Chapter 9: Hide and Seek

Station 51, six months later, 0745

"Well, g'mornin', Roy! How are ya?" Johnny grinned broadly at his partner as they entered the locker room.

"Not as good as you, apparently. How was your vacation?" Roy asked, as he started to change into his uniform.

"It was awfully good, Roy. Just—really, really good. You know we went camping, right? But guess where we went? Back to that same place we all went to last year, is where. The swimming hole was pretty cold, in the spring, but everything else was just perfect."

"Perfect, huh?" Roy smiled back at him.

"Yep."

"Glad to see the glow hasn't worn off after a couple months."

"Not even slightly, pal." Johnny's grin morphed into a scowl. "What, did you think it was a fling or somethin'?"

Roy wasn't really sure what he originally thought was going to happen with Johnny and Mike, when he first found out about them, since it took him a while to get over the shock. But he could answer a slightly different version of Johnny's question with total honesty. "I know it's not a fling. I didn't mean anything other than I'm glad to see you so darned happy all the time."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry—I get kinda touchy about what people think. It ain't easy, ya know."

"What isn't?" Roy asked.

"Not following the unwritten rules of the world. Hiding, hiding, hiding. This is the best thing that ever happened in my whole life, and I can't even tell anyone. Anyone, Roy. Ever."

"I know," Roy said quietly.

"And I can't do what I wanna do, either. Can't make it legal. Can't tell the world that we're not just havin' some kind of crazy fling. You know how bad that sucks?"

"No," Roy said honestly. "I don't. But I'm sorry it does."

Johnny relaxed his scowl. "Yeah, I know. Sorry I got all grouchy on ya. It's just, you know, we were talkin' this week, about, like, permanent stuff. And how hard it is to do that, if you're not following the rules. If you're not normal."

"Johnny …"

"Yeah, I know, I know. Don't beat myself up. But the fact is, Roy—look at it this way. Look at your hands."

"Huh?"

"Look at 'em. What's different about your hands and mine?"

Roy did as Johnny asked, and immediately got the point.

"There's that one little gold thing there, that when you put that on, and signed a piece of paper, a whole lotta legal stuff happened automatically. But us? We hafta go through it piece by piece, where you and Joanne got a one-stop shop." Johnny shook his head. "Sorry. I'll quit my whining. But here's the thing I wanted to tell you. When we got back, yesterday, we both re-did our medical power of attorney stuff. As, like, the first step. I don't wanna, you know, devalue our friendship, but …"

Roy shook his head. "I understand, Johnny. It's great. It's a great step. And also, just because I'm not signing the papers, doesn't mean I won't be there for you in those situations. For both of you. Okay?"

"Yeah." Johnny blew out a breath. "Thanks, Roy. Thanks for not being upset. And thanks for all those years when you were holding that pen on my behalf. That really means a lot to me."

"You're welcome. And Johnny—I'm really happy for you. Really. And I'm counting on you being a happy, goofy idiot all day, too, so don't disappoint me, all right?"

Johnny's smile finally returned. "You can count on me, Roy. C'mon—coffee oughta be ready."

Roy and John were having their coffee at the day-room table when the rest of the A-shift crew wandered in, minus Hank Stanley, who was debriefing with B-shift's captain in the office.

"Hey Gage! Welcome back," Chet said. "How was your vacation?"

"Super! Couldn't have been better. The weather was perfect, and the trees, and the fishing, and the air, and everything—just perfect."

"You go by yourself?" Chet said, attempting, as he did on a regular basis, to get something—anything—out of Johnny that might be a clue about who was making him so happy.

"Nope!" Johnny said, hanging onto the happy feeling, even though he knew Chet was going to be on his case again.

"And that's all I'm getting, right?" Chet said glumly.

"Yep. Just … look, if you'd just stop asking, I'd just stop havin' to not tell you. Can you leave it alone?"

"Geez, Gage," Chet complained, shaking his head. "You're gettin' to be just as bad as Stoker ever was. Worse, maybe. 'Cause at least he hardly ever said anything at all. But you? Half the time, I can't shut you up. And the other half the time, I get nothin'."

"So quit askin'. Ask me about other stuff. Just let the personal stuff stay personal, all right?" Johnny said, quickly starting to lose the glow from his vacation. "Look, let's change the subject. What'd I miss while I was gone?"

"Just two boring shifts, man. Where'd you go, anyhow?" Chet said, clearly not getting the message.

Johnny just looked at him, scowling.

"Might as well just quit trying, Kelly, like the rest of us," Ed Jackson said. "And now I'm gonna really change the subject, because this is pointless."

"Man, I'm with you there," said Marco, shaking his head. "What do you want to change it to?"

"So a guy I used to work with said their station bought some exercise equipment, and that the department kicked in some of the money if they raised the rest amongst themselves. How'd you guys like to start up a collection, or something, to at least get some weights or something?" Jackson said. "As a start."

