Roy and Joanne were tired. They took turns through the night checking on Johnny. Roy instructed Joanne what to watch out for and to wake him if any of those things seemed abnormal but John did well through the night other than running a slight fever for which he was already on antibiotics.
It was six o'clock in the morning when Roy stumbled onto the front porch for the morning newspaper and the milkman's delivery. He stuck it under his arm and proceeded to the kitchen to make coffee and prepare John's meds.
The house filled with the smells of breakfast and Joanne felt spoiled once again as breakfast was prepared when she got up. She couldn't resist peaking in on her sleeping houseguest and her kids before making her way to the kitchen.
Cherishing the quiet time Joanne kissed Roy and set the table. Roy sat down and flipped the paper open.
What. The. Hell.
If his partner wasn't in the other room sleeping right now, Roy would have panicked for an entirely different reason upon reading the headline:
John Gage dead. Hospital not disclosing details pending autopsy.
Desoto recognized John's private room at Rampart from the photo of the made up bed, the empty hook where the chart usually hung and the lack of patient. He groaned before thrusting the newspaper into Joanne's hands without a word. What could he possibly say to that?
"Seems we have a ghost in our house, Roy," Joanne smiled.
Roy just looked at her. How could she smile at a time like this?
"If nothing else they've done so far will discredit KMPG and this … rag of a newspaper, nothing will," she explained, walking over to the phone to cancel their subscription.
Joanne's calm seeped into Roy and he was grateful.
"Well, at least we know we did the right thing getting Johnny out of Rampart early," he mused, running his hands through his hair.
XXXX
A very ticked off Braydon Masters, head of security at Rampart gripped the lapels of a frightened night cleaner, the early edition newspaper crumpled on his desk.
"Clean out your locker. You'll be escorted out of Rampart and turned over to the police. You are hereby barred from Rampart General and the next time I see you, you'd better be a patient because believe me when I tell you, I will make you one." The six foot four Masters towered over the man.
Other security members arrived to escort the fired cleaner from the premises. Masters sat down heavily in his office chair. He felt like a failure. Three times under his watch, these weasels had breached patient confidentiality. Sure, most of them had been caught but only after the fact. Masters stared at the headline of the newspaper suddenly very tired.
The fallout was yet to come. For everyone.
XXXX
The Desoto's phone started ringing at six o'clock. So much for a quiet breakfast.
"Oh, my no, Mama Lopez, Johnny's with us. He's not dead. He's okay. The newspaper lied. I promise. Yes, you can come see him for yourself; I know this is quite a shock. We'll be expecting you."
Joanne hung up the phone.
"Marco's mom was heartbroken and beside herself, Roy. She's on her way over with some more breakfast fixings."
The phone rang again.
"Sorry Stoker, Oh my God, I forgot to tell Cap to phone everyone. John's here. We had some trouble last night at Rampart and John was ready to bolt. He couldn't take it anymore so we brought him home … here. He's gonna be alright." Eventually.
"Yeah, why don't you and Beth come on over and we'll make breakfast? I'm gonna call everyone now. Damn, this is a nightmare."
"It's just when I saw John's empty bed in the picture …" Stoker gulped audibly over the receiver.
"I know, Mike. He's in my guestroom and I still had go look at him to get a grip on myself."
Within an hour the men of fifty-one and their families filled the Desoto's living room. The hushed tones and opening and closing of doors woke John up to a world of confusion. His head ached and his eyes stung from the rising sun through the window. Waking in too many different places over the last week played havoc on his already stretched senses. He tried to focus. Maybe the voices from the other room would tell him where he was this morning.
"I couldn't believe they did that. Johnny dead. Of all the nerve," Beth Stoker's voice floated to John's room. "I thought Mike was gonna have a heart attack."
The post concussion syndrome still messed with John, especially when he awoke groggy. He stared at his own hands. Solid. He looked down at his body, wiggled his toes, said the alphabet, could remember his mother's maiden name and the date … So not a bodiless spirit then? No? Well, it'd be just my luck to die and not move on, he thought bitterly. He listened some more to the other room's occupants.
