly drowned. Stand by for (snigger) vitals," John said.

"10-4, 51, standing by," Dixie said, "And stop laughing!"

It was a good thing that John had to wait for Roy to give him the patient's vital signs, because he needed to regain his composure. Trouble was that Roy still looked like a swamp creature, which still amused John.

"So what was so funny when you called us about that guy?" Dixie asked John, half an hour later, as she poured coffee into his cup.

"Roy," John said, laughing all over again, picturing Roy looking like the creature from the Black Lagoon.

"What?" Dixie asked in confusion.

"Roy came out of that water hazard looking like a swamp creature," John explained, still amused, "It was so funny to me. I just couldn't help laughing."

"I see," Dixie said, "You really must watch that. You are very lucky that I was the only one to hear it. That kind of thing can get you into big trouble, Johnny Gage."

"Yeah, I know," John said, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, John," Dixie said, "Don't let it happen again."

Roy walked in then. He'd gotten as much of the seaweed off as he could, washed his face, and combed his hair. His uniform was almost dry, and it no longer stuck to his body.

"Morning, Dix," he said, wondering if this was the last time he would have coffee with Dixie McCall.

"Morning, Roy," Dixie said, wondering why he was so subdued.

Roy smiled a little sadly, as he pulled out a chair and sat down in it.

"Would you like some coffee?" Dixie suggested, hoping the coffee would cheer Roy up.

"Sure," Roy said apathetically. Distractedly, he pulled a stray piece of seaweed from his choker.

Dixie filled a cup with coffee and gave it to Roy.

"Johnny's been telling me about your adventure in the water hazard at Barfo Flats Golf Course," she said.

"Oh," Roy said flatly, sipping his coffee without tasting it, "And how is that guy?"

"He's in Intensive Care for a few days, but Joe thinks he'll be all right."

"Good," Roy said, in that same listless tone.

Dixie wondered what was troubling Roy. She was just about to ask when Dr. Joe Early and Dr. Kelly Brackett, two of the Emergency Room doctors, walked in.

"Hey, Roy, Johnny," Dr. Early said, "How's it going?"

"Good," John said, speaking for both him and Roy. Strangely enough, Roy didn't protest when John spoke for him.

The two doctors got their coffee and sat down at the table.

"Well, it looks like your water hazard guy's going to be all right," Dr. Brackett said.

"That's great," John said, smiling.

"Yes," Roy agreed woodenly.

Dr. Early and Dr. Brackett were puzzled by Roy's subdued response.

"You don't seem yourself today, Roy," Dr. Early said.

"Is something wrong?" Dr. Brackett asked.

Roy did something totally out of character for him then—he burst into tears and ran out of the room.

"Roy!" Dr. Brackett yelled, chasing after him, while Dr. Early and Dixie looked stunned.

"What's the matter with Roy?" Dixie asked, perplexed.

John stared glumly into his coffee cup.

"Roy told me he thinks something bad is going to happen today. It's making him jumpy, and he's been tense all day about it," John said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"How does he know?" Dr. Early asked.

"Just a feeling, I guess," John said, "Though I had a nightmare a few weeks ago in which he died. It might have to do with that."

"Did you tell him about that dream?" Dixie asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," John said miserably.

"Maybe, then, it was the power of suggestion that did it," suggested Dr. Early, "It planted the idea in his head, it grew into something worse, and now he's worried." The suggestion sounded plausible, but there was no conviction in Dr. Early's voice.

"It's within the realm of possibility," John said, "And, you know how our line of work is. It's dangerous, and there's always the chance of our dying in the line of duty. When he arrived at work, Roy told me that he often leaves home wondering if the next call we take will be his last. But usually, that feeling passes very quickly, and he said that, this morning, the feeling didn't pass. He's really anxious. So, I think it's for real."

"Roy!" yelled Dr. Brackett, galloping down the almost empty hallway, drawing quite a few stares, which he ignored. But Roy was nowhere to be seen in that hall. Dr. Brackett stopped and leaned against the wall to catch his breath and to try to figure out where Roy could be.

Dr. Brackett peeked into the nearest men's room. No Roy. Then he tried the waiting room. Still no sign of Roy. Dr. Brackett scratched his head in confusion.

"This hospital is not that big," Dr. Brackett told himself, wracking his brain trying to think of a likely place Roy might go.

Then a light bulb went on in Dr. Brackett's head.

"Of course!" Dr. Brackett exclaimed, "Why didn't I think of it before?" He went out the emergency entrance doors to where the squad truck was parked.

"I found you!" Dr. Brackett said triumphantly, when he saw Roy sitting in the driver's seat of the truck, resting his head on the steering wheel, tears in his eyes.

"Ah, go away!" Roy told Dr. Brackett furiously, his voice cracking.

"Uh-uh, Roy," Dr. Brackett said, "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what is wrong. I don't remember seeing you cry before, and it's totally out of character for you. So, talk to me, Desoto, and tell me what's going on."

"It's stupid," Roy said, wiping his eyes on his jacket sleeve.

"What's stupid about it?" Dr. Brackett asked.

"What if I'm wrong? What if it's all in my mind?" Roy said.

"Well, Roy, if you would tell me what is going on, I might actually be able to help you to work it out," Dr. Brackett said.

"I don't know how to explain it," Roy said, "I feel like something bad is going to happen. Doc, it's not the first time I've had this feeling of something bad about to happen. But, the feeling usually passed quickly. Today, it didn't. It's like I'm walking on eggshells."

"Could it be all in your mind?" Dr. Brackett suggested.

"Maybe it is all in my mind, but it won't leave me," Roy said, "And like you said, it's totally out of character for me to cry. I almost never cry. Even in the worst situations. But, when you and Dr. Early asked me if I was all right, it felt like a dam had burst. I'm scared to death." Roy shivered in fright and messed some more with his choker.

"Roy, I don't know if something bad will happen," Dr. Brackett said, "But, try to keep your head on straight. One of the things I've always admired about you is how levelheaded you are. You're not given to jumping to erroneous conclusions. But, maybe this will pass. And, even if it doesn't, you're a great guy, and I hope you'll be with us for a while yet."

"Did talking to Dr. Brackett do any good?" John asked, as they were driving back to the station.

"A little," Roy said absently. His thoughts were far away, and he barely noticed the drive back to the station. It didn't matter, it was the same drive he'd made a zillion times, and the scenery had not changed much. John, sitting on the passenger side of the truck, stared out the window without seeing anything, and tried to swallow the huge lump in his throat.

The rest of the day passed quietly. It seemed nothing much rotten was happening in the county of Los Angeles. No calls came in, and all of Station 51 was sunk in dejection. It would have helped to have a few calls to take the guys' minds off the desolation, even if they were false alarms, but nothing came in.

Captain Stanley surveyed the almost full pot of his famous clam chowder, and sighed in disgust. Nobody, least of all Roy, felt much like eating. Most of the soup he left in the bowl, though he did manage to eat a few mouthfuls.

"I guess that didn't work," Captain Stanley commented, "I thought that, if I made clam chowder, I could get you guys to eat, but obviously I was wrong. Maybe I'll send it over to Rampart. Dr. Early would probably enjoy it."

The other guys stared guiltily at each other, and then back at Captain Stanley.

"We're sorry, Cap," John said regretfully, "It was really good, like always, but we just have no appetite."

The guys were quiet, even Chet, who was notorious for talking too much.

Roy, feeling anxious, decided he needed to write out his feelings. He went to his locker and got out a notebook and a pen. Sitting down at the table, he started writing with a single minded concentration that he'd never showed before.

"What are you writing?" Marco asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Roy ignored Marco and went on writing.

"What are you writing?" John asked.

Roy gave John a look that plainly said, "Mind your own business."

