An almost-late-for-work Stoker slipped hastily through the doors of fifty-one and to the locker room, stopping only long enough to ask for an update on John, but not waiting for the answer. Marco, Roy and Chet watched in amazement as Mike reappeared seconds later, half his torso covered in his blue uniform shirt in a sort of reverse Houdini routine. He pulled the shirt and groaned. It was backwards and still covering half his face. No one had the nerve to ask Stoker why his button ups were already buttoned.

"Well, the rulebook doesn't actually say it has to be worn over your head, Stoker but I find it helps with seeing and as you drive the engine …" Brice trailed off. The guys glared at him until they realized Brice had just made a joke.

Once Cap assured his engineer that John was now waking oriented and doing fine without supervision, he asked the inevitable question. "Late night, Michael?"

"Didn't sleep very well. It's kinda close to the due date and every time Beth moved or turned over…"

"You thought it was time?" Roy laughed, remembering the final days of Joanne's pregnancy.

"Well – Yeah," Stoker admitted, grinning.

"Stoker, the first thing you must always remember is that a due date is merely an estimate," Brice stated, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "And like I said … you drive a fire truck, with huge flashing red lights and a siren so I doubt you'll miss the blessed event."

"Well said, Brice," Chet beamed while the others were still shocked at the walking rulebook's proposal to use public property for personal use.

Huh, maybe this won't be so bad after all, thought Roy of John's replacement. He'd heard good things about Brice from sixteens ever since he'd been paired with Bob-The-Animal-Bellingham.

Taking a chance at making small talk which Brice usually abhorred, Roy said, "So, getting in a little overtime?"

"Yeah, I have a few things I need to take care of and can use a little extra here and there," Brice said.

It was more personal information than Roy had gotten from Brice in the over three weeks he'd ridden with him a couple of years ago. Not wanting to push his luck Roy joined the others in roll call in silence.

"Can't believe I'm saying this but … Stoker, latrines," Cap said regretfully.

"I'll do it," Chet volunteered. Cap agreed, looking very relieved.

"Ah, Chet, I'm touched, greater love has no man than this who would risk a swirly for his friend," Stoker said, wiping an imaginary tear away on his sleeve. Even Brice laughed, well snickered but it was a start.

Roy and Brice polished the squad in companionable silence until Brice cleared his throat and peaked from his crouched position behind the passenger wheel well.

"So, I uh, wrote a letter … you know for the new benevolent program at HQ. Apparently I was the first one to hand one in." The tentative nature of Brice's statement sounded oddly out of character. Usually being first at something set the man off on a tangent about tardiness and keeping up with rules and regulation, but the sentence hung in the air waiting for a reply.

Roy cursed under his breath as he meant to slap his hand to his forehead and instead the waxy rag swiped his face and dabbed into his left eye.

"Crap!" he said aloud.

"Oh, sorry Desoto, I didn't mean to bring up a touchy subject. I was merely…"

"No, it's okay Brice. I just got a bit of wax in my eye," Roy stated as Brice followed him to the eyewash station.

"Here, let me," Brice offered.

On any other day, Roy would have protested but he leaned over the sink as Brice set the flow on the eyewash.

"Hard to write weren't they?" Roy gurgled as water ran up his nose.

"It," Brice corrected. "I only have my parents, no siblings and as you know, I'm not married. But yes … it was very hard to write. For a lot of reasons. Are you working on yours?" he added quickly to cover up his momentary lapse of total control.

What to say; Brice wasn't privy to the information about John and the anthropologists behind the study. The A shift of fifty one wasn't ready to make a statement yet. They hadn't asked John how he felt about it all and at the same time, Roy was just finding out that they'd failed to protect guys from others shifts from submitting letters. Roy didn't want to alarm Brice so he swallowed his words, hoping he'd have time to go to Cap and have a word about how to proceed with such a delicate situation. The longer they waited for clearance from Gage to discuss what Parkham had done on the reservation and the whole kettle of fish spilled for all to smell, the more guys that would lose their very personal stories.

"Blink," Brice ordered, shining his penlight into Desoto's eye.

"Ouch, Brice, it's fine," Roy stated, batting Brice's hand away.

Brice cleaned up the sink while Roy changed into a new shirt and headed into the dayroom for coffee with the men. Roy, tried to catch Cap's eye to let him know he wanted a private word just as the tones sounded. Cap knew he wasn't the only one wondering how many chemical refineries L.A. County had as the tones kept sounding. This was gonna be a big one.

XXXX

A short, balding man ran excitedly toward Big Red before Mike had made a full stop. Cap jumped down to survey the scene.