"Sure," said Chet. "I mean, you're the gym rat of the six of us, Jackson, but I'm for it."

"Well, my rent just went up," Johnny said, "but I oughta be able to come up with something."

Their discussion continued, interrupted briefly by roll call, and then by a dumpster fire, until lunch time, when they had a plan laid out and the beginnings of a fund. Lunch—Chet's infamous chili—was interrupted by a major call. The station was toned out as part of a second-alarm assignment at a house fire that had quickly spread to an adjacent structure.

The engine and the squad arrived at the block, and were assigned tasks by the battalion chief. The chief had already declared the situation to be a defense-only attack—the fire in the original house, and the one next to it, would be contained through a coordinated exterior attack, designed to protect the exposures by keeping the fire contained to those two structures. He had pulled out the interior teams well before Station 51 arrived.

Jackson was assigned to put Engine 51 a few blocks down the road, at a hydrant on a different branch of the water main, to relay water to the aerial ladder truck that arrived shortly after 51's crew arrived. Johnny and Roy were put on a two-and-a-half on one side of the second structure, and Marco and Chet were on another line on a different side. Cap was assigned to coordinate the efforts of the teams assigned to the second structure.

About fifteen minutes into their tasks, there was a crashing sound, and then, the words that nobody ever wanted to hear came over the radio. It was Marco's voice.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! Firefighter Kelly is trapped under a brick wall collapse, on the delta side of the second structure."

Just as they should have, everyone continued with their tasks until directed otherwise—after all, if everyone dropped what they were doing to run to his aid, the fire would quickly get out of control, and the man who needed help would potentially be in even more trouble. But Johnny and Roy knew they'd be called, in seconds, to help their comrade.

Cap's voice came on the HT in Roy's coat pocket. "DeSoto, Gage—shut down your line, and assist in the search and rescue."

"Copy, shutting down," Roy said.

They rushed around the corner of the building, and found Marco scrabbling frantically through the pile of bricks. They could hear Chet's alarm going off—the one that screamed out that its wearer wasn't moving—but they couldn't see him.

"He's right there," Marco shouted after a few seconds. "See his boot?"

"I see it!" Johnny said. "Roy, tell Cap we need manpower over here, and fast. We're gonna have to get these bricks off him right now—he's not so buried that he shouldn't be able to move, and I don't wanna yank him out, since the fire's not headed right for us, and we don't know why he's not moving."

Johnny and Marco started tossing bricks towards the wall that had fallen. Nobody had anticipated the collapse—it was a wall from the adjacent structure, which hadn't been on fire, but must have been damaged by heat at some point. It had hit Chet from behind, giving Marco only a glancing blow.

Within a minute, there were six other firemen at the scene, and the bricks were off in short order. Chet was on his side—better than being on his back, on top of his air pack. He was breathing—they could see his chest moving. But that was all they could tell at that point.

"Marco, hold his head steady." Johnny shut off the alarm, cut through the backpack-like straps of the air pack, and pulled the whole assembly away from Chet's still form. Roy returned with the long spine board and other equipment, and slid the board onto the ground behind Chet.

"Marco, I'm gonna take his head and neck now, while you get his helmet off before we roll him." Marco took the helmet of carefully and set it aside. "All right, now you hold his head steady. We'll roll him onto the board, on your count, nice and easy."

Marco followed Johnny's instructions, and the team log-rolled Chet onto the backboard. Johnny checked Chet's neck over quickly, and then put a cervical collar on him. Roy started to cut Chet's gear off, checking him for obvious trauma that needed immediate attention, skipping his head, since Johnny was dealing with that end.

"Johnny—look at this."

Marco held up Chet's helmet. The right side was crushed, with red brick dust evident in the spiderweb of cracks. Johnny carefully felt Chet's entire skull, and was relieved to find no obvious fractures. He did find a swollen line all along the side of his skull, with a laceration along one edge, where the inside straps of the helmet had done just what they were supposed to, spreading out the force of a major impact. But there were no large swellings, and nothing else terribly alarming. He opened Chet's eyelids and flashed each eye with a pen light. He blew out a sigh of relief. "No crepitus, but there's a laceration and swelling around the straps inside the helmet. No other major swelling. And there was no swelling or deformity in the cervical spine." He gently pried open each of Chet's eyelids, and flashed his pen light into each of them. "Equal and reactive bilaterally. You got anything, Roy?"

"Negative. Let's get him out of here."

They covered Chet with a blanket, leaving the cut-up turnout gear in a heap, and strapped him to the backboard. Johnny, Marco, and two men from 110s carried him swiftly but carefully to a safe zone. The two other firefighters were immediately sent back to take over where Chet and Marco had left off. Johnny and Roy continued their assessment of Chet.

"I'm not seein' anything else obvious, Roy. Good chest rise, equal breath sounds bilaterally, respirations fourteen. Can you get on the horn to Rampart?"