John took Roy's hint and walked over to the couch, picked up the book he had been reading, and started reading from where he'd left off. Or, rather, he tried to read, but found himself reading the same page more than once.

Dinner was over, the kitchen was clean, and Chet turned on the TV for his favorite movie, The Thing That Ate New York. It was one of those silly B movies that made the guys laugh themselves sick, with bad acting, lousy special effects, and no plot worth mentioning. Chet hoped it would help to dispel the tension that had gripped the station since that morning.

For a while, it worked. Roy, in particular, was laughing so hard tears were coming out of his eyes, and beginning to think that, maybe, just maybe, he'd make it through the day without anything bad happening.

But, if something sounds too good to be true, then that's probably because it is. The good times just could not last. And, just when the firefighters of Los Angeles County Fire Department Station 51, especially Roy Desoto, thought they could actually relax, a call came through.

"Station 51, Station 96, Station 72, Fire at the Vile Inn, 4200 Jump To Conclusions Lane. That's Four-Two-Zero-Zero Jump To Conclusions Lane. Cross Streets Pathetic Loser Avenue and Stinky Cheese Boulevard. Time out 18:45."

"Station 51, KMG 365," Captain Stanley acknowledged.

The Vile Inn, when the guys arrived, was very much in flames, but there were people to be gotten out. And no time to be lost. Roy, putting on his gear, was tempted to run in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could possibly carry him. But, he could not. Neither his pride, nor his fear would let him stop him from doing his job. "There's no way I'm doing that," he told himself. He finished dressing, and with John following him, disappeared into the hotel.

Room 542 of the Vile Inn was a death trap, but Roy had seen his cousin Amanda Desoto, who worked for Station 72, go into that room.

"Amanda!" Roy yelled, "Don't go into that room!" Either Amanda had not heard him, or she was ignoring him.

"Johnny," he said, "I've got to go in after her."

"Don't, Roy," John said urgently, "It's too risky. Especially with that feeling you've had all day that something bad will happen."

"You think I don't know that, Junior?" Roy countered, "I'm all too well aware that this room is a death trap, but I can't let that stop me, even if it is the last thing I do. She's one of our own, and my cousin, too."

"Well, if you say so, Pally," John said anxiously. Roy would not be stopped, so John had to let Roy enter Room 542.

"Here goes," Roy said, stepping into the room. He looked around for Amanda, and found her slumped on the floor, unconscious and beyond help. "I'd better get out of here," he told himself, only to bump straight into a desk near the door. He fell backwards onto the carpet, having suffered a nasty bruise on his abdomen.

"Well, Desoto," Roy told himself, "You're at the point of no return. This is your end, and there's no help for it. You should have called in sick while you still had the chance."

The fire was out, and the captains of the three stations, counting heads, discovered that each station was missing one person.

"Say it isn't so," Captain Stanley thought, looking for Roy and not seeing him. He beckoned Chet and John over.

"Roy?" John asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"Yes," Captain Stanley said, "Johnny and Chet, you had better go find him."

"Right, Cap," they chorused, taking off into the remains of the hotel.

"Johnny, where did you last see him?" Chet asked, as the two guys ran up the stairs into the charred building.

"Room 542," John said.

"Okay, that's the first place we'll look," Chet decided.

They got to the fifth floor. Even though it was less damaged than the previous floors, it had not been spared.

"Roy!" Chet and John shouted in unison. No answer.

"Hopefully, he's still in Room 542," Chet said, trying to stay calm.

"Roy!" they yelled again, and listened. This time, they heard a faint sound.

"Maybe, that's him," John said hopefully.

John and Chet came to the door of Room 542. "Roy!" they hollered at the top of their lungs.

"Well, come on in already. Do you need an engraved invitation?" Roy yelled back impatiently, "I'm dying, and I can think of a lot of better places to die than in a burned out hotel."

John burst into the room, followed by Chet. Roy was lying on the floor, his face a sickly gray color.

"Well, Pally," John said, bending down beside Roy and looking him over, "I'm surprised you're not burned." It was obvious that Roy was injured badly.

"What took you so long?" Roy groused, even though he had little energy to talk.

"Cap," Chet said into the radio, "We found him. Roy's still alive. He's conscious and alert, but he looks to have some severe injuries."

"Where is he?" Captain Stanley asked.

"Room 542," Chet answered, adding "Come quickly, and bring the stuff."

"Five minutes," Captain Stanley said, already starting over to the squad with Mike and Marco.

"10-4. Five minutes," Chet acknowledged.

John, during that time, had given Roy the once over. He found a large welt on the middle of Roy's abdomen.

"That's quite a bruise, Pally," John remarked.

"You don't say!" Roy shot back.

John ignored Roy's sarcasm, which was obviously a façade to cover up Roy's fear and agony.

"Where did you get that bruise?" he asked.

"That desk," Roy said, pointing at the offending piece of furniture.

"Oh," John said, gently touching the bruised spot.

"Yow!" Roy cried, flinching.

"Roy, I barely touched it!" John said.

"But, Junior, it smarts," Roy whined.

"So sue me, Pally," John said grimly.

"I would, Junior, but I don't think I'm going to survive the night, much less live long enough to file the lawsuit," Roy said, clenching his teeth against the next painful insult to his abused body.

John noted with alarm that Roy was having trouble breathing.

"Quit talking, Roy," he told him, "It's obvious that you're struggling. Save your energy."

Just when John, Chet, and Roy were starting to wonder where Cap, Marco, and Mike were with the gear, they arrived.

"Here we are, the three wise men." Marco announced, "Bearing gifts!"

"I was beginning to wonder where you were," John said, taking the oxygen tank from Mike.

"Sorry, guys," Captain Stanley said apologetically, bending down next to Roy, "We had to find Mark Rodriguez from Station 96. Sorry to say, he didn't make it." He glanced again at Roy, and was distressed at Roy's difficult breathing.

"How you doing, Pal?" he asked.

"Awful," Roy said succinctly, struggling to say even that simple word.

John had, by this time, connected the oxygen to Roy, and Roy was now breathing more easily.

"Don't say any more," Captain Stanley told Roy, "Save your energy."

"Yes, sir," Roy said weakly. Tears trickled slowly down Roy's cheeks. Unsuccessfully, he tried to blink them away. He was, even in his agony, ashamed to be crying even a little.

The phone rang at the Desoto house.

"I'll get it!" Jennifer yelled.

"Desoto Residence, this is Jennifer," she said into the phone.

"Hi, Jen," the voice at the other end said, "It's Johnny Gage. I'm at Rampart. Is your mother there?"

"Yes, I'll get her," Jen said, putting down the receiver and fighting a terrible sense of foreboding. Calls at ten o' clock at night to the house of any emergency services personnel usually were not good.

"Mom!" Jen said, coming into her parents' bedroom, "It's Johnny Gage. He's at Rampart, and he sounds really upset."

With a sinking feeling, Joanne picked up the phone.

"Hello, Johnny," Joanne said, trying to hide her feelings of dread.

"Roy's hurt badly," John said, coming directly to the point, "He's alive, conscious, alert, and talking, but he's dying. Joanne, you had better get yourself and Jen and Chris down here, and soon."

"All right," Joanne replied, "Twenty minutes." She was surprised at how calm she actually sounded.

Roy was dying. He'd known that from the moment he'd collided with that desk in Room 542. He was scared, and in pain, but determined to hold out for as long as he could.

"It's bad, isn't it," Roy said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, Roy," Dr. Brackett said, "You're bleeding from your liver and your kidneys. I don't think there's any way to stop it. We could try, but you probably wouldn't survive the surgery. If, by some wild chance you make it through the night, then we might be able to operate. But I don't think you're going to survive the night. I really wish we could give you better news. I'm sorry."

Roy nodded sadly. He would never see what his children would become, never see if he or John would make captain, never grow old with Joanne, and never do even half the things he had always wanted to do.

