Spoilers: Still not real spoilers unless you count episode references. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Emergency, and now I'm out of clever disclaimers.

A/N: This has been the longest break between updates yet, and I sincerely apologize! Health issues reared their ugly head, and I've been forced to take it very easy, even when I don't want to, which means I've fallen behind on quite a few things over the last week or so. But I hope this chapter is worth the wait. :)

To my anonymous reviewers (