"Chet? You okay, man?"
"I will be," Chet replied, so unlike the bubbly annoyance he'd always been to John.
That more than anything else scared the young paramedic as he took in the flowered curtain. Roy's place?
"Well, John's in a better place now, Mama," Marco was heard comforting his very religious mother.
"Ci, Marco. He will be watched over well up there."
Of course John couldn't see Mama Lopez point up the three steps to the split-level hallway that lead to the guest room. Ice filled his veins.
John held his breath.
Why am I holding my breath? Do I have any breath? Am I really dead? Why am I here if I'm dead?
"Well, we're all going to have to make some arrangements to deal with this," said Cap solemnly.
"Yeah, this whole death thing really throws a cog into the wheel but it could actually be a blessing in disguise," came Chet's suddenly bright voice.
That about killed Gage, well, you know if not the whole he-was-dead-already thing and all. He knew the Phantom was always out to get him but he thought Chet liked him deep down.
John got up on shaky legs and adjusted his sweatpants. Someone had taken his shirt off in the night but he was still too hot.
Damn, no reprieve from pain for ghosts? Apparently not. His collarbones throbbed. The surgical site on his shoulder by the base of his neck stung and his skin itched with heat. So, hellfire for all my lies then?
John blinked back tears. He stumbled to the doorway. Even though the words from the other room hurt like a thousand knives in his gut he wanted to at least see his friends one last time before the flames devoured him. He always knew he'd go to hell. He just figured an actual fire while on the job would take him there. Not this. This was stupid. Hell sure had a great imagination.
John leaned against the doorframe, just visible from the living room. Joanne nearly dropped her tray of coffee upon seeing him.
So, I'm visible then? John mused.
"Johnny!" Joanne sounded like she'd seen a ghost … well, him.
Roy hurried to his partner who was slowly sliding down the doorframe. He tried to lead him back to his bed but John pushed him off and stumbled down the hall toward the living room leaning heavily on the wall for support.
"Johnny, you need to lie down."
"I have a lifetime … um, afterlife time to lay down, Roy," John grouched tiredly.
Roy of course had no idea what John was talking about. He tried to lead the very confused man back to his room. His hand found the moisture of fever as he draped an arm around him.
"Juanito!" cried Mama Lopez, crossing herself.
John totally misinterpreted that.
"Please … I-I just want-wanted to see you all one l-last time," John moaned, his arms up in surrender to Mama Lopez, his half dream-like trance only aggravated by the strange behavior of everyone there.
Beth Stoker's eyes filled with tears upon seeing John like that, the bruises and scars that mottled his thin torso. No one knew John heard them and what his mind had done with their odd words.
"Ch-Chet. I'm dead? And it-it-it's a b-blessing?"
A horrified look crossed Chet's face as it dawned on him alone what must have happened. Chet looked to Roy to help but Roy was on the phone with Brackett asking for advice on what to do.
"John. You're not dead, man. And no, it wouldn't be a blessing. Look you're gonna have to sit down and let us explain what happened. It's a long story. But you're okay, buddy."
Chet approached the very wide-eyed John Gage like a zookeeper would approach an aggravated lion. John bristled at his touch feeling very self-conscious but having no choice but to be led to the couch. He looked only at his lap as a blanket was draped over his naked shoulders.
Roy let Chet take the lead, ready to shut the moustached antagonist down at the first signs of anything remotely resembling cruelty. Brackett could be heard loudly shouting in the phone demanding to know what was happening as all eyes were on Chet who held out the picture of the empty bed and the headline to Gage.
"The newspaper came out with this bullsh …" Joanne glared at the young moustached firefighter as Jenny plodded sleepily into the room and straight into Roy's free arm. "Um, the story this morning. They said you were dead, Gage."
John couldn't get his eyes to focus properly. The small print was a blur but the picture said it all.
"The n-news of my demise has-has been great exaggerated," John smiled sheepishly through fevered features.