"How long do you think I have?" he asked.

"I don't know, Roy," Dr. Brackett said, "It's a wonder you've held on this long. I can't, however, say how long you will last. You are lucky, you know."

"Lucky," Roy repeated, "Just how lucky is it to go into a burning building, collide with a desk while trying to get out, and slowly bleed to death from a bruise the size of the entire western United States?"

"Well, you're lucky that you've survived this long, and you have time to say goodbye to the people who matter most to you in the world," Dixie reminded him.

"Not everyone has it that good, Pal," Captain Stanley told Roy, adding, "Your cousin Amanda, and Mark Rodriguez certainly didn't."

Roy managed a weak smile. "I suppose so," he acknowledged.

By that time, Joanne, Jen, and Chris, had arrived.

"Hi, honey," Joanne said, "I guess you were right, that the something bad you feared did happen. I wish that it hadn't happened to you."

"Yes," Roy said, even though he was struggling to talk.

It pained everyone in the room to see Roy so obviously miserable from his injuries, holding on by sheer force of willpower, and trying to keep what little strength he had left.

"Please, Roy," Joanne pleaded to him, "Stop talking. You don't have to tell us you love us. We know."

"But you need to hear it," Roy said. His voice was growing weaker.

"We know, Roy," Marco said, "But, please, don't wear yourself out. Just rest, all right?"

Another hour went by, and Roy was still hanging on, even though it was hard. Everyone else had left the room, except for John. They had all cleared out to give John some time alone with Roy.

"I'm sorry, Pally," John said.

"Why, Junior?" Roy asked.

"All those times I drove you crazy," John answered, smiling sadly, the tears filling his dark eyes.

"All the times I had to listen to you bellyaching about being dumped by yet another woman?" Roy asked.

"Uh-huh," John said.

"Valerie," Roy said, remembering one of John's girlfriends, whom John had actually thought he would marry, and after only a few days acquaintance.

"Yes," John said, smiling even through his tears, "And Claudia, Elizabeth, Tina, Jamie, Sally, Daisy, Maria, Elena, Barbara, Amy, Dana, Rita, and quite a few others."

"Valerie was the worst," Roy said, "I warned you about her, and as it turned out I was right. She wasn't good for you. Remember how she left out a few important facts?"

"Like the fact that she had three bratty kids, and she was engaged," John remarked.

"It cost you dearly, Junior," Roy commented.

"Yeah, but maybe I never would have met Katrina," John said, "And she was the best thing that ever happened to me. And, I owe it all to you, Pally. Because you finally made me see the light at the end of the tunnel."

"The headlamp of an oncoming train," Roy said."

John laughed; even while Roy was dying, he still kept his sense of humor.

"I was pretty young and foolish in those days," John agreed.

"You were," Roy said, "But I put up with it. Because we're friends, Johnny Gage. And friends love each other, warts and all."

Roy's voice, which had been very weak, was stronger now. He was breathing more easily. And, while he still had that gray pallor in his handsome face, it was less pronounced. Roy seemed to be trying to rally.

That raised red flags in John's mind. He'd seen other patients who would rally just before they died.

"You're looking better," John said, trying to hide his uneasiness.

Roy smiled his lovely smile.

"Maybe," Roy said, knowing what going through John's mind.

Despite the fact that Roy was actually looking like he might stay alive despite the odds, John was worried, and rightfully so. Roy's strength was failing again.

"I don't know how much longer I keep this up," Roy confessed.

"Then don't try," John said, "When you're ready, just let go. We'll survive." He squeezed Roy's hand.

"Your hand is cold, Pally," John remarked.

"Sorry, Junior," Roy said, "Next time I die, I'll make certain my hands are warmer."

The night seemed to go on forever, but Roy was still fighting, and John would not desert him.

John looked at his watch. 5:30 a.m. Had it really been that long? Dawn was breaking, and Roy was sleeping. Against the odds, Roy had survived the night, but now he was losing the struggle for his life.

"You'd better get everyone back in here," Roy said, "I can't go on much longer."

"Okay," John said, "Don't go anywhere."

John knew it was a stupid remark the minute the words were out of his mouth, but he was so drained, he could barely think. He scurried out the door.

Joanne, Chris, Jen, Dr. Early, Dr. Brackett, Dixie, Marco, Captain Stanley, Mike, and Chet all looked up expectantly when John entered the waiting room.

"He doesn't have much longer," John said, his voice trembling, "You'd better get into the room, now."

Everyone got up and followed John into the room.

Roy was lying back on his pillows, his eyes closed. But he opened them when he heard the group come in.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've asked you all here today," he wisecracked, despite his weakness.

Everyone laughed, dispelling the tension in the room.

"Oh, Roy," Joanne said through tears, "Trust you to keep your sense of humor, even to the end." She kissed Roy's cheek.

Roy was smiling that lovely smile that had so endeared him to everyone he'd met.

"I guess this is it," Roy said, "I'm too weak to keep going much longer. I wish it didn't have to be this way. I love and care about all of you: Joanne, Jen, Chris, Dixie, Dr. Early, Dr. Brackett, Chet, Marco, Mike, Cap, and Johnny. It's been so good to know all of you. Please, don't be too sad for me. It's been a great ride. Remember me. Always."

"We'll miss you, Pally," John said, speaking for everyone in the room.

"Junior," Roy whispered, smiling, one last time. His beautiful blue eyes closed, his breathing stopped, and the line on the heart rate monitor went flat.

The group stood silently for several minutes, staring down at Roy's suddenly lifeless body and trying to take in what they had just witnessed.

"I don't believe it," Chet said, finally breaking the silence.

"He was the last guy I ever thought would die in the line of duty," Captain Stanley said, "Somehow, Roy just seemed to come through it all intact, even when he got injured, as if he had a charmed life."

A black cloud of despair hung over the Rampart Emergency Room for several days. Doctor Mike Morton, who had been on vacation in Yellowstone National Park, sensed it the moment he walked in the door.

"Morning, everyone," he greeted Dixie, Dr. Brackett, and Dr. Early.

"Welcome back," Dr. Early said, "How was Yellowstone?"

"It was great," Dr. Morton said, "You really ought to go. I saw Old Faithful erupt, took some great hikes, including one up to the top of Mount Washburn, took a boat ride on Yellowstone Lake, went whitewater rafting on the Yellowstone River, visited Missoula, Bozeman, and Billings. I can't wait to show you all the great photos I took."

"Sounds great," Dr. Brackett said, but his voice was flat.

Dr. Morton, who had sensed the strange atmosphere when he'd walked in, had a feeling something bad had happened while he'd been away.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Very wrong," Dr. Early said.

But before Dr. Morton could ask what had happened, the front page of that morning's Los Angeles Times caught his attention. He picked up the newspaper. A headline leaped out at him. "Los Angeles County Firefighter/Paramedics dead in Vile Inn Blaze." Right under the headline, were the three photos of Roy, Amanda, and Mark Rodriguez. The print blurred before Dr. Morton's eyes, and he had to really focus to read the article. In fact, it took him three tries before any of the story registered in his brain.

"It can't be true," he said, wanting it not to be true.

"It is true, Mike," Dixie said, "We were there when Roy passed away. I wish it was just a terrible nightmare, but it's reality."

John Gage, of all the people who were affected by Roy's death, was having the worst time dealing with it. He was devastated, angry, and hurt by Roy's loss.

"Everywhere I go," he told Katrina, his wife, miserably, "I see him. And it hurts." He was getting ready for work, but wondering if he should go in.

"You sure you want to go to work, Johnny?" Katrina asked. She was worried about John, and with good reason. He hadn't been sleeping well, barely eating, and just generally brooding.

"Yes," John said, "I can't put it off forever, and all I think about is Roy. If I'm working, at least it's a distraction."