Roy started up the biophone. As he did so, Johnny tried again to get a response from Chet.

"Chet?" he said loudly. "C'mon, pal—gimme something, here." He squeezed a muscle on Chet's shoulder, and was rewarded with arm movement, a grimace, and a moan. "C'mon, Chet—open your eyes!"

Chet's eyes slowly blinked open.

"All right!" Johnny said. "Chet? You with us, buddy?"

"Wha …"

"You got knocked out, pal. You know where you are?"

"Uh … fire?"

"What else, Chet? What kind of fire?"

"Dunno." Chet's eyes drooped shut again.

"Keep those eyes open, pal. Do you know what day is it?"

A long pause. "Dunno." Chet's eyes stayed open, and flicked back and forth nervously.

"All right. It's all right. Can you tell me your whole name?"

"Chester B. Kelly."

"Good!" Johnny said, finally happy with one of the answers. "You know who I am?"

"Gage. Shit—what happened?"

"A wall fell on you, and knocked you out but good. Can you wiggle your fingers?"

Chet complied.

"Okay—what fingers am I squeezing now?"

"Pinkies."

"Good—now move your toes—great—and what toes does Roy have down there?"

"Uh, big ones. Shit, my head hurts."

"I know it, man. Anything else hurting?"

"I guess my neck is kinda sore. What happened, anyhow?"

Johnny patiently repeated his explanation, while listening with half his brain to what Roy was repeating back over the biophone.

"All right, Chet—we're gonna take you in to Rampart, all right? Get some pictures of your head and neck, make sure nothing's broken. Can you see all right?"

"Yeah, yeah—I can see fine. Can you take all this stuff off me?" Chet complained. "It's really uncomfortable."

"Sorry, man—no can do. We gotta keep your head and neck still till the docs say it's safe for you to move, all right?"

"Okay, Gage." Chet frowned. "Man, what a headache! What the hell happened?"

Johnny repeated his explanation, realizing he'd probably be doing so over and over on the way to Rampart.

"Huh. Shit—everyone else okay?"

"Yeah, Chet—everyone's fine. See? Roy's down by your feet. Cap, Marco—stick your heads over here so Chet can see you. See? Everyone's fine."

"Stoker's at the engine?"

Johnny's heart fell to his feet, as the other three men suddenly got quiet. "Mike's fine, too, Chet. He's just busy now, or he'd be here too."

"I feel kinda weird. Woozy. What happened, anyhow? Everything's all blurry."

Shit. "Let's go, Roy. Right now."

Chet's eyes drooped shut again as they strapped the backboard to the gurney.

"Chet? Chet!"

Nothing.

Johnny stopped the driver briefly after Chet was loaded into the ambulance.

"Time to burn some serious diesel, Hal. No fooling," he said quietly.

"He doesn't look that bad, does he?"

"He's getting worse. Fast. Step on it—hard."

~!~!~!~

Rampart, Several hours later

Five pairs of eyes looked up as Joe Early and the neurosurgeon emerged from the operating room into the waiting area. Johnny and Roy simultaneously sighed in relief as they recognized Early's subtle "good news" look.

"Your speed made all the difference," the neurosurgeon said. "I evacuated an epidural hematoma, right over his temporal lobe, and fixed the bleed. Fifteen more minutes—maybe less—and … well, the outcome wouldn't have been good."

"Is he going to be okay?" Marco asked. "I mean, he didn't hardly remember anything except his own name."

"It's hard to say, at this point, but the odds aren't bad. We'll know more when he wakes up."

"All right. Thanks, Doc," said Captain Stanley. He looked at Johnny, who didn't look much better than he had five minutes ago, and made eye contact with Roy, who nodded at him subtly. Cap slapped his hands on his thighs, and stood up. "Time for the second quarter of the waiting game, boys. Who's with me for coffee?" Marco and Jackson trailed out of the waiting area with their captain, not quite noticing that Roy and John were staying put.

Johnny sat there with his head in his hands.

"Johnny …" Roy said.

"We coulda been faster, Roy. I know we coulda."

"I don't think so. We got him out from under those bricks—we had to be careful, for sure, because we didn't know what we were dealing with. You said it yourself, when we first got to him."

"If—if … if we'd just pulled him out, we woulda got him here five minutes faster."

"Come on, Johnny—you know we couldn't do that."

Johnny didn't say anything.

"We couldn't have done that, Johnny. What if he'd had a broken neck?"

"But he didn't, Roy." He shook his head. "We shoulda been faster."

"Johnny, no. No way. We made the right choice, for what we knew at the time. C'mon. Let's go get some coffee with the guys, while we wait for Chet to wake up."

"I'm just gonna wait here, Roy. You go on."

Roy looked at him, and sat back down.

"What's going on, Johnny? You know we did a fine job. This isn't like you."

Johnny didn't reply at first. He held his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. Roy waited patiently, until Johnny finally spoke.