Nervous, relief filled chuckles toned down the tension.
"Exactly and that's what you heard us talking about," Chet went on gently.
"Blessing, Chet?"
Everyone leaned forward expecting Chet to be in the hot seat but instead Chet smiled indulgently and went on.
"Exactly, a blessing. If even one other tabloid or radio station believes you're dead, they'll get off your case and let you rest in peace."
"Chet!" nearly everyone shouted.
"You know what I mean, not like R.I.P.! I meant … ah forget it."
"You've got a point, Chet," Roy praised glad he didn't have to punch Chet for insensitivity."
Finally answering the very frantic doctor on the phone Roy explained that John calmed down once he knew what was going on.
"Roy, I don't have to remind you that I wasn't in favor of Gage leaving in the first place. The post concussion syndrome alone is dangerous and leaves him open for all sorts of complications. I can't stress the importance of keeping him calm."
Roy sighed as Chet handed John a cup of coffee.
Yeah, cause that'll calm him right down, thought Roy. Still, Gage was allowed a cup of coffee a day at the hospital so…
"I understand, Dr. Brackett. Yes, now would be a good time to come and check on him. Thanks."
Roy went to the kitchen to put on more coffee while everyone gathered and very gently hugged John and spoke quietly and slowly around him as if he was damaged. In truth he was tired and sore but it was sort of disconcerting the way everyone was watching him like he was made of spun glass. He drew the blanket tighter around himself praying no one had seen his back.
John made small talk with the guys feeling very foolish having thought that he was dead. If they thought he was acting strange they never said anything. Roy knew that Johnny would be overwhelmed having to take his medications in front of others. He was never one to show weakness and hated the looks of pity some of the well-meaning ladies were giving him.
Their years together paid off when Roy subtly signalled John that it was time for his meds. He asked Jenny to help Joanne in the kitchen. John excused himself to go to his room, politely declining Stoker's offer of help. Roy discreetly followed his partner, helping him sit on the edge of his bed and handing him a glass of water.
"Th-thanks, Roy. I owe you for this." Gage swallowed his meds.
Roy swiped a hand over Gage's brow, noting his flushed cheeks. Brackett would be here soon so Roy let it go. John had enough to think about.
"Pretty confusing huh?"
"You said it. For a minute there when Marco's mom said…"
"I know," Roy said, only realizing now what it all must have sounded like. No wonder Gage looked like he'd been run over by a semi when he appeared in the bedroom doorway.
"Wh-why's everyone here?"
"You know what you woke up thinking?"
"Ohhhh!"
XXXX
Dr. Brackett arrived and bee-lined for John's room.
John was going to fuss over what he figured was an overly thorough examination but he kept his mouth shut when he realized how worried Brackett was. Even those in the know about John leaving the hospital mostly under his own steam had been rattled by the death news. It just struck too close to home.
"M'Doc m'fine," John mumbled around the thermometer in his mouth.
"There are other ways to take that young man," Brackett grumbled.
Gage shut up.
"Ow!" his side was prodded.
"Brrrr!" the stethoscope was cold on his back.
He began to fidget.
"John, for the love of Pete let me get a set of vitals okay? Lie still for five minutes?" The tone was harsh but Brackett smiled despite himself.
John lay still, his cast hand clasped with his other and folded across his chest like a corpse and closed his eyes.
"Not funny Junior," Roy scolded, shivering slightly. It just looked too real with the pale cheeks with the artificial glow of pink like rouge from the fever and the dark lashes standing out vividly from closed eyes that hadn't seen enough rest.
But the truth was, it was all John had left. His sense of humor and if he lost that he might as well jump because there was nothing remotely funny in his future. Brackett just shook his head and used that opportunity to take the young man's pulse.
Roy helped John sit up again for some neuro checks. He'd been passing every neuro check so far but with post concussion syndrome it was prudent to make sure something new didn't pop up. His knee was tapped with the little hammer. A spontaneous kick to Brackett's leg; check. His eyes followed the little penlight. This always made the ever-present dull ache in his head spike.