"Everyone made it out of building B," the man panted, "but the vent shaft blew off and landed on the commissary and there were three people still on lunch in there."

Flames snaked from one of the refinery building's roofs, the metal walls seemed to breathe in and out. Smoke billowed from where the vent shaft should have been.

"Mike, move the truck back, it's gonna blow!" Cap signalled Roy and Brice who jumped back into the squad. Cap grabbed the bald man and pushed him up into the cab of big red and Mike sped backwards followed by the squad. Evacuated employees standing in a parking lot across the street and through a small field of scrub grass hit the pavement as bits of metal and debris rained down for blocks around them.

Big Red's sturdy tires withheld as Mike navigated the mine field of debris back to its original position. Nothing but blackened concrete floor and a metal skeleton were left of the building and the right side of the commissary was engulfed in flames.

Cap got as much information as he could about the chemicals being manufactured at the facility and told the manager to check for wounded among the employees in the parking lot who were now peaking up from their duck-and-cover like prairie dogs.

Truck 127 provided a curtain of mist as Mike cut through the metal commissary wall, since the only door had been blasted away and was amongst a wall of fire. Cap gritted his teeth. Only last week this company had been issued a fine by the C shift of fifty one and ordered to install two more egresses, one for normal safe flow of employees and one for emergency use.

Roy and Brice stood ready to enter the building in their SCBA's, following Chet and Marco who were ready with an inch and half.

Mike yelled in frustration as the metal fell away to reveal a solid stainless steel shelving unit that was bolted to the wall from one end of the small building to the other. He looked to Cap.

"Forget it here; we don't know what's stored on that shelving. Marco, go and get that manager from the parking lot, we need him now."

Marco was back in minutes dragging behind him a panting manager.

"Where can we cut into this building that we won't hit a solid wall of shelving? Failing that, what's on that shelf?" Cap demanded, sure he didn't recall seeing a shelf there on the original diagram he'd been given after the inspection.

The man looked up guiltily. He shifted and Cap stood up to his full height and reminded him that they were wasting time.

"The union guys were gonna go on strike soon … we were trying to stock up and the only room left available was in the commissary …"

"What!" Cap thundered. The highly combustible chemical would have blown up in their faces had Mike decided to try to cut the shelving away.

"Follow me," the defeated looking manager hailed, waving his hand and disappearing into the thick smoke around the other side of the building. "Here," he pointed. "I think…"

Mike growled low in his throat. Cap nodded for Mike to begin cutting. Roy and Brice surged forward a bit in their frustration. Time was running out for the three people supposedly still inside if it wasn't too late already.

The metal fell away like a pop can tab; Mike discarded it to the side with his gloved hands and peered in. There was a narrow gap between other shelving units in the walls. A generator hummed noisily away providing a flickering light in the dismal place. The huge smoke vent from building B poked through the roof like a giant straw and was imbedded into the concrete floor as though planted there like a poisonous flower. Paint blistered on tables and chairs in the far corner next to the shelf they'd nearly cut through and discarded newspapers from lunch patrons crackled orange embers through the air.

The handy talkie crackled to life. 127 had beaten the flames from the remains of building B but the commissary walls remained super-heated and faint pops of metal were heard frequently. Cap informed 127's captain of their newest problem.

"We're gonna have to risk shutting down that generator. I suspect that's where we're gonna find our victims too, someone had to have to turned the damned thing on. Of all the stupid…"

Marco and Chet pulled the inch and half inside. Roy and Brice followed behind, coughing despite the tightly fitting air masks. The displaced vent shaft gave off searing heat as they passed, giving it as wide a berth as possible. It was a miracle the generator hadn't blown yet. Roy reached out with as steady hands as he could manage and turned the switch off. The machine groaned and died, its loud roar replaced by frantic screams.

Roy and Brice tried to follow the muted screams and could barely make out what the panicked voices were saying; something about the lights going out.

"Desoto, over here!" Brice called, his flashlight beam levelled on a face pressed against a small window in what appeared to be a walk-in freezer. Brice struggled with the huge toggle lock. "It's a power lock."

"There's no override," Roy shouted over the popping of metal and through the dense smoke. "C-shift wrote a citation for that last week here; they haven't put one in."

Roy backed Chet on the hose while Marco ran outside for tools. Cap's face was grave as he handed Marco the tools warning him that there were minutes left before they'd have to call an evacuation.

Marco began popping the huge metal pins holding the door in its frame. His back stiffened as smoke-muted daylight streamed into the building suddenly as a strip of metal peeled away from the South facing wall. It clanged to the ground sending up hot smoke and ash.