"The first thing I said to Chet today was a lie. And so was the last thing. Practically all I said to Chet today was lies. And now—there he is, layin' there, with a busted head, and maybe the last thing I ever said to him was a lie. I'm sick of it, Roy."

Roy was momentarily confused. "The last thing?"

"Yeah. That Mike was just busy. I didn't even think about what I said—I just … didn't wanna upset him, was all. So practically everything I said to Chet today was lies. About Mikey."

Roy had no idea what to say to Johnny. None. But somebody else might.

"C'mon, Johnny. We're gonna go to the staff lounge, and clear it out, and you're gonna make a phone call."

~!~!~!~

L.A. County Fire Station 93

At Station 93, the A-shift crew members were finally getting a break, after an unusually busy morning and early afternoon. They had just finished restoring the equipment to service, and the men were enjoying a much-needed break. Everyone was in the day room, except Len, who was in the office finishing up run reports from the busy day. The house phone rang, and Washington picked it up.

"L.A. County Fire Department, Station 93, Firefighter Washington speaking."

"Hi, uh, this is John, uh, Mike Stoker's housemate. Is he around? It's kind of an emergency."

"Sure—hang on." He put his hand over the receiver. "Stoker? It's your housemate. He says it's an emergency."

Mike froze, in the middle of turning a page. Johnny wouldn't call in the middle of the day, and use the word "emergency," unless something really, really bad had happened.

"Shit. Uh, tell him hold on a second, okay?"

Mike's boots skidded on the shiny floor as he rounded the corner to Len's office. The door was slightly ajar.

"Cap? I have a real emergency phone call, on the house line. Can I take it in here? Please?"

Len instantly set aside his paperwork, and got up from his desk. "Of course—all yours. Everything all right?"

"I doubt it," Mike said.

Len left the office, clicking the door shut on his way out. Mike pushed the "Line 2" button on the phone, and picked up.

"I got it, Washington, thanks," Mike said first. He waited for the click that told him that Washington had put the day-room extension down.

"Johnny? You all right? What happened?" Mike's heart was pounding.

"It's Chet. Jesus, Mikey. A brick wall fell on him, and the whole side of his helmet got busted in, and he had a bleed in his brain. I … I could see him gettin' worse, right in front of me in the ambulance on the way to Rampart. He, uh, just got out of surgery."

Mike was disturbed not only by the news, but by the shaky, tentative quality to Johnny's voice. "Shit. I'm sorry, babe. Do they know yet how he's gonna do?"

"Not really. He's still out from the surgery."

Mike could tell from the flatness of Johnny's voice that there was more going on.

"I know it's hard treating your friends. Are you okay?"

Mike could hear Johnny breathing on the other end, so he knew he was still there. "I'm a wreck, actually. It's …" Johnny sighed heavily. "It's just that … me and Chet kinda had words this morning, just a little bit. The usual thing. And then, when he was conscious for a minute or so, and was asking if all the other guys were okay, he didn't remember that you transferred out, and asked where you were, I fibbed and told him you were busy, or else you'd be there. 'Cause I didn't want to upset him, you know? So … I keep thinkin', what if he doesn't make it, and the last thing I said to him was a lie, and the thing before that was a fight?"

Mike chose his next words carefully. "Deep down, or probably actually not all that deep down, you guys both know you're good buddies. He knows you care, Johnny. Everybody does. All right?"

"Yeah. I know. I just feel … rotten, is all. I'm sick of having to hide."

"I know." Mike paused. "Listen. If you want to tell him about us, when he wakes up, that's fine. If you think it would help him, or if it would help you. All right?"

"I … I dunno, Mike. Thanks. But—I just don't know. I'll think about it. And—I'll let you know what happens. Your guys won't think it's weird if I'm callin' about one of our guys, so I'll call you later."

"Okay. We had such a great week, you and me. A really, really great week. Try to hold on to that. Okay?"

"Yeah. We did, didn't we. I think that was pretty much the best week of my entire life." Johnny's voice started to sound a bit more settled and level.

"Me, too. I've been grinning like an idiot all day, babe. Call me later, okay?"

"Yeah. I will. And tomorrow morning, first thing, will you meet me at Rampart, so we can go visit Chet?"

"Of course I will. We'll do that. Love you," Mike said.

"Love you too. A whole lot."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Mike put the phone down, and rubbed his temples to forestall the headache he could feel coming on. He knew how terribly hard it was for Johnny to have to treat his friends, and that despite all their bickering, Johnny and Chet were pretty close. He thought about what he'd say to his shift-mates—he'd never mentioned before that his "housemate" was a firefighter from his old station, which, now that they were about to find that out, might seem like a major omission. But at the moment, Mike didn't particularly care. He pushed Len's chair away from the desk, and went out to face his friends.

Everyone got quiet and looked up when Mike entered the room, but nobody said anything at first.

"Mike?" Len asked quietly. "What's the news?"