"Hurts, huh?"
"No."
"Johnny?"
"Okay, a-a little. Al-always hurts a little when I follow the light …" With that, John laughed and Kell and Roy couldn't help a small chuckle too.
"Yeah, well, if you see any light, you just turn around and go the other way," Roy said, trying to sound like he was joking but failing.
John looked up; gagging slightly on the wooden tongue depressor Brackett placed in his mouth.
"Light's in my mouf now Woy, kinda hard not to," Gage muttered past the wooden intrusion finally saying ahhhhh at Brackett's growled instruction.
Brackett sighed, putting his things away. "Well, other than the low grade fever, you seem to be holding your own. I'm tired just from examining you and that's pretty standard so things must be looking up or I'm getting too old for this."
"Why don't you stay for breakfast, Doc? Marco brought extra eggs and Stoker brought some Canadian bacon. There's lots left."
"Don't mind if I do. I'd like to see John here eat something too. I'm going to give him a shot of antibiotics first though."
"But I'm already on antibiotics! I don't need a shot …"
"This is a different antibiotic."
John was going to protest again. He knew it was ridiculous. He was a paramedic. He'd given and taken many shots and IV's before. Still didn't make it pleasant.
Sighing and grumbling he submitted to the shot.
"Yeah, nothing like a shot in the butt to make a man know he's still alive," he grumbled.
In a few minutes, the three men entered the living room, John supported lightly between them. The examination and the day's stressful beginning was taking its toll on his low reserves of energy.
His coffee went cold long ago and small hands pressed a glass of orange juice into his hands instead.
"Thanks, Jelly Bean," John sighed gratefully. Jenny hopped up on the couch beside him. It was overwhelming to see everyone from fifty-one here. For him. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and concentrated on his juice.
The men spoke of a fire they fought on their last shift and Johnny paid rapt attention. He missed his job so much it hurt. He managed to answer questions without stuttering much because he directed most of his answers to Jenny who simply smiled at him as he spoke. He ate while they talked and the distraction was good for him as his plate was nearly cleaned.
Before John knew it, he'd lost track of the conversation and he vaguely heard fond, 'tell him we'll visit again and Mama's making some mild tamales for him okay?' and 'I'll be sure to send some of my spaghetti next time I make it on shift.' He dreamed he answered them as he was covered in a blanket and his eyes closed fully.
One by one the guests left taking one last very relieved look at their youngest, very much alive crewmember.
XXXX
Chet had been wrong about the newspapers leaving John alone. It was a nice thought, but if anything, this morning's news leaked into every facet of his life. He woke a mere afternoon after his untimely death to find, well … that for all intents and purposes he was legally dead.
A huge sticky mess of red tape a mile long could be traced to one man. John Gage. The bank took it upon themselves to freeze all of John's accounts. A fire headquarters secretary cancelled his health benefits. The Chaplain showed up to station fifty one by two thirty in the afternoon ready to give the other shift some counselling if needed only to be told that Captain Hank Stanley had informed their captain that Gage was alive. Flowers arrived by the hour at the Desoto home and the station. And all without a death certificate!
"Habeas Corpus! What happened to that eh?" Gage shouted. But a warning look from Roy made him calm. He didn't want to go back to Rampart. Roy made him sit while he looked for the phone book to start making a few calls.
"Now, what did you say? Habeaus what? What does that even mean, Junior?"
"Habeaus Corpus, show me the body, it's Latin" Gage fumed. I phoned headquarters to tell them I'm alive. The first secretary who answered the phone threatened to call the police for impersonation of a dead fireman. The second one screamed about ghosts and hung up. This is worse than dealing with that Gloria chick over my credit card!"
Not wanting to get into how Gage knew the Latin name for the law he just stuttered out, Roy set about trying to calm the very agitated man. Truth was he was mad too but that wouldn't help Johnny get better.
