Dixie kept a comforting hand on Roy's arm as she led him down the hall toward the ICU. "Are you sure you're ready to see him?" she asked as Roy stumbled on his shaky legs. Roy nodded.

"He's hooked up to pretty much every machine we have in here," she warned him. "It's pretty scary to see, even for those of us who are used to it."

"I can handle it," Roy declared. Dixie didn't miss the note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Good." She opened the door, and Roy heard the monitors keeping track of Johnny's heartbeat, respirations and blood pressure. He flinched as he heard the mechanical hiss of the respirator. The room was dim and silent except for the symphony of the machine noises. Roy took a deep breath and looked down at his partner, willing himself to face the reality that Johnny was now in. He struggled to maintain his control while Dixie adjusted a few wires.

"Press the call button if you need anything," Dixie told him, giving Roy's shoulder a squeeze before she slipped out quietly, leaving Roy to his inner turmoil. Roy continued to stare down at Johnny until a wave of dizziness hit. He sank into the chair next to the bed, the magnitude of his guilt washing over him in waves. "Johnny…I'm…" Roy stopped, his voice faltering. He gulped in some shallow breaths.

I have to talk to him, even if he can't hear me. It's the only way I'll be able to get on with my life. Roy knew the only other option was to dive deeper into the pit of despair, and he wasn't sure he would be able to pull himself out if that happened. So he grabbed Johnny's hand and pressed it hard in his own.

He has to know that I'm here. He has to know that I can feel this, even if he can't. How could I've been so clumsy and so stupid? "Johnny, I'm here. I…I don't know what exactly happened." He took a deep breath. "But, if I've caused this for you, I'm..."

I'm what? Sorry? Hell of a lot of good that will do him. "I can't understand how I could have…" The tears began to fall, first one by one, then in a torrent of emotion. Roy lowered his head and sobbed, letting the tension, nerves and anguish out. Loneliness swept over him and he simply let it happen. His heart ached, and he couldn't bear the thought that Johnny would never be the same person because of something Roy had done.

Roy heard the beeps on the heart rate monitor quicken and looked up. He noticed Johnny's eyelids fluttering. "Johnny? I'm right here." Roy put on his best smile while trying to catch his breath and stop his sobs.

Johnny looked at Roy and tried to speak, but couldn't. "Shh, Johnny, it's okay," Roy soothed. "You've just come out of surgery, don't try to talk." Roy saw the confusion in Johnny's eyes. His breaths came in short puffs as he tried to fight the mechanical breathing being imposed on him.

"Come on, Johnny, relax, relax. You can't get all worked up right now. You need to stay calm and let the machine breathe for you," Roy commanded gently. He reached up and pressed the call button. "Let's get Brackett in here and let him know you're awake, okay?"

Johnny's eyes moved back and forth, searching out Roy's. Roy locked onto Johnny's gaze and smiled reassuringly. Johnny's ragged breathing slowly returned to a more normal rhythm. "That's better. Now just keep focusing on your breathing, Johnny. Let the machine do all the work. Good. Good."

Roy desperately held on to his smile as he looked down at his partner, but had to turn away when he saw the questions in Johnny's eyes. How much do I say? What do I tell him? What if he doesn't remember either?

Johnny watched the emotions flickering across Roy's face. This must really be bad. I've never seen him so upset before.

He wanted to reach out to Roy and comfort his anguished partner, but his hands refused to follow his commands to move. Dammit! Why aren't I able to move yet?

Roy saw the anger on Johnny's face and mistook the reason behind it. He does remember. And he's blaming me for everything.

*******

Two days later, Johnny was more alert, and with the tube now out of his throat, he was able to speak with some effort. He quietly endured the constant parade of nurses and techs that took blood, adjusted monitors, checked wires and changed dressings. He sighed as he was poked and prodded, shifted and moved about, and coaxed into downing the liquid diet he was on. His wounds were beginning to heal, but he grew more irritable and depressed as his paralysis moved into another day. His only relief was daily visits from Roy, Joanne, Dixie and Hank. Dr. Brackett had ordered no one else visit until Johnny's strength improved and he was able to tolerate more activity.