"If you say so," Katrina said doubtfully. She, too, was grieving for Amanda, her partner, and Roy. But she was handling it better.

Station 51, on the outside, looked much the same as it always did, except for the flags flying at half-mast in memory of the three firefighter/paramedics that had been killed. Inside, the guys were sunk in sadness, all of them feeling Roy's loss. Roy was physically gone, but he seemed to be haunting the place, his memory everywhere, especially in the squad.

Mop the floor, scrub the toilets, wash down the shower, polish the squad, and try not to think about Roy. It's no use, John decided. "I've been working my ass off all morning," he thought desperately, "In hopes of trying to avoid thinking about Roy. Do a bunch of stupid jobs I've always hated just to keep from thinking about my fallen partner. But, what a waste."

"Are you all right, Pal?" Captain Stanley asked.

"Yes," John lied. But he couldn't lie to save his life, and both he and Captain Stanley knew that.

"Don't lie to me, Johnny," Captain Stanley told John, "You're not all right, and don't try to convince anyone that you are."

"All right," John mumbled, fighting back tears.

"You ought to take some time off," Captain Stanley told John.

"No, Cap," John said decisively, "I can't do that. All I do is think about Roy, and if I take time off, that means I have that much more time to do just that. I'd rather work. At least here, I can do something, and I have company other than Katrina."

"But you're thinking about Roy here, too, and his memory is all around this building," Captain Stanley reminded John.

John didn't bother to answer that.

"Suit yourself, Pal," Captain Stanley said, shrugging his shoulders, "But we're all grieving for Roy. Please, don't get yourself so caught up in your own sorrow that you forget the rest of us. Don't lie, and try to pretend you're all right when you clearly aren't. Take care of yourself, too. You are no good to anyone, including Roy, if you run yourself ragged."

John wished he could crawl into his bed and sleep forever, or at least until the pain had stopped.

It was a club that Joanne Desoto had never wished to join. She'd known, from the moment that Roy had told her he was going to train as a firefighter, there was a strong chance of his dying in the line of duty. She was, of course, not the only reluctant member of the loved ones of fallen firefighters club. But that was no comfort to her.

"Why me?" Joanne wondered, sitting at the redwood desk in the living room and gazing at her favorite photo of Roy. "Why me?" she asked the photo. The image, one of Roy in uniform that had been taken two years after he and John had been paired at Station 51, did not answer. She put the photo down, rested her head on the glass, and cried bitter tears.

"All I have left of you, Roy," Joanne told his smiling face, "Is the memories. I miss you so much. I want you back, not just a collection of memories and photos. Tell me this is a dream, please, and I'll wake up and you will be with me."

But it was not a dream. It was reality, and it wasn't going away. Joanne knew that she had to go put on her big girl pants and deal with her life without Roy by her side. She had much to do. This morning, it was a trip to Station 51 to deliver the letters that were lying on the desk. Then she had to go help plan the memorial service for Roy, Amanda, and Mark, which was tentatively scheduled for a week from the day of the fire that had claimed all three of their lives. It was to be a joint service for all three fallen firefighters.

"Well, Roy, life goes on," she told the photo, and I have to do this, whether I want to or not. So, here goes."

"One thing at a time," Joanne said to herself, putting the letters into her purse, taking out her car keys, and running out the door to her car, a Toyota Celica. Before getting into the Toyota, she looked at Roy's little two seat sports car that had been his pride and joy.

"I'm going to have to sell it," Joanne reflected sadly. But she balked at doing so, because it was a link to Roy's memory. Gritting her teeth, she got into the Celica, started it up, and drove to the station.

The doorbell rang at Station 51. Chet, who had been washing the windows on Engine 51, went to answer the door.

"Morning, Joanne," he said, opening the door.

"Morning, Chet," she greeted him, "How are you doing today?"

"I'm all right," Chet said, "Hanging in there. How about you?" He couldn't help noticing the dark smudges under Joanne's eyes, the tear streaks along her face, and flatness of her voice.

"Surviving," Joanne answered, adding to herself, "Barely." She smiled sadly at Chet.

Captain Stanley was talking on the phone when Joanne entered his office. "Just a moment," he said to the person on the other end, "I have a visitor. I need to put you on hold for a moment." He pushed the hold button on the phone and put down the receiver.

"Hi, Joanne," Captain Stanley said, "Have a seat, and I'll be with you in a moment as soon as I finish this call. They're calling from New York, so there's the time difference to consider."

"All right," Joanne said, sitting down and waiting patiently for the captain to finish his call, which concerned Roy. Joanne couldn't help noticing that.

"So," Captain Stanley said when he'd finished his call, "What brings you by here today, Joanne?"

"I have something from Roy to all of you guys," she said, removing the bundle of letters from her purse. She put the bundle on the desk.

"What are these?" Captain Stanley queried. He'd forgotten about Roy's single minded writing binge on his last afternoon.

"Letters from Roy to all of you," Joanne answered, "He thought the world of you guys, and I think he wanted to let all of you know how much he valued working with you, and to say farewell." Tears came into her eyes. Captain Stanley pushed the box of Kleenex towards her. Gratefully, Joanne took a tissue from the box and blew her nose and dabbed away the tears from her eyes.

"I'll be sure to give them to the guys," Captain Stanley said.

"Thank you, Captain Stanley," she said, smiling that same fragile smile she'd given to Chet.

"How are you doing?" Captain Stanley asked.

"Surviving," Joanne said, "It's been rough. I keep asking 'why me?' But, I have to put on my big girl pants and deal with it. I guess it could be worse. Though I'm not sure how."

"It's all you can do," Captain Stanley observed, "Anyway, take comfort in the fact that you were able to be with Roy at the end, and he was able to tell you goodbye. Not everyone has that luxury. How are Jen and Chris doing?"

"They're really upset, but otherwise, doing pretty well, considering the circumstances," Joanne said, "They both went to school today, and I didn't have to make them go. I think they know they need some semblance of normalcy."

"They're good kids," Captain Stanley said, smiling, "Roy was so proud of them both."

"Yes, he was," Joanne agreed, "He was a great father to them. He thought they will probably both go far."

"Is Johnny here today?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes, he is," Captain Stanley said.

"How's he doing? I think Roy was worried that John would have the hardest time dealing with it if Roy died," Joanne said.

"I'm worried about him, Joanne," Captain Stanley said, "He's really down today. And he keeps trying to distract himself with work. I'm thinking he's probably cleaning the bathroom for the third time today. That restroom is going to be the cleanest restroom in any fire station in Los Angeles County."

Joanne, to Captain Stanley's surprise, laughed.

"Why is he scrubbing the bathroom three times?" she asked, when she'd stopped laughing.

"A distraction, I guess," Captain Stanley said, "He's really devastated. I don't blame him, of course. We all are, but like you said, he's probably the most affected by Roy's death."

"I'm not surprised," Joanne remarked, "They were not only partners on the squad, but great friends. But, the reason I asked about John is because Roy had something he wanted to give to Johnny, besides the letter that Roy wrote to John."

"Johnny, that's the third time today you've scoured that sink. You'll take the enamel off if you keep scrubbing it like that. Stop it already!" Marco pleaded.

John glared at Marco. "I like a clean restroom," he said defensively, giving the sink one final vicious swipe.

"Clean restroom, that's an understatement," Marco said, "Amigo, If Rampart ever needs a spare operating room, all they have to do is come down here. It doesn't matter how clean that sink is, it won't bring Roy back. He would be furious with you for acting the way you're acting."

"Marco's right," Joanne said from behind the two guys.

The two guys turned around.

"Hey, Joanne," Marco greeted her, "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing all right," she said, "Grieving, of course, but surviving."

"So, what brings you by here?" John asked.