"This could only happen me, you know. I mean, sure, I-I-I lied. I get that. But I did-didn't kill anybody and some-somehow they've managed to hang me for it anyway."
Roy knew that look. He recognized it for what it was now. Defeat.
"I-I'm being erased, Roy."
A very frazzled Joanne accepted another batch of flowers at the door. Trying to give them back to the delivery person always ended up in frustration so she just started piling them on the kitchen table.
Roy thought of what John would do if the situation was reversed, admitting to himself that yes, this could only happen to John Gage. Still, what would John do?
"Well, look at it this way, Junior, how many people actually to get to sniff the flowers at their own wake?"
John smiled up through watery tears of frustration.
"How many are from cute nurses at Ram-Rampart?" he asked with sudden interest.
"Five and counting," Joanne rolled her eyes on her way back to the door.
"Well, alright," said John sounding a bit humored.
Roy handed John his lunch and ordered him to eat in order to take his meds.
"M'not hungry."
"I could always start an IV and tell Brackett you're not eating …"
The homemade soup and turkey sandwich disappeared quickly with the glass of milk.
John listened intently as Roy tried to make phone calls to correct the misinformation. It was an exercise in futility. The bank had him wanting to pull his hair out.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Desoto, you'll need to produce a Death Certificate and a correction from City Hall notarized by a doctor, a Minister and another witness who knows the deceased, fill out the appropriate forms in triplicate and we'll get back to you in four to six weeks."
"You accepted his death on the word of a rag newspaper!" screamed Roy into the phone.
"Would you like to speak to my supervisor, Mr. Desoto?"
"Yes, no, oh hell—forget it." And with that Roy hung up.
Fire Headquarters was a little more accommodating but only because Brackett himself had phoned when he learned of the cancellation of Gage's health benefits due to death.
"Well, for a corpse, I don't look so bad," John mused glumly pressing lightly on his temple where a bruise was starting to fade. His split lip was nearly healed and was now just a red line down the middle of his bottom lip.
Roy was about to agree with him. For a corpse, yeah, he looked pretty good but he was far away from his usual healthy glow. Roy was worried about the slightly hollow look in his partner's eyes.
XXXX
John woke from a nap that he suspected was artificially induced. He thought the milk at lunch tasted just a bit funny.
"Sleep well, Junior?" Roy asked, smiling upon walking into John's room to find him awake.
"Like the dead," John sighed.
Roy cringed and John let it go vowing to watch for a secret sedative from now on.
John pulled back a bit when Roy reached for his wrist. Roy mentally scolded himself. He forgot that for now, he needed to approach his partner slower, especially when he first woke up. With John's sense of humor it was sometimes easy to forget that his wounds went deeper than flesh alone.
"S-sorry, Roy," Johnny said, shifting so he could offer his arm up for a vitals check even though he hated every minute of being weak like this.
"It's okay. Really. I understand. It's you, not me," Roy smiled and John smiled back. Yep, humor was definitely the best way to deal with Johnny. At least some things never changed.
"You're not-not breaking up with me are you pally?" Johnny laughed.
"Ha ha, Johnny, now just hold still and let me get your respirations."
Roy placed his hand on John's chest and looked at his watch, noting how John flinched again and sucked his chest and stomach in really far as though to avoid any touch at all.
"Done," Roy said calmly, taking his hand away. He placed his stethoscope on John's chest next."
"C-cold!"
"Want me to blow on it next time like Dix does for you, you big baby?"
"Maybe."
The truth was the stethoscope wasn't terribly cold, it was just that John was very warm still.
Roy stuck the thermometer in John's mouth, clamping his hand onto John's chin before he could protest. He lowered John's shirt and helped him sit up. John closed his eyes in pain at the movement but was slightly better once sitting up.
"102, John," Roy said as he stared at the thin red line in the glass tube.
"That's nuthin'." John dismissed, hoping Roy would dismiss it too but Roy reached for the phone.
"Aw come on, Roy. Brackett's only gonna make me go back if you make a big deal of this."
Roy ignored him for his own good.