Johnny sighed as the door opened, expecting another round of medical attention.

"Hey, Johnny," said Roy. He pulled up the chair close to Johnny's bed so he was in Johnny's line of sight. Johnny was propped up with his arms settled at his sides.

"Roy," rasped Johnny.

"How are you doing this morning? Anything?" Roy asked anxiously.

"Nothing. I'm so…Dammit!" He paused to catch his breath. Roy reached over instinctively.

"Roy, I'm…" Johnny closed his eyes and sighed. "I can't believe this." A sob caught up in his throat. Johnny shuddered. "I'm not feeling a thing, Roy. I…I can't do this," he rasped.

"Johnny, it's still early," Roy tried to reassure him. "Let's see what happens as the swelling goes down. Things could change. You've got to hang on to that."

Johnny's eyes watered and his lids felt heavy. At least I can feel my eyelids. "I can't live…" He struggled to voice his darkest thoughts. "Not like this…not like this," he whispered.

His despair now voiced, Johnny wasn't sure what do next. He noticed Roy looking down, his eyes unable to meet Johnny's. When Roy finally did look at him again, the pain and anguish in Roy's eyes made Johnny shudder. He'd never seen such raw emotion on his partner's face, even during the worst of times. Fear crept through him as he wondered about the reasons behind the pain. This is never going to go away. I'm never going to get better. And he knows it. That's why he's looking at me that way.

"Johnny, I am so sorry," Roy started.

No! I don't want to hear this. I don't want to hear I'm not going to get better.

"I think that…I might have had something to do…with that gun," Roy confessed softly.

"The gun?" a confused Johnny asked. Is that what has him so upset?

"I'm still trying to figure out what exactly happened," Roy continued. "All I remember is holding that gun." Roy looked back to the floor.

"Roy," Johnny said. He wanted to grab his friend's hand but couldn't. He watched as Roy continued to struggle with his inner turmoil regarding the shooting, yet Johnny couldn't find the words to comfort him. I should tell him this isn't his fault. But what if it is? What if he was the one who did this to me? Johnny's anger overshadowed his desire to comfort his best friend, and all he could do was simply look at Roy for a long moment.

"Roy," he finally began again. "I don't know. I really don't know."

Johnny's own despair kept him from finding any hope to give Roy. As much as he wanted to, he didn't have it to give. And as much as he wanted things to be normal, he didn't believe they ever would be again. Everything was a mess, and Johnny didn't know how to rescue himself or his partner.

*******

A Stryker-frame bed was carefully positioned in Johnny's room. Since the swelling was almost gone, the next step was to keep Johnny's blood pressure even and to allow his body to function as though the nerves were still communicating with the brain. This would be done by rotating the canvas frame with the patient strapped in. Dixie was there to supervise the entire process, making sure that her patient was properly cared for. No chances of a screw-up here, she thought. Not today.

The process of moving Johnny into the frame was cumbersome and long, but necessary to keep his body in alignment. Dixie noted that the canvas portion of the bed was clean and appeared in good condition. Not a bed, more like a sandwich with Johnny in the middle! That wasn't very professional. He won't feel it, anyway. Oh, Johnny . . . Dixie turned her attention to the safety belts around Johnny, trying to focus on her job. She noted Johnny's frustration and anger swirling behind his tightened jaw and the thin stretch of his lips. He was working hard to keep it all at bay.

"Johnny, like I explained before, this will help keep the blood flowing in your body. I know it seems awkward . . . " she started.

"Just go away, Dix, . . . please . . ." his eyes remained tightly closed, tears slipping away, again.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll see you later." She turned quickly so that Johnny wouldn't notice her own tears.