Mike cleared his throat. "A guy from my old crew at 51s just got messed up pretty bad. Head injury. Brick wall came down on him. My housemate is one of the paramedics on that shift, and said he was really bad. Everyone's pretty torn up right now."

"Sorry to hear about that, Mike. Do you need to go?" Len asked.

"You probably couldn't get a sub for me on short notice, so … let's say 'no' for now. Johnny's gonna call me back when they know something more. Chet—that's the guy—he's still unconscious."

"Sorry, man," Washington said. The others echoed his sentiment.

Everyone was somber for a while—news of a downed firefighter always did that. The engine had an alarm panel activation that turned out to be what it was 99% of the time: nothing. The squad had a run while Yang was making dinner, so Mike gladly took over for him, just to have something to occupy his mind. He jumped, then froze, when the phone rang.

"I got it," he said, wiping his hands on a towel.

"L.A. County Fire Department, Station 93, Firef—"

"Hey, it's me," Johnny said, interrupting Mike. "Listen—Chet woke up a little while ago. That's good—it's real good. And I'm about to go in to see him—I just wanted to tell you real fast that things are looking better. I'll give you a call when I've seen him, okay?"

Mike felt some of the tension that had been building up in his neck and shoulders all afternoon leave him.

"Boy, I'm glad to hear that," he replied. "Let me know when you hear more, okay?"

"For sure. Gotta go—they're letting me in right now, for five minutes. Bye!" Click.

Mike replaced the phone. "He's awake," he said to the three men who were looking on. "Johnny's going in to see him—but it sounds like maybe things are looking up."

"Great, Mike. That's good news. Who's the guy who got hurt?" Len asked.

"Chet Kelly—we were at 51s together for about six years. Our whole crew was, actually—in six years we just had one change, and that was a new captain after the first year. So we got to be pretty tight," Mike said.

"And this John fellow, your housemate—you worked with him for six years too?" Armstrong asked. "And he's your housemate? Man, that would make me crazy—working with my housemate. Living with my shiftmate. Whatever. A little too much togetherness, if you ask me."

"Oh—um, that wasn't till after I transferred over here," Mike said. "'Cause yeah, that'd be too much, wouldn't it."

"So, Mike, if you guys were such a tight crew, how come you transferred way the hell up here?" Armstrong asked.

Mike sighed. Oddly enough, that question hadn't really come up in the last six months. People just accepted that transferring from station to station was part of life in a big department. Mike decided that he'd stick with his original story—the one that Len knew.

"The commute was getting to be a bit much. And, when you get to be my age, you hafta start thinking about what's next. I didn't think it looked so great that I was at the same place for so long. And I also knew I wanted to see more of the department—get some more perspectives, you know?"

The two younger men looked at him blankly, but Len responded. "I certainly understand that. Even though most of the equipment and all of the SOPs are the same, you still get something new everywhere you go."

"But—" Washington looked at Mike. "Nah, never mind."

"What, Ben?" Mike asked, and then wished he hadn't.

"But if the commute is so bad, why'd that John fellow move up to your place?"

"Uhhh, he … uh … just doesn't mind driving as much, I guess," Mike said, fumbling for words. Shit, shit, shit. Just keep your mouth shut, Stoker. And change the subject. "But anyhow—be really patient with Yang and Velasquez, afterwards, if they ever have to treat one of us for something bad. Or anyone they know. Because I think it's one of the hardest things a paramedic has to deal with." Mike's mind flashed to various incidents—Johnny's cop friend who got hit by the car, and what a mess Johnny was after that; Roy, who had to take a couple shifts off after the experience of treating Johnny when he got blown up in a gas explosion; everyone, standing there feeling powerless and helpless after Captain Stanley got zapped by a downed power line at an MVA that nearly turned into a brush fire.

"That hasn't happened, here," Len said, "knock on wood." He tapped the wooden coffee table

Firemen being superstitious by nature, all three other men rapped some wooden object nearby.

"Anyhow—I'm gonna go straight to Rampart in the morning, I think."

Everyone nodded.

"Please send your friend Kelly best wishes from all of Station 93, Mike," said Len.

"Thanks, Cap. I will."

~!~!~!~

Johnny called Station 93 twice more that evening with updates—all good news—before Station 51 had to resume their shift. He and Mike agreed to meet at Rampart in the morning. Mike knew that by the time he got there, visiting hours would have begun. And Johnny said he was going to take a short nap at his apartment between the end of the shift and the start of visiting hours, though Mike privately suspected that the nap might happen on a couch somewhere at Rampart.

In the morning, after the long drive from Station 93 to Rampart, Mike took the elevator up to the fourth floor, where Chet's room was. He saw Johnny waiting outside in the hallway, where there was a row of chairs.

"It's okay," he said. "His mom and sister are there, and I wanted to give them a minute. Though I think Chet's probably trying to get rid of them, from the look on his face."