When Roy got off the phone he could tell John heard every word he'd spoken to Brackett.
"He wants an IV started. He doesn't want you to dehydrate with the fever and he wants you put on blood thinners. He's worried the trauma you suffered could cause blood clots as you heal. And he wants you on fever reducer. He doesn't want you up anymore today."
John was crushed. He thought he was doing better. He already felt like he was intruding on Roy's household and now Roy would have to drive to the hospital to get supplies.
"I'll go back …" John said quietly.
"What? No, Junior, no way. This is just a minor setback. It would have happened here or at Rampart even Brackett said so. You can't expect to heal overnight. Now, Brice and Bellingham were at Rampart when I called and Brackett caught them and gave them your supplies so they're going to swing by and give them to us unless they're called for duty."
Half and hour later the doorbell chimed and Roy greeted Brice who took his shoes off at the door and Bellingham who just trod on in with his slightly sooty boots. Brice checked his HT to make sure they were available.
"How's he doing?" Brice whispered.
"I think it's all getting to him," Roy confided.
"I didn't think anything could bother our Gage," Bellingham said.
They made their way down the hall. Brice offered to start the IV but Roy caught John's eye and knew that it wasn't a good time for anyone John didn't know well to touch him. Brice sat down opposite of Roy to distract the young man from the IV. Bellingham quietly unwrapped the solution and additives Brackett prescribed and handed them to Roy.
The cold swab sent shivers through his body as he tried not to look pathetic in front of the still semi walking rulebook. He scrunched his eyes shut as the needle pierced flesh. Roy was as gentle as he could be but damned that hurt. The pain settled as the canula was taped in place and he flinched a bit as the cold liquid started to drip into his veins.
"So Gage, studied the book yet?" Brice asked.
At this, John's eyes opened wide in an are-you-kidding-me sort of way. At this moment, his job felt as far away as California had felt from Montana when he longed for his freedom.
Brice saw it written on John's face. He was giving up.
Through the whole process of setting up the IV and administering the other meds, John remained silent only nodding when Bellingham and Brice took their leave.
"John's really down," Bellingham observed.
"Yeah, Brackett said with the post concussion syndrome this would happen. One minute he's ready to fight for what he wants and the next he's crushed by all the things adding up on him, not that I can blame him. I mean they say you can't fight city Hall, well try fighting the bank, HQ and the tabloids at once."
"It would be overwhelming for a healthy person," agreed Brice. "We can't treat Gage like a child but I think setting up some regular meetings for study with him might help. And no, Desoto it's not because I'm the walking rulebook … yes I know my nickname. It's because I think if we're to prove to Gage that we believe in him we have to force him to stay on top of things. Once we get him feeling better of course," he added.
"I think Johnny would like that, Brice, once he's feeling up to it. Thanks for coming by, guys."
XXXX
Roy peaked into the room. John was still awake. Joanne came in with an ice bag and placed it on John's forehead and held it there. John leaned into it gratefully and let the cool air that misted off of it to fill his lungs. He shut his eyes and imagined his camping spot in the mountains.
Dark brown eyes opened and looked at Joanne and Roy sleepily.
"It's been a-a long day," John admitted. "When-when I thought I was dead … I-I for a minute there, I was almost glad."
John wished he could bite back the words he'd poured out. But it was true. He'd fooled himself into thinking he'd made it. It was so close. He was twenty-one, his ranch was within his grasp, he was finally legal to be in the fire department and just like fire, something had huffed and puffed and blown it all away.
Joanne picked up Johnny's dream catcher from the table by his bed. Roy never had a chance to hang it up yet. She sat down beside Johnny and played with the feathers on the round frame absently until it caught his eye.
"It's a dream catcher, right?" Joanne asked.
"Ye-yeah."
"Well, have you dreamed of your ranch, your job and your life since you've had it?"
"Mostly about the bad stuff, but yeah, I'm stu-stupid, I couldn't help thinkin' … about what it would'a been l-like if it would have happened. If I'd gotten my ranch."