"I had some letters that Roy wrote to all of you," Joanne said, "Captain Stanley will give them to you."

"All right," John said, though he was far from certain he wanted a letter from Roy.

"Marco, can you leave John and I alone for a moment?" Joanne asked.

"Si," Marco said, "It's my turn to fix lunch, anyway, and I'd better go get the burritos started. But, before I go and do that, Joanne, would you like to stay for lunch?"

"Thanks for the offer, Marco," Joanne answered, shaking her head, "But I don't have much of an appetite right now. I don't think I can do justice to your good food. Maybe another time."

"Okay," Marco said, as he disappeared through the door.

The moment Marco had gone through the door, Joanne wished she'd had him stay. Feeling awkward, she tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. John looked similarly ill at ease. They stared at each other nervously.

"Well?" John said, finally breaking the tense silence between him and Joanne.

"I-I have something for you, Johnny," Joanne stammered.

"Oh?" John asked.

With a shaking hand, Joanne reached in her purse and pulled out a small box. She handed it to John.

"What is it?" John wanted to know.

"Open it," Joanne told him.

John removed the box lid. Inside was Roy's hemp choker, with the blue ceramic beads that spelled out 'Roy. Squad 51,' and the little fire engine bead that separated 'Roy' from 'Squad 51'.

"But why are you giving me this?" John queried.

"Roy wanted you to have it," Joanne said, "You were the guy closest to him, and the friendship you shared over the years meant a lot to him. So did this choker. He felt you were the guy to have it. What you do with it, Johnny, is up to you. But, you are now the owner, and you're the one to look after it."

"What about Jen? She made it for Roy. He was her dad, and she was so close to him," John remarked.

"She agreed that you should have it," Joanne said, "It meant a lot to her, too, but she has many other memories that are far more precious to her than the choker."

John also had many memories of Roy that were far more precious to him than the choker. But he merely said, "Thank you, Joanne."

"Thank Roy," Joanne said, "I think somehow he knows that you are having the most difficult time dealing with his loss. He wanted the choker to go to you because he'd worn it, and he hoped it would help you feel close to him, even though he's not here anymore."

"I never did figure out why Cap didn't tell Roy to take the choker off, because it's clearly not part of the official uniform of the LA County Fire Department," John said.

"Neither did Roy," Joanne answered, "Maybe Captain Stanley just didn't figure it was important to say anything about his wearing it. After all, Roy was one of the best firefighter/paramedics in the department, and no amount of 'fashion statements' would change that."

"Right," John said, turning the choker over and over in his hands, like he'd seen Roy do many times.

"You could wear it," Joanne suggested.

John shook his head. "No," he said, "It just doesn't seem right. Jen made it for Roy, and his is the only neck it should ever be around. But, I'll keep it always. His friendship meant a lot to me, too."

"I hope, too, that the choker will also bring you some measure of comfort, too," Joanne told John.

That choker did, indeed, bring some comfort to John over the difficult weeks following Roy's death. John could never bring himself to wear it. But he carried it wherever he went in his pocket, and took it out whenever he needed to feel close to Roy.

The choker also became a symbol of Roy's personality. Roy, as a person, had always been rock solid, honorable, and someone you could count on, no matter what. He'd been dedicated not only to his family, but to his job and his friends. Roy was also incredibly loyal, empathetic, and able to stay calm under pressure. Roy was unable to be anyone but himself. No pretense about him. A rare gift in a world that seemed to prefer people to pretend to be something they were not. Basically, with Roy Desoto, what you saw was what you got.

This, of course, was why that choker was a symbol of Roy's nature. He was very conventional in his ways, and not given to superficiality. He wore no jewelry except for his watch and his wedding ring. The ring was a plain gold band, and his watch was a leather strap and a plain watch face. No nonsense, and like Roy himself, no frills. But, Roy was always revealing unexpected facets of his personality that were very much at odds with his conventional ways. So, an offbeat item like a hemp choker somehow fit into the walking contradiction that was Roy Desoto.

He had a quick deadpan wit and an aptitude for knocking a person off balance with some clever remark.

"Hold it right there, I've got the perfect part for you, sort of comic relief." Roy, when he'd caught John admiring a gem, the gem being himself, of course, in the locker room mirror after they'd been invited to a Hollywood party.

"I really appreciate the way you know when to reaffirm my faith in your basic insanity." Roy, on John's disastrous relationship with Valerie.

"He's plastered." Roy, sprawled out in the dried weeds on the side of a hill after attempting to rescue a drunk driver from the bottom of the hill and discovering that the man had come out unscathed.

"Don't explain it to me. You see, I might start to understand you, and that would scare me." Roy, after John had given Chet a guitar for free after telling Chet he wouldn't sell it for anything less than he'd paid for the guitar.

"It's just the seeds rattling in your gourd." Roy, after John had claimed he could hear a rattling sound in the squad.

"Boy, are you out to lunch." Roy, after John had been distracted by Valerie at Rampart.

"Why don't the both of you go play on the freeway?" Roy, to Chet and John when they'd told him that they thought he'd had tonsillitis.

"You're sure anxious to get the blade to me, 'friend'." Roy, to John, after he'd been told he did indeed have tonsillitis.

"There goes Chet Kelly, spreading goodwill around the station again." Roy, when Chet had been demonstrating one of his silly-assed magic tricks, and had given Marco and Mike a bad time about not seeing how he'd done it.

"Take-it-easy-it's-not-the-end-of-the-world-have-a-cup-of-coffee." Roy's remark to Chet after he'd 'failed' a phony eye exam that Captain Stanley had set up as a way to get back at Chet for all the pranks he'd pulled.

"Let's go Junior." More than one occasion when the two of them left to respond to an emergency.

All these lines, and so many more of Roy's more memorable remarks, insinuated themselves into John's brain, and made him miss Roy that much more. The choker had brought back many of those memories.

"I wish he were here," John said, playing more with the choker.

The alarm went off just then. "Squad 51. Heart Attack. Barfo Flats Golf Course. Cross Streets Gage Avenue and Desoto Street. Time out 13:36 p.m."

Shoving the choker in his pocket, John picked up the microphone and said into it, "Squad 51. KMG 365."

Barfo Flats Golf Course. Again. That had been the scene of one of Roy's last calls. Gage Avenue and Desoto Street. John sighed. He didn't want to go on this call. But he had never refused a call before, and he wasn't about to start now. So he jumped into the truck and started the ignition. His temporary partner, Craig Brice, got into the passenger side of the truck.

Driving back from Rampart after treating the patient, John was glad that Craig did not want to talk. John hated Craig with a passion. He'd never made a secret of that dislike. And, after working with a great guy like Roy for so long, having to get Brice for a partner, even temporarily, was like rubbing salt in a wound that was still fresh. To make matters worse, Craig and Roy had not had a mutual admiration society going. Neither did Craig and John.

"At least he knows when to keep his mouth shut," John reflected, pointedly ignoring Craig.

The problem with Craig Brice was not that he wasn't a good firefighter/paramedic. It was the fact that Craig was a walking rule book, and had no sense of humor, and no empathy worth mentioning.

John thought, as he backed the squad truck into the garage, "It's not bad enough that Roy's dead. But, now I have to put up with the 'human rule book', who isn't even half the man Roy was."

The thought of working with the 'human rule book' for weeks on end until the department could assign John a new partner made him feel sick.

Craig, aware of how much John and the rest of Station 51 disliked him, resolved to go back to his own station as soon as he possibly could.

But, meanwhile, he still had to work with John, who didn't want him there. And Craig was going to have to go to the funeral, which was the next day, even though he had never liked Roy.

John slammed his locker door shut in a fit of anger. He was angry with Roy Desoto for dying. He was angry with Craig Brice for living. And he was just plain angry with the whole world.