"All right." Mike looked up and down the hallway, and saw nobody. He sat down on Johnny's right, and quickly squeezed his hand. "You doing okay?"

Johnny nodded. "Yeah. I think so. We were lucky, and got a real light night, which is good, 'cause I was a wreck. If I were Cap, I probably woulda sent me home." He paused, and looked up and down the empty hallway. "And I, uh, thought about what you said last night—about tellin' him, if that would feel better. The thing is, I guess he'd probably be okay with it and all, but it's that whole thing about how people in the department are prob'ly just better off not knowing. Ya know?"

"Yeah," Mike said. "I know. But—I think if he figures it out, like Cap and Roy did, then it's not a big deal."

"I think we've gotten better at being careful, though," Johnny said, watching the still-empty hallway. "I don't see as how there's anything that anyone would notice, unless they're already lookin' for it. Which I don't see why anyone would be."

"No, probably not."

They both looked up as the elevator doors opened. Dixie McCall stepped out.

"Hey, Dix," Johnny said.

"Johnny," she said. "And Mike—good morning. I heard about Chet—thought I'd come up and say hello, if he was up to it, even though he doesn't know me well."

"He'll appreciate it, I'm sure. Have a seat." Johnny patted the chair on his left, and Dixie sat down.

"Oohhh, I'm not so sure I should've sat down—it's going to be pretty hard to get up again," she said.

"Like going back to work after a vacation," Johnny said.

"Oh, that's right! Where'd you go, anyhow?"

"Went camping, to a great spot that I'd had a really good time at once before."

"Oh, was that the place your whole shift went last fall? I remember you seeming really happy when you got back from that trip," Dixie said. She knew she was being wicked, but she really wanted to see what kind of reaction she would get if she tested her theory a little bit.

"Yep, that was the place!" Johnny said, grinning. "Just as good the second time around, too. Maybe better. Yeah, definitely better."

"Did you go with anyone, or just on your own?" Dixie said, wincing inwardly at her boldness.

"Um, I uh …" Johnny started.

Mike twisted and squirmed in his chair, as if it had suddenly sprouted nails from the seat.

"Never mind," Dixie said hastily. "None of my business." Though she was pretty sure she had the answer to the question she wouldn't in a million years actually ask. Mike had turned away, and she could only see one ear, but it was bright red. With ears that are burning like that, somebody must be talking about you, mister, she thought.

The door to Chet's room swung open, and Chet's sister stuck her head out. "Mom says you guys can come in."

"Thanks, Liz," said Johnny.

"You know what, boys?" Dixie said. "I'll come back another time. After all, I'll be here all day. And five visitors at once is an awful lot, especially when one of them is John Gage."

"Oh, ha, ha, Dix," Johnny said. But he was smiling. "We'll tell him you said hi," he said.

"We," thought Dixie. Yep.

"Thanks, Johnny. See you later. Nice to see you, Mike—how's the shoulder, anyhow?"

"Good as new, Dixie. Thanks for asking," Mike said.

"Good. See you boys later." She headed back to the elevator, as Johnny and Mike entered Chet's room.

"Ma," Chet was saying. "Look—you were here all night. Go get something to eat, or have some tea, or something. Lizzy, can you do something with her?"

"Hi, Mrs. Kelly—we'll watch him like hawks if you want to go have some breakfast, or whatever you're up for—honest," Johnny said.

"See, Ma? Gage won't let me get away with anything, right, Stoker?"

"Not a thing," Mike said. "And neither will I."

Mrs. Kelly looked at the two of them.

"Ma, you know Johnny got me out of the mess I was in yesterday, right? I mean, I don't remember it, but that's what they said. So please—will ya take a break?"

"All right, Chester. You win. But if I hear from John or Michael that you misbehaved one bit, I will tell them what the 'B' stands for. And that's a promise."

"Okay, okay! I'll be on my very best convalescent behavior."

"That's what you said when you broke your shoulder. And do you remember the paper airplane incident, that I believe was more your doing than Roy DeSoto's?"

"Yeah, Ma. I promise—nothing like that will happen. Right, Gage?"

"Considering your skull is held together by wires right now, nothing like that better happen," Johnny said, and then glanced nervously at Mrs. Kelly.

"Excellent," she said. "Elizabeth, let's go have some breakfast. Thank you, gentlemen. And John—I thank you, especially, for everything you did yesterday."

"You're welcome, ma'am," Johnny said.

Chet held his breath as he watched his mother and sister leave the room. Then he finally let out a huge sigh of relief. "Holy shit, I thought she'd never leave," he said. "I have a headache like you wouldn't believe, and she just won't stop fussing!"

"Well, I can drop a hint to the nurse on our way out that visiting hours should be strictly enforced, if you like," Johnny said.

"Wouldja, Gage? Thanks, what a pal." Chet lay back on his pillows, suddenly looking pale.

Johnny didn't like his sudden pallor. "You all right, there?"