"Well, then those dreams are saved here then," Joanne asserted. "I read about these things. They don't only siphon off the bad dreams and trap them; they help you hold onto your good dreams too. It'll all happen for you little brother. All of it. You just have to wait a little longer."
"You think so?" Johnny asked, fingering the feathers on the round object now.
"I know so."
John's eyes began to slip closed. He unconsciously placed the dream catcher on his chest and fell to sleep.
Roy slipped a hand behind the young paramedics neck relieved to find he wasn't any warmer than before. He and Joanne left the room.
XXXX
John slept through supper and woke moaning at two in the morning. His temperature was up to 103.
"Damn, Junior you're burning up."
"Nooo, cold, Roy," John said plaintively, trying to tug the covers up over himself and burrow down into the bed.
"I think I'm gonna have to get you back to Rampart. I'm sorry."
"No. I know I s-said I'd go and I will, if-if you really want me to, but can we try something e-else, please?"
Damn, the puppy dog eyes. They shouldn't work on me but he looks just like Chris right now…
Roy and Jo had already tried cooling measures under the armpits and groin area with little success.
"We can try a bath, but you can't bath alone and if it doesn't work, we go to Rampart, no ifs ands or buts about it, deal?"
"D-deal."
Roy didn't want to risk sending John into shock. He made a tepid bath, not too cold but cold enough. John stumbled toward the bath on shaky legs supported by Roy and Joanne. John didn't breathe the entire time his shirt was lifted over his head mindful of the IV or when his pants were lowered and removed. Roy left John's boxers in place. They could be changed after the bath with a towel around his waist for some dignity.
"Breathe, Junior. It's going to be okay. No one's gonna hurt you."
John nodded and gasped in a single breath holding that one too.
"Let it out, Johnny," Roy soothed as the cold water forced his shivering partner to do just that.
John sat shivering, goose bumps covering his legs and arms panting and wheezing breaths in and out as he tried to quiet himself. And the whole time, Roy hated himself.
John didn't say a word but his eyes pleaded like a little kid. Are we done yet, are we done yet, how 'bout now. Are we done yet?
John was losing strength. It was hard to help hold him while standing beside the tub so Roy did the only thing he could think of. Fully clothed he stepped into the tub behind his partner, crouching to hold him under his arms. John's head slipped back resting on Roy's shoulder, wetness from his dark hair seeping through Roy's shirt.
Joanne took John's temperature again. One more degree down and they could get him back to bed.
"C-cold, Roy. Hu-hurts."
Roy watched where John indicated it hurt.
"Jo, hold the IV just a bit higher. See the blood backing up into the canula?"
Joanne raised the IV a little higher and John's forehead lost the frown wrinkles indicating the pinch was relieved.
John lay there in Roy's arms half awake and half asleep. His eyes opened fully and he tried to turn around to look at Roy. Being soaking wet and cold reminded him of something back at the winery.
"You breathed for me," he said simply, his hand going to his chest recalling the pain of CPR too.
"Yeah …" Roy answered, wondering what fever induced babbling his partner was going to go on about. He really didn't want to remember the purple-bluish lips, the still chest and the vacant eyes from not so long ago.
"And now the man-hug?" Johnny giggled. "Man you better make sure Chet doesn't-doesn't find out about this. What happens in the bathtub stays in the bathtub 'kay pally?"
"You got it, Junior," Roy smiled toward his wife. Yeah, the warped sense of humor didn't melt with John's body. Yet.
John managed to wiggle out of his bath soaked boxers into a fresh pair as Roy held a towel firmly against his too slim waist. That exhausted him and he bonelessly accepted help with a thin tee shirt. Roy wanted to keep his fever from coming back so he avoided the heavier sweat pants from earlier.
Joanne covered John in a thin sheet and wrote down his new temperature while Roy went to change. One hundred even. Not terrible. It was four in the morning when she went to bed, agreeing to trade off watch at six.