"#$&!" he swore, slamming his fist on the locker door. The whole world seemed to be against John Gage, and he was sick and tired of dealing with the pain. He slammed his fist against Roy's locker, and swore again.

"Johnny," Chet said from the other side of the door to garage, "I know you're angry. But please, don't take your resentment out on the lockers. Roy's death is not their fault."

"I know that, Chet," John said shortly, "But would you rather have me hit them, or would you rather I take it out on you?"

Chet thought about this for a moment. "Well, I suppose the lockers," he said, "They can't fight back. But do you really think Roy would want you abusing defenseless pieces of furniture?"

John laughed, which brought the tension down considerably.

"That's better," Chet said, "You need to laugh, Johnny. I don't think I've heard you laugh since the night Roy died."

"It feels good," John admitted, "But it's hard to laugh when the whole world seems to be against you."

"That's when you need laughter the most," Chet reminded John, "Come shoot some baskets with me. You need some fresh air and some exercise."

"Fresh air in Los Angeles," John remarked, smiling wryly, "Now there's an oxymoron if there ever was one."

He and Chet both laughed as they went to the back of the station where the makeshift basketball court was.

"Have you read Roy's letter?" Chet asked, shooting the ball at the basket and getting an airball. He passed the ball to John.

John shot the ball into the air. It bounced off the rim and back to Chet.

"No," John answered.

"Why?" Chet asked.

"I've been afraid to," John confessed.

"Afraid of what, Pal?" Chet asked.

"I don't know, but I've just been scared to read the letter," John admitted.

"Well, read it, you can't avoid it forever, and Roy might just have written something in the letter that might help you cope with his death," Chet told him, adding "It helped me to read what Roy wrote. Anyway, you were the closest one to him, and he would not want you to avoid reading what he had to say. Go get the letter and read it."

John threw his arms up into the air.

"All right," John said in resignation, "I'll go get the letter and read it." He disappeared into the station.

His hands shaking, John picked up the letter. He sat down on the bed, opened the envelope, and pulled out the pages.

"Dear Johnny," the top of the page read, in Roy's distinctive handwriting.

"If you're reading this letter, it's because my worst fears have come true, and I am either dead or soon to be dead. I wanted to write this letter to you, Junior, because there is much I would like to say to you while I still have the time."

John gulped. This was going to be hard. But he made himself keep reading.

"It's hard, Johnny, to know what to say in a letter like this, when it may be the last time we communicate. But I need to try."

Tears blurred John's eyes, and made it difficult to see the words on the page. But he had to continue reading.

"We've been partners in 'crime' for many years now, Junior, and I must say they've been very special. Some of the best times I've ever had have been working with you. Johnny, I'm going to miss you, just as you will miss me."

John had to put the letter down and wipe away the tears that were streaming down his face. Mike, coming in to tell him that dinner was ready, slunk back out again, leaving John with the letter.

"You are like a brother to me. As you know, I never had a brother, and I always wanted one. You have become that brother that I never had, and I love and care about you, John, the way I would a real brother."

The alarm went off at that moment, which meant that John would have to finish reading Roy's letter when he had more time. It was just as well, because the letter was long and emotional, best read in small bits. John put the missive back into the envelope and ran out to the garage.

"Station 51, auto accident, 1406 Sauerbraten Drive, cross streets Sauerkraut Street and Bratwurst Avenue. Time out 16:06," the disembodied voice said.

"Station 51, KMG 365," Captain Stanley said.

Two hours later, after responding to the call, John went back to reading Roy's letter.

"I suspect, that, of all the people who will be affected by my death, you, Junior, will suffer the most. You are very sensitive, and feel things deep down inside. That, Johnny, is not a bad thing. It's part of who you are, and it makes you human. It's healthy to feel pain over any loss, especially when it's somebody you were close to. There would be something wrong if you don't feel bad from losing me. I want you to remember, Junior, life does go on. You will have to go on, too. There is no help for it. I want you to feel what you need to feel. You can't bottle it up. But, please, John, do not let that pain paralyze you emotionally."

John had to stop reading then, and get ready for bed.

"I remember well, the day you walked into the Operations Center, and signed up for Paramedic Training. You were so young and eager. You've come a long way since then. I'm proud of the strides you've made. I'm glad that we were able to do it together. It's always easier to have someone you like working with to share the load."

John went to sleep then, the pages of the letter scattered all over the floor.

"I want you to know, Johnny, that even when I'm gone, I will still be with you in spirit. There will come a day when you will have your chance to fly. I will give you wings. We will meet again, Junior. You can count on that. I have never let you down, and I won't start now. It would be a betrayal, and I do not betray my friends."

John had awakened in the night, to find the pages of the letter strewn all over the floor. He'd picked them up and went back to reading.

"Your friendship means a lot to me. I will treasure it always. Even when we fought, I could never stay angry with you for very long. It was impossible, especially when you smiled that endearing smile. You never let me down, any more than I let you down. I hope your new partner will be that kind of partner. A friend and a brother, as well as a valued coworker."

John, in his dress uniform, thirty minutes before the station was due to leave for the service, finally finished reading Roy's letter.

"I am very sorry to have to leave you this way, Johnny, there never seems to be time to say everything you want to say to the most important and cherished people in your life. What's more, we often forget to say those things to each other while there is still time. All those things I wish I had said to you. All the remarks I wish I had kept to myself. There's no point in regrets, Junior, but we still have them."

"Don't we all?" reflected John miserably, feeling a huge lump in his throat. Guilt and sadness washed over him for all the times he'd said something hurtful to Roy and then wished he'd kept his big mouth shut, and for all the times he'd felt especially close to Roy and wished he'd told him so.

"I forgive you for all the times you did something to rub me the wrong way. I hope you will forgive me for my own hurtful actions."

John fought back a fresh wave of tears. This was not the time to start crying. Not fifteen minutes before the station was supposed to leave and a letter to finish reading.

"I have to close now, Junior, because I am getting writer's cramp. You know a surefire cure for writer's cramp? Writer's block. I've run out of things to say to you. But, before I go, please be comforted in the fact that we've had a great run, Johnny. Take comfort, too, that we've kept our friendship for such a long time. We've been very lucky. It is so rare, anymore, to find a friendship like ours in the world. I can't wait to see you again down the road. Goodbyes are always hard, Junior, especially a goodbye like this one. Don't think of this as goodbye forever. Take care of yourself, too, because these days that are coming will be difficult for you. Remember me, please. As always, Junior, your Pally. Roy."

John put the letter back into the envelope, just as Captain Stanley walked in.

"Ready to go, Pal?" Captain Stanley asked.

"Yes, I'm as ready as I'll ever be," John said in resignation, getting up from the bed, the letter still in his hand.

"Well, we'd better go, then," Captain Stanley said, "We're in the lead, so we must get going."

John swallowed hard, put the choker, his notes for his tribute to Roy, and Roy's letter into his pocket. Grabbing his dress uniform hat, he put it on. "Here goes nothing," he told himself, walking out to the squad.

Clenching his teeth, he opened the driver's side door and got into the squad truck. This was going to be the longest drive he'd ever made in his life. Chet joined him in the passenger's seat.

"God, Chet, I don't want to be doing this," John observed despondently.

"None of us do, John," Chet reminded him.

"The worst day of my life," John remarked, starting the ignition.

"At least you're not forced to ride with Brice. He was going to ride with you, but Cap told him that he was not to ride with you on this run," Chet pointed out.

"Yes, it's a good thing. The last thing I need right now is Craig Brice being nasty about Roy," John agreed, pulling out onto the arterial and flipping the switch on the light bar.

The two guys fell silent then. There was nothing they could say.

The tension in the Desoto house was so thick that the biggest saw the fire department had would not have cut through that tension. It was one of those days when Murphy's Law was at work with a vengeance.