Chet didn't answer for a minute. "All things considered, yeah. I'm pretty good. The, uh …" he cleared his throat. "The doc said this morning that I maybe wouldn't have made it if you and Roy hadn't gotten me right the hell in here."

"You scared the shit out of us, man," Johnny said. "When someone gets knocked out, and then wakes up for a few minutes like you did, then crashes the way you did—that's bad."

"I don't remember a thing," Chet admitted. "I don't remember waking up, but they said I thought it was like a year ago when I first woke up. And I don't remember the accident—they said I probably never will, which is fine with me—but I keep realizing stuff I forgot."

Mike looked at him cautiously, and spoke for the first time since they entered the room. "When was the last time you think you saw me, Chet?"

"Last time I remember was at Cap's birthday party, a couple weeks ago," Chet said, frowning. "Why? Did I miss something?"

Johnny and Mike both sat up a little straighter. "No—that was it," Johnny said. "It's just that … well, when you came to briefly at the scene, you thought Mike was still on our crew—you were asking about all the guys, making sure everyone was safe, and you asked about Mike, and … well, I didn't want to upset you, so I fibbed, and said he was just over at the engine." He looked down at the floor. "I, uh, felt kinda bad about that."

"Well, I don't remember a thing later than about two days ago. So you're off the hook for that one. And for anything else you mighta done earlier that shift," Chet joked.

Johnny squirmed in his chair.

"Oh, great—what'd you do?" Chet said, laughing. "Fess up, Gage."

"Um, we kinda got in an argument that morning," Johnny admitted, but didn't say anything else.

"What about?" Chet asked. "It's weird, ya know, having these days missing from my memory."

Johnny didn't say anything.

"Chet, he felt really bad about it, when you looked so awful yesterday," Mike said, not wanting to put Johnny through the argument again.

"How would you know, Stoker? You weren't even there," Chet said, proving he was as sharp as ever.

"It was the same old thing, Chet," Johnny sighed, neatly sidestepping the issue of why Mike would know how he was feeling yesterday. "I made the mistake of being happy about my vacation, and you made the mistake of bugging me—again—about what I don't want to talk about."

Chet squinted at him. "It really, really bothers you, doesn't it," he said, finally.

"Yeah," Johnny admitted. "It does."

"Okay," Chet said simply. "I'll quit it. I freely admit—I'm completely baffled, why you won't say anything about this girl. And I'm pretty much dying to know who's tamed you. So if you swear on your honor that it's not a married woman, or a Mafia heiress, or a princess from some country where they'd execute you for just lookin' at her, or a teenager, or one of my sisters, or the sister or daughter or mother of anyone we know, then I'll just let it drop."

"Honest, Chet—it's absolutely not any of those things, all right? But you sure have come up with some good ones," Johnny said. But not even close.

"Okay—though it pains me nearly as greatly as my current headache does, the case is closed." Chet watched Johnny carefully, and saw that he seemed to grow a few inches taller all of a sudden. Oddly, so did Mike, but Chet was really more interested in Johnny's reaction.

"Thanks, Chet. Maybe someday … circumstances will be different. But for now, they're not. So thanks."

"You're welcome. It's the least I can do. I can't guarantee that I'll remember any of this tomorrow, mind you, but Mike, you're the witness. A truly neutral party."

"I'm definitely the witness," Mike agreed.

"But now I need a new project," Chet complained.

"How about this," Johnny suggested. "You just nearly got killed, and you just had brain surgery, for crying out loud—I mean, your brain is never, ever supposed to see the light of day—and even though you seem pretty damned good right now, you need to rest up and get completely better. That can be your project. And I'll help however I can, okay?"

Chet closed his eyes for a second or two, and Johnny was alarmed to see the pallor return.

"Yeah," he said, finally. "I, uh, know I have some mending to do. Plus—and don't you dare tell my mother this, okay? I made the doc throw her out when he was checking me out this morning, because … well, something's funny with my whole left side. It's just … I don't know. Sluggish, I guess."

Johnny sat there with his mouth open for a second or two, then closed his mouth and looked at the floor.

"What did the doc say about that, Chet?" Mike asked, figuring Johnny wouldn't.

"He said there's no way to tell for sure, but that since it's only been such a short time since the … what did he call it? Oh yeah, since the 'insult' to my brain—can you believe the words they use sometimes? But anyhow, he said since I'm so much better already, it'll probably go away on its own. That it's probably from swelling, not from actual permanent brain damage. But only time will tell."

"That sounds reasonable," Mike said. "And it sounds pretty positive, too."

"Yeah. But I can't help thinking about it, ya know. I'm sure you guys've thought about it, right? What you'd do if you couldn't be a fireman any more?"

Johnny nodded. "Not too many people know this, but hey, since you gave up on needling me about the other thing, I'll give you this one. I'd go back to school and get a nursing degree. I talked to Dixie about it a few months ago, and she said it'd be a piece of cake, since I know how to do half the stuff already anyhow. So go ahead and make a joke about the cute white hat. But that's what I'd do."