XXXX
By morning the pink flush of fever was gone replaced by the now too familiar pallor. John's temperature was back to normal and he sat against fluffed up pillows picking at some plain toast with tea with Jenny and Chris who had insisted on 'watching' Johnny for a bit. Roy let his kids sit with John alone. His vitals were stronger this morning and he knew John really needed some time to regroup from the awkwardness last night had necessitated.
The phone was mercifully quiet as Joanne and Roy sipped coffee groggily.
"I'm going to go over to John's and get him a few more things from home today," Roy announced. "He needs his shaving kit and a few other items."
"He has no facial hair," Joanne laughed.
"He has a bit if you squint," Roy smirked. "Cap manages to find 'em at roll call when John doesn't shave for a week or two."
"Don't you wish," Joanne laughed. "You get five o'clock shadow by two o'clock."
"That's 'cause me Tarzan he … I dunno, does Tarzan have a sidekick?"
"Yeah, Jane … um, John," Joanne laughed.
"Don't go there. Forget I said anything. I'm tired."
XXXX
John slept until nine o'clock when Dr. Early made a house call. Dixie McCall was just getting off shift and came by to visit as well. Dr. Early sat on the edge of the bed, something he almost never did at Rampart.
"Roy tells me you had a tough night?"
"It was just a little fever, I'm-I'm fine," John replied shooting a small glare at his partner who merely shrugged looking completely justified in telling the doctor about last night.
"Well, a fever could land you back at Rampart so I'm glad Roy was able to combat it. You did good, Roy," Early commented, moving a stethoscope around John's chest and tapping at intervals.
John couldn't argue that. He realized that Roy deserved praise for so many reasons yet when he looked at his senior partner there was only a humble response to the compliment.
"Well, it doesn't sound like pneumonia's set in but you do have some congestion in both lungs so we'll keep you on the IV antibiotics for today and if your fever stays down through tonight you can lose it in the morning. Sound fair?"
"Sure, Doc," John said, sounding a little disappointed.
Dixie helped John get his shirt on over the IV while Early went to the kitchen with Roy for some coffee.
"Don't worry, Tiger. You'll be up and at 'em in no time," Dixie said kindly as Blister helped her with John's shirt by snagging a nail in his sleeve and pulling, leaving a pin sized hole in the fabric.
"I-I don't have many toys for her so she makes due with my shirt or … watch this." John ran his good hand under the covers and Blister attacked it with all due haste and chased it until John showed her it was only his hand. Blister nipped him affectionately and gave him a look to rival one of Cap's famous 'twit' stares.
For some reason, John felt comfortable with Dixie's help. She never looked like she was judging; she'd only flinched once slightly when she first saw the scars on his back years ago and never reacted to them again. She was a professional through and through and the gentle voice of reason that got him to spend the night in Rampart when he argued that he didn't need to over the years when he got minor injuries.
"Feels like I've been gone for a long time, Dix," John confessed. He lowered his voice. "Did you know HQ made Roy bring my stuff home from my locker? He didn't tell me but I saw my poster … of Smoke-Smokey The Bear in the hall closet. They've-they've never sent my st-stuff home before you know?"
"I'm sorry, Johnny," Dixie told him, giving him a small hug. "It's temporary. And besides, I've heard from very reliable sources that a certain phantom has promised to booby trap your locker from anyone but his favorite pigeon."
"R-really?"
"Really."
Blister lightly nibbled his hand again.
"Well, it's a good thing M'not r-really dead 'cause I think you'd eat me," Gage told his cat, ruffling her fur up the way she hated. She forgave him easily and curled up on his chest, purring loudly and daring him to try to get up, so with a sleepy farewell to Dixie the young paramedic went to sleep.
Dreams took him to judgment of a faceless tribunal, all older men under white caps scrutinizing him as though they could see right through him. To the right, all the victims he and Roy managed to save over the years, glowing with health on the left, the ones they could not save, grotesquely decaying though recognizable and pointing accusing fingers in his direction.
No, please. I'm sorry. I tried. I really tried…