Chris and Jen, who had both been so good and helpful since Roy's death, were squabbling all morning about trivial things. Ginger, the family's Golden Retriever, and Whiskers, the family's calico kitten, were fighting, well, like cats and dogs.

Joanne, while washing the breakfast dishes that morning, had dropped several plates and a glass. While picking up the pieces, Joanne had cut her finger on the broken pieces. The skirt Joanne had planned to wear to the service had a big rip in it. And the phone had ringing off the hook with stupid calls, including one from a telemarketer who had tried to sell the Desoto family a time share condominium in Bermuda.

Joanne felt like she was riding the ragged edge of disaster. When Whiskers wasn't tormenting Ginger, she was mewing pitifully. When Ginger wasn't making life miserable for Whiskers, she was howling so loudly that Joanne thought all of California could hear it.

Ginger was stressed out big time. She had been especially close to Roy and now she didn't understand why her beloved Roy was not there.

Ginger had come home with Roy one day when he'd stopped at the Los Angeles County Humane Society on his way home from the station to surprise the kids with a dog. The family had taken to the adorable little Golden Retriever puppy immediately. And she had taken to them.

But the one person she had been especially fond of was Roy. But now there was no Roy, and Ginger, who was housebroken, had left a nasty surprise on the kitchen floor to protest Roy's absence. Joanne had, with disgust and revulsion, cleaned up the mess, gotten rid of it, and sent Ginger outside.

Faced with all these disasters, Joanne Desoto was dangerously close to having a nervous breakdown. It was the culmination of a difficult week. The whole thing would have been laughable if the circumstances had been different.

"Just what I need," she thought, "A nervous breakdown." But, at that miserable moment, a nervous breakdown seemed like a great idea.

Joanne, sitting down at the desk, picked up the photo on the desk. Roy's exquisite blue eyes gazed out at her. She was angry, exhausted, and ready for a fight.

"Thanks a lot, Roy Desoto," she said acidly, "You would leave me alone with two adolescents who are at each other's throats, two squabbling pets, and every possible disaster happening all at one. If you were here, Roy, I would punch your lights out!"

Bitter, hateful words and Joanne regretted saying them the moment they left her mouth. But she was in no mood for niceties. She put her head down on the desk and cried.

Just when Joanne thought she could take no more, her friend Susan, who was also married to a firefighter, walked in.

"Joanne," Susan said.

"Yes?" Joanne said, as she looked into Susan's concerned face.

"Are you all right?" Susan asked.

"No," Joanne said, standing up and replacing Roy's photo, "I'm not all right. It's been a really bad day."

"That's understandable," Susan said sympathetically.

"It's been a Murphy's Law kind of day," Joanne moaned, "Whiskers and Ginger are fighting, well, like cats and dogs. Jen and Chris are screaming at each other. The phone's been ringing off the hook with stupid calls, including one from a telemarketer who tried to sell me a time share condo in Bermuda. I broke some dishes while washing them, and cut my finger on the broken pieces. Ginger left me a little surprise on the floor, and the skirt I was going to wear has a huge rip in it. And the man I love is gone."

"Oh, Joanne," Susan said, "I'm so sorry. How can I help?"

"You're doing it right now," Joanne said, "I just need someone to listen to me and help me make sense of it all. And bring Roy back."

"I can be a good listener, Joanne," Susan reminded her, "I can't bring Roy back. If I could do that, I'd probably make a fortune bringing firefighters and police officers who get killed in the line of duty back to life so their families don't have to miss them."

She rubbed Joanne on the back.

"I'll live," Joanne reassured Susan."

"You will," Susan agreed, "Life does go on, and Roy would want you to keep on going."

"Yes," Joanne said.

"Anyway, you have no choice," Susan said, "So pull yourself together and go get changed. I'll be back in half an hour to drive you and the kids to the service."

"Right," Joanne said obediently. "I'm sorry, Roy," she apologized to the photo, which seemed to wink at her.

Johnny Gage remembered little of that long drive from Station 51 to Wesley United Methodist Church, where the service would be held. He'd married Katrina in that church, with Roy as his best man, and it had been a happy place that day, the sun shining through the stained glass windows. It had been so delightful. And perfect.

But now it was raining and the skies were gray, which suited his mood perfectly. He and Chet were gratified, however, to see so many emergency services vehicles from all over California, plus many other states and even from Canada and Mexico. He'd been pleased to see how many cars pulled over for the lengthy procession out of respect, and pedestrians waving. But, it was still the longest drive he'd ever taken, and one of the longest days he'd ever lived through.

Walking into the very crowded church with the rest of the guys from the station, John was not only devastated from the loss of his best friend and partner, but he was anxious as the proverbial long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He could rush into a burning building without a qualm. He could defibrillate a patient having a heart attack without blinking an eye. He had no trouble pulling people out from tight spaces.

But getting up in front of a lot of people to give a speech was terrifying to him. Especially since this was not a happy occasion. The thought of having to pay tribute to Roy was making John extremely tense, something which he could not hide.

"You all right, Pal?" Captain Stanley asked John.

John sat down stiffly. "No, I'm really nervous. But, once this is over, I'll feel better…I think."

"You'll do fine, Johnny," Chet reassured him.

"Yes," Mike said.

"Remember, Pal," Captain Stanley reminded John, "It's about Roy, not you. Just do your best, and speak from your heart."

"Yes, Cap," John said numbly.

After what seemed like forever, it was John's turn to go up and speak about Roy.

"John Gage, Squad 51, for Roy Desoto, also of Squad 51," the chaplain for the fire department announced.

John stood up on rubbery legs.

"Well, here goes," he said, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

All the guys gave him smiles of encouragement, even Brice.

"You'll be fine," Captain Stanley assured John, "Remember, Pal, it's for Roy."

"It's for Roy," John repeated to himself, walking up to the pulpit where he would speak.

John had to gather his courage. He looked out at the congregation and saw the rest of Station 51, Katrina with the rest of her station, Dixie, Dr. Brackett, Dr. Early, Dr. Morton, Joanne, Chris, Jen, Susan, and many other people he knew.

"I can't let them any of them down, especially not Roy," John thought.

Captain Stanley, along with the others, gave him another heartening smile.

He took the choker out of his pocket and put it on the pulpit, along with the letter that Roy had written to him and the notes for his tribute.

"Okay, Pally," John told his late partner, "This is for you, Roy."

Taking a deep breath again, he began to speak.

"In all the years that Roy Desoto and I worked together, we had a bond that stayed with us, right to the end. Neither one of us ever had a brother. So we became those brothers we had never had. We never let each other down. I certainly don't want to let him down today. So, Roy, this letter is for you.

Dear Roy,

I never thought I'd be doing this for you. I'd always thought, with my propensity for getting into accidents: bitten by a rattlesnake, hit by a car, stuck on a TV tower, falling into a pile of weeds, getting hit in the face by a woman's girdle, knocked down a flight of stairs, and so many other accidents, I'd be more likely to die in the line of duty than you would. But, in the end, the tables were turned, and it's me who has to stand up today and say goodbye to you, Pally. Strange how destiny works."

"In all those years we worked together, Roy, you saved my rear end countless times. You were the guy I could always count on in a crisis. You listened to me when I griped about some woman who had no interest in me. We did so many great things together away from work, and we always had such a great time. We laughed together, we cried together."

"You were the guy who talked me into signing up for paramedic training, and once I graduated from the program, you became my teacher, my mentor, my cheering section, my rock. I guess I'm going to have to fly on my own, but you gave me those wings. My hero, my friend, my strength. My wings.

"I'll never forget you, Roy Desoto. The pain of losing you is still deep. It will probably be there for a long time yet, Pally. But it's time to fly without you, maybe even give someone else wings, just like you did for me. Teach them everything you taught me. Thank you, Roy, for what you've done for me, and what you did for everyone whose life you've touched.