Chet sat up a little higher, and shook his head. "No jokes. I mean, not about serious shit. Not today. Probably not for a while. And for the record, I think it's a great plan." He looked over at Mike. "How about you?" And why don't you look surprised as all hell by what Gage just said?

"Arson," Mike said. "Investigating, not committing."

"Ooooh, they grew you a funny bone over at 93s!" Chet exclaimed delightedly. "Good for them!"

Mike looked back at Chet, seriously. "How about you, Chet?"

Chet shook his head once. "Ow. Shit." He settled himself back into his pile of pillows, and sighed. "That's the problem. I have no fucking clue, Mike. Not a one."

"My money," Johnny said slowly, "is on you not needing one this time around."

"Mine, too," said Mike, "for what it's worth."

"It's worth a lot, guys. Honest."

Chet's eyelids were drooping, and Mike and Johnny looked at each other quickly.

"Chet, you okay?" Johnny asked.

"Yeah. It's Wednesday, about eleven in the morning, I'm at Rampart with a broken head because a brick wall fell on me, and I'm still alive because my good friends John and Roy knew exactly what was going on, and my name is Chester B. Kelly, and no, I won't tell you what the 'B' is for." Chet crossed his arms over his chest. "See?"

Johnny laughed, and his laughter made Mike feel lighter as well. "Okay, okay! I guess you're just tired, is all. You're entitled. So why don't me and Mikey get outta your hair—oh, sorry, I guess they shaved that all off, didn't they?"

"Ha, ha," said Chet. "But yeah, I'm a baldy all right. And I pretty much do need to go to sleep right now," he admitted.

"Get some rest," Johnny said. "I'll tell the nurse you're goin' to sleep an' not to wake you up."

"We'll check in on you later, all right?" Mike added.

"Don't you live like an hour and half from here, Stoker?"

"Oh. Uh, I'm hanging out with Gage today anyhow," Mike said. "So maybe we'll bring you something edible later, or something like that."

"Sounds great. Thanks, guys," Chet said, as he closed his eyes.

Johnny and Mike left the room quietly. Mike turned towards the elevator, but Johnny said, "Hang on—gotta talk to the nurse. It's important, actually—if they don't know he was totally okay before he conked out, they'll just wake him up again right now."

"Oh, right," Mike said.

They stopped at the nurses' station.

"Uh, miss?" Johnny said to the nurse, who was hunched over the desk doing paperwork.

She looked up. "Can I help—oh! Hi, Johnny." She was blushing slightly. "I guess Mr. Kelly in 406 is one of yours, huh?"

"He sure is, Cindy. And this is Mike Stoker—he's mine too." The nurse nodded politely at Mike, who was barely restraining himself from kicking Johnny in the seat of the pants. "Anyhow—just wanted to let you know he just conked out for a nap, but he was A and O times three right before."

"All right, thanks. I can let him sleep for a while, then. You're looking well, by the way."

"Thanks. You look great, as always. Oh—and his mom is driving him crazy. It sounds like this would be a good situation for enforcing visiting hours."

"All right," said Cindy. "She won't like it, though."

"Ah, just tell her it's the doctor's orders. Which it is, really, since the length of visiting hours is a standing order, right?"

"Good point," Cindy said. "I always forget that."

"Yeah, well, I like to know the rules, so I know how to get around 'em when I have to," Johnny said. "Anyhow—catch you later. And take good care of him, huh?"

"Of course I will. Nice to see you."

"You too. Bye."

Mike and Johnny waited silently for the elevator, and let two people out before getting in.

"I'm yours, huh?" Mike said with a grin, after the elevator doors closed.

"Couldn't resist. I'm kinda feelin' like I wanna prove it when we get home, too."

"Well, I'm not gonna stop you," Mike said. "And lemme guess—you went out with her, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Johnny said sheepishly. "About eight or nine months ago. She dumped me after our third date."

"What was she thinking?" Mike said, shaking his head.

"She gets a prize, though—Last Woman to Dump Gage."

They exited the elevator on the first floor, and headed for the parking lot.

"Man, that was really a relief, seein' Chet looking so good." Johnny said, as they headed to the visitors' lot. "I really had no idea how he was gonna be this mornin'. But he was pretty much himself, right?"

"Yeah, he was," Mike said. "What do you think about the thing with his left side?"

"I think I really hope it gets better on its own," Johnny said. "And I think it's gonna kill him, waiting to see if it does. And I think he's gonna second guess himself all the time for the next year, at least, even if he tests out perfectly fine. That's what I think."

They stopped by Johnny's Rover.

"And what I think, Johnny, is that you're about the most honest person I know, and I'm still amazed that I'm yours and you're mine, and I'll meet you at your place in about ten minutes."

TBC