"You need to move to the far corner and cover your heads," Brice shouted to the trapped victims to no avail. The men kept pounding and kicking the walls and doors.

"You're going to be alright. We're going to get you out. You must remain calm and move to the back," Brice tried again but it was clear the men were beyond reason. They knew what they worked with and that more than anything else set the fireman's nerves on edge.

"Okay, we're almost there. We need you to stand back!"

Just as the last pin fell away, the three trapped men inside put their weight to the door frantically, crashing into Brice, knocking him to the floor pinned under its weight as they added their weight to it. Marco and Chet secured the hose and helped Roy lift the door off his temporary partner. It was all they could do with their combined effort to even shift the massive weight to the side. The vent shaft chose that moment to fall, ripping through the metal roof like a can opener. Water that had built up on the roof from the misting effort poured in, drenching them and covering everything with dense steam. Roy couldn't spare a second to wonder if their victims had stampeded to safety or death.

"Brice!" Roy bent down feeling for the downed man. His stomach turned. It was doubtful anyone could have survived the weight of that door and the three victims hurtling over it. It was impossible to see despite three flashlights trained on him. The handy-talkie crackled to life ordering them out immediately. The metal on metal of the vent shaft scraping against the roof and walls had set off a spark and ignition of the concentration of chemicals escaping still from the smouldering remains of building B and was heading for the commissary. As if to reinforce Cap's dire orders, the stainless steel shelving unit began to sway as bolts popped and zinged from the super heated metal walls. The barrels were starting to slide forwards.

Roy uttered a silent apology to Brice once the door was slid over with the adrenaline efforts of his shift mates as he hoisted him up onto his shoulders and he, Marco and Chet ran flat out for the exit Stoker had made.

Chet turned one last time to look for victims. It wasn't as if they would know where the "new exit" was unless they'd seen the feeble daylight filtering in through the smoke and steam.

"Chet! Marco called, you heard Cap, we gotta go!"

Roy ran straight for the yellow plastic tarp set up on the ground a safe distance away. Brice's face shield was cracked and blood trickled from his temple. He reached for a pulse in Brice's neck, unable to keep himself from hearing that their victims had not made it out of the building from which smoke was billowing so thickly now it was as if it too was frantic to escape. He fought his stomach as the commissary's roof collapsed, forming a gruesome tomb.

Roy checked Brice's neck and allowed Chet to take off his helmet. Brice's respiration was shallow and labored. He stirred, trying to sit up immediately.

"Whoa, easy there, Brice," Roy soothed pushing him back down gently. Brice's dazed eyes focused and just as Roy took that as a good sign, the paramedic bit back a cry of pain and tried to sit up again.

"My … knee, Desoto." Brice took a shuddering breath and clawed at his turnout pant leg which was saturated with blood.

"Okay, it's gonna be alright, now," Roy told Brice, whose eyes reflected fear back at him. Swelling was already making the job of cutting the turnouts away more difficult.

"Argh!" Brice screamed, clapping his un-gloved hand to his mouth to stifle further screaming and to keep himself from grabbing his leg. Brice's heart raced faster as Roy fed Rampart his vitals.

Chet clamped the O2 mask over Brice's mouth and nose on Roy's orders.

"Just try to lie back, Brice, we got ya," Chet soothed. But Brice was now holding his torso off the ground with his hands in a semi seated position. Chet got behind him to support him. Chet looked imploringly at Roy to do something. Tears leaked from the walking rulebook's eyes but he didn't say a damned thing. Looking at that leg, Chet knew he'd be apologizing to Cap and the guys for cussing a blue streak, but not Brice, the perfect paramedic.

Roy checked Brice's pupils and asked him a few questions. The cut on his forehead was superficial but as far as Roy knew, Brice had been out cold for a few minutes, likely from lack of air while the door was on him. Roy cut the front of Brice's uniform shirt, happy for the glare he got in return through the misted eyes of his patient. Lung sounds on both sides sounded good, though bruises were blooming spectacularly.

Brackett sounded resigned as he erred on the side of caution to not prescribe pain killers.

Roy apologized as he splinted Brice's leg. Chet felt Brice's chest constrict as he held his breath against the pain.

"Breathe, Brice," Roy reminded his temporary partner, whose jaw was clamped so tightly Roy wished he'd given him something to bite down on. Roy looked to Chet in an unspoken request. Chet nodded back silently and Roy watched the Phantom's façade cross the moustached features.

"Hey, Roy, did you leave the doors open on the squad again? Two shady lookin' guys just ran up that hill with the defibrillator and OB kit," Chet said tightening his grip on the perfect paramedic's shoulders just a bit.