Goodbye, Pally. Always, your Junior. Johnny Gage."

John stepped down and walked back to the rest of Station 51, to a round of thunderous applause. Tears stung his eyes from the emotions he was feeling: relief that he'd been able to say what he wanted to say without falling apart, pride that he had not let Roy down, gratitude for his friendship with Roy, and a desire to keep Roy's memory alive

"Good job, Pal," Chet said.

"You made it," Mike said.

"See, Johnny," Captain Stanley said, "I told you that you could do it, Pal."

"Bonita!" Marco said approvingly.

Only Brice said nothing. But he did give John thumbs up.

"That's a switch," John thought, "Brice showing humanity." He really didn't have time or desire to consider the matter further.

"Well done, Johnny," Joanne told John at the end of the service.

"Thanks, Joanne," John said, smiling sheepishly.

"Yes, that was really beautiful," Dixie said approvingly.

"For a man who suffers from stage fright, you did really well," Dr. Brackett observed.

It was finally over. The longest, worst day of John Gage's life.

John was exhausted. He had been sleeping badly since Roy's death, and tonight was no exception. He got out of bed and walked over to Roy's empty bed and sat down on it, holding the choker. He played with the choker for a while, turning it over and over in his hands, feeling the beads and the roughness of the cord, and touching where the choker had been around Roy's neck.

Putting the choker back onto the nightstand, he picked up his favorite photo of Roy. It was a beautiful photo, showing Roy Desoto at his best. John had, without Roy's knowledge, gotten his brand new 35 mm camera and had snapped a close up of Roy's face and shoulders. They'd been at Rampart after a rescue of a teenage girl, who, against all odds, had survived being poisoned. Dixie, Dr. Early, Dr. Brackett, and John and Roy had worked for over an hour to save the teenage girl's life. Afterwards, they'd had coffee in the staff lounge.

Roy had been laughing at some joke of Dr. Early's, his eyes shining with happiness, that incredible smile on his face, and his freckles standing out. Roy had been wearing the choker, and it figured prominently in the photo, as had his fire department badge, and his nametag that read 'R. Desoto. Paramedic. Los Angeles County Fire Department'.

The photo was priceless, capturing Roy in a precious moment that would never happen again. John cherished the image, which depicted how John wanted most of all to remember Roy: alive, laughing, and happy.

John went back to his own bed. "Pally, he whispered to the photo and put it back on the nightstand. He fell into an uneasy sleep.

"Junior," came a voice that sounded like Roy. John stirred in his sleep, but did not wake up.

"Psst, Johnny," the voice came again. John opened his eyes. He lay very still, wondering if Chet was trying to play a joke on him.

"All right, Chester B. Kelly, joke's over," John said edgily. But Chet was dead to the world.

"Junior," the voice said, "Over here."

"Where are you?" John asked, wide awake.

"On the bed, silly," the voice said.

John looked over at the bed. Roy was sitting there, in his blue pants, blue shirt, badge, nametag, and the choker. He looked the way he always had, short light brown hair, intense blue eyes, freckles, and that smile that John loved so much. .

John asked, "Is it really you, Roy?"

"Yes, it's me, Junior," Roy said.

"You're dead," John pointed out.

Roy laughed. "Tell me something I don't know," he remarked.

"How did you get here?" John asked.

"It's a secret," Roy answered.

Obviously, how Roy had gotten there was not something John was permitted to know. Sensibly, he dropped the subject of Roy's mysterious method of arrival back on earth.

"Why are you here, then?" John asked, wondering if he was forbidden even to know that much.

"I just wanted to reassure you, Johnny, that I'm all right," Roy answered.

"Can anyone else see you?" John wanted to know.

"Only you, Junior," Roy told him.

John had a strange sense of unreality, which he didn't know what to make of.

"You're having trouble taking all of this in," Roy observed.

"Yes, Pally," John agreed.

Roy looked at John understandingly, and said, "Don't try to comprehend what's going on; it's more trouble than it's worth. Just enjoy it."

"Uh, okay," John said meekly.

"You gave a beautiful tribute to me at the service today, Johnny," Roy said, "I'm really proud of you. Not only for not letting your stage fright stop you from doing me justice. But also for not strangling Craig Brice."

John, afraid of waking anyone else, did not laugh, merely smiled.

"It's been a dreadful week," he remarked.

"Yes, I know," Roy concurred, "But you survived, and you'll continue to survive. It's going to be rough on you. It already has been. There will be days when you take one step forward and fall two steps back. I can't change that. But your heartache will heal over time. You will, of course, always miss me."

"Yes, you're right," John conceded.

"Of course, I am, Junior," Roy reminded him, giving John that endearing smile, "You know that. But, I'll be with you all the way and live in your heart always."

"Is that a promise?" John asked, fighting back tears.

"Yes, it's a promise. Johnny, have I ever let you down before?" Roy asked.

"No," John said, trying to control his shaking voice.

"Why start now?" Roy asked, "There will come a day when we will never be parted again. We are friends, always, Johnny Gage."

"Yes, friends always, Roy Desoto," John replied, tears filling his eyes.

Roy vanished as quickly and as soundlessly as he had appeared.

John lay back on his bed, wondering if he had imagined the whole meeting. Tears trickled down his cheeks. But, for the first time, since Roy's death, John felt like he could truly relax.

On the street outside, a car drove by the station, its radio blaring. Ordinarily, John would have found the noise irksome, but not tonight. He listened closely.

The car disappeared down the road. But the song, Bon Jovi's Born to Be My Baby, played itself in John's head. Roy had always claimed he disliked rock music. But over time, he'd found himself liking it more and more.

John and Roy loved the song and had always considered it to be their signature song. Both guys felt that it expressed their friendship perfectly, even though the song was actually about a relationship between a man and a woman.

The two of them loved rocking out to it in the squad, or if they were by themselves in the station. They didn't dare get too rambunctious rocking out, because, as Roy had observed once, "The probability of someone watching you is directly proportional to the stupidity of your actions." He'd seen that on a bumper sticker on the back of Dr. Mike Morton's car, and the phrase had stuck with him.

But Roy and John loved to sing Born to Be My Baby to each other, as only they could hear it, and they changed the lyrics to suit them.

Now, John, lying on his bed, wide awake, sang the song in his mind, while he relived memories from their time together.

Sitting in the office at the LA County Fire Department Headquarters, when John signed up for paramedic training.

In a scrub gown and a surgical mask when John had caught a mysterious virus.

Sprawled out on a hill in a clump of dried weeds laughing themselves silly over the peculiar day they'd had.

Roy's stealing John's thunder, outside the Rampart Emergency Room, when John had been flirting with a nurse. The nurse had transferred her attentions from John to Roy, which had irritated John at the time, but now he could laugh about the incident.

Roy looking like the creature from the Black Lagoon on the last day of his life, when he'd rescued the golfer from the water hazard at Barfo Flats Golf Course.

A tired and grimy, but gratified, Roy, after he'd rescued a young boy and his dog from their burning house.

Roy and John rescuing an accident victim from a rock off Catalina Island.

Roy, in his dress uniform the night of the Starlight Ball, dancing with Joanne down the center lane of a line dance to Madonna's song Lucky Star.

Soaking wet after an unwanted swim during a call.

Roy, looking handsome in his dress uniform, as John's best man when John had married Katrina.

Patiently delivering a baby to a couple who were deaf and mute and making sure they understood what they needed to do.

Lying on the floor of Room 542 at the Vile Inn when Chet and John had found him, and still keeping his sense of humor despite his being in pain and dying.

"So many memories," John thought, "I'll always remember you, Roy Desoto. You will always be my partner, my friend, my brother, my Pally." John gazed at the photo for a few more minutes before he fell asleep.