"What! Desoto, we've talked about this. I thought you said it was okay with you if we locked …" Brice trailed off looking a little less blue-tinged.

"Done," said Roy looking very pained himself. "And thanks, Chet."

"Anytime, pal," Chet replied, counting Brice's very spontaneous respirations and feeling pretty satisfied. This was a very useful technique in the field and Chet was one of the best.

Roy staunched the blood oozing from Brice's calf just under his knee the best he could, established the IV and got Brice ready for transport. Just as Brice was being loaded into the ambulance, he gripped Roy's hand.

"De-Desoto, look, I know no one likes me around-around here, but I have to know … how bad?" Brice asked his eyes looking downward as far as they could in his prone position.

Normally in situations like this, Roy used the standard, just relax, we'll be at the hospital soon and they'll have you fixed up in no time. He cursed Brice's lucidity and his own knowledge of just what Brice was asking; am I still a fireman?

"Oh come on man, what kind of question is that? You'll be up and telling Bob off for eating chilli cheese fries and wiping his fingers on the wheel of the squad in no time, Craig," Chet told the prone paramedic.

"I … I told you, Kelly, last names only in a crisis situation," Brice said lamely, smiling a little despite his pain.

"I'm not in a crisis situation. Are you Roy? As near as I can figure, 110 and 127 have this covered and I'm going back to the station to finish mine and Craig's portion of lasagne."

"You're still doing it," Brice stammered, clearly getting shocky as Roy set his equipment boxes into the ambulance and took another set of vitals.

"Doing what?" Chet asked innocently.

"Calling me … calling me…"

"A friend?" Chet finished for him, closing the doors with a double tap as Roy looked gratefully at his favorite phantom. As the ambulance pulled away, Roy saw Chet's shoulders slump as he turned to look at the commissary. They'd lost three victims today.

XXXX

"BP's bottoming out, Desoto," Brice announced even as his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Stay with me, Craig, we're almost there," Roy encouraged.

Brice's eyes opened lazily, his slightly bloodied smile just a little gruesome. "Thanks … Roy." The perfect paramedic passed out.

XXXX

Roy started a blood transfusion IV on Brice on Brackett's orders. X-rays were ordered and when Roy stepped back into the room, Brice's eyes were open.

"H-hurts, Desoto," Brice whispered, his hands balling the sheets into his fists beneath him.

"I know … Craig," Roy reiterated the word of friendship. "Your BP's up almost enough to give you something for the pain. Brackett's pretty sure you only passed out from lack of air and not brain injury although you took a pretty good knock there too."

Brackett stepped into examine room two with Brice's X-rays. They would be taking Brice to surgery in a few minutes. Brackett passed Roy a syringe of morphine, knowing how hard it had been on the paramedic to not be able to provide relief for such evident pain and injury.

"Is there someone we can call?" asked Dixie kindly from the head of the bed where she adjusted the flow of oxygen.

"My fath = Um, no. Thank you," Brice said quietly.

Roy stared incredulously at Brice but said nothing. He searched his memory. Yes, Brice had said he'd written a black letter as they came to be known by the men of fifty one for a friend or family member so why didn't he want that person or persons contacted now? Brice was an otherwise fit man but all surgeries carried some risk and he knew he'd never want to be alone to face that or the possibility that he may never work in the field he loved again.

"Ah, doc, I think I'm gonna stick around for a bit if Cap okays it and I don't get called out.. I doubt they'll find anyone to finish the rest of this shift with Johnny and Brice being out," Roy said truthfully.

Roy watched the control slip from Brice's face. His fists unfurled, his fingers slackened as the drugs coursed through him. Dixie cleaned his face gently with a warm cloth and he leaned into its comfort.

"You know how – how they ask you to count backwards when they put you under?" Brice stammered.

"Yeah," Roy answered.

"I can – I kin, you know, count. I can do math … not jus' math," Brice went on sounding rather high. "I mean, blow your mind math, ask me any-anything," he challenged.

So Roy did, if for nothing else, to take Brice's drugged brain off of his fear of losing his job. Ten seconds later found Roy whistling in amazement as even in his stoned state, the walking rulebook answered mathematical questions correctly. Roy wrote out some questions on paper and Brice answered every one off the top of his head.

Brice took an imaginary bow thanking his imaginary audience of more than one, then focused back on reality for a minute.

"See? My memory is … is … what's that word?" Then Brice burst out laughing at the irony of his statement/question.

"Photographic?" Roy answered helpfully.

"How did you know that?" Brice stammered, completely astonished. Roy patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm psychic," he joked.

"I wish I was f-fychic … psychotic … you know what I mean. Then I'd know if I'd wake up again or if my mother will forgive me once she reads…" Brice stated and just as Roy leaned in closer to hear the rest of his slurred speech Brice's eyes closed and his breathing evened out. Roy patted the perfect paramedic's shoulder and as he was slipping from the room, Brice's sleepy voice called once more. "And it's eidetic, Desoto, not photographic. If you were really fy-psy-you-know-a-mind-reader, you'd know that." Brice tapped his temple, winked and passed out.

Marco and Chet were in the waiting room, Marco holding his shoulder. Roy looked at Chet and sighed in anticipation of a story.

"Marco can lie with the best of 'em," Chet announced sounding uncharacteristically annoyed. "When he went to lift the tools back into Big Red, I caught him favoring his left arm. He said it was nothing. Cap ordered him in for a check."

Roy silently cursed himself for not noticing Marco was hurt but with the rescue turning sour and ending up being a grab and run for one of their own he couldn't have known. Being more familiar with the hospital, Roy asked the nurse at the desk if Dr. Early was available. She directed them to treatment two and made a call.

Marco's shoulder was a mass of bruises.

"Honest, Doc, Roy, I never even noticed the pain. I think the door hit me when the last pin fell but when I saw Brice go down under it, I forgot all about it."

"Well at least your story hasn't changed," Chet said, trying and failing to sound a little less irritated. "Now I know how Roy feels when John gets hurt and doesn't say a word."

"This is nothing, Chet. Brice could have died. It took all of us to get that door off him," Marco ground out as Early probed his shoulder muscles.

"I think you've got a dandy sprain there but I'm going to ask for an X-ray to be sure. They're a little swamped at the moment, should be about forty five minutes. If you want, you could go on up and say hi to Johnny."

Marco thanked Dr. Early and warned the guys not to tell John about his shoulder. Chet helpfully pointed out the sling that Early had put on.

XXXX

John looked up in surprise as four of his shift mates entered his room in various states of uniform/hospital garb. Chet held up his hand to stop the worry that crossed his friend's face.

"We're okay; just Dixie didn't want us tramping up here on the ward in our smoky gear. John scrutinized everyone until his eyes rested on Marco's shoulder.

"Had a run-in with a door," Marco explained. "It's nothing, like I told these guys. Doc just wants an X=ray in case."

John's shoulders relaxed and he sat back against his propped up pillows again. Roy surveyed his friend. John had more color, indeed with the bruises on his neck hidden by the collar on his pyjamas, it was hard to believe he'd nearly died only days ago.

John sat up, feet over the edge of the bed with little effort, making Roy want to stop him or help him but Dix had informed him that John was free to get up as he pleased.

Stop lookin' at me and get poor Marco a chair! John typed. He watched expectantly as Chet steered Marco over to the empty bed.

"Oh no, no way, I'm not getting into a bed. You get in one of those, you don't get out until the next day," Marco protested.

"That's the best seat in the house, Marco," Roy told the linesman truthfully. "If you hit your elbow on the arm of a chair, it'll really hurt your shoulder."

Marco grumbled and reclined on the spare bed as Chet adjusted the incline.

Okay, now that we're all comfy, what happened? John typed.

The guys took turns giving an account of the fire, voices fading as they dreaded telling their injured friend about their three lost victims.

You did everything you could. John typed, the clacking sounding sterner.

Reluctantly, Roy told John about Brice's leg. Silence fell over the men as they pondered the possibilities of such an injury.

What the hospital administrator was doing on the ward was anyone's guess but when he passed a patient ward with more than the two allowable visitors in it, he snooped in. He shook his head in disapproval, setting his sight on Marco.

"You were supposed to check in with me or security and have a member of your department vouch for you for any visits," he informed Marco. "And I will thank you not to lounge on a potential patient's bed. Germs you know."

"He's the potential patient," Roy informed the administrator. "In fact, right now he is a patient, waiting for X-rays, so he's technically not visiting."

The administrator glared at Roy and Roy glared back. Roy won. The administrator left in a huff muttering something about un-validating a claim.

Forty five minutes later, their impromptu gathering was cut short by Dixie who came to inform Marco it was time to come back down for X-rays. Chet followed Marco from the room and Roy turned to his friend who looked like he'd like nothing better than to follow them too.

"Couple more days, Junior," Roy told his friend. "And just think, by midnight, you'll likely have a new roommate. Brice," he smiled wickedly. "Actually he's not such a bad guy once you get to know him, like you said, right?"

John sighed in resignation picturing what trying to talk to Brice with a typewriter would be like.

You spelled jackass wrong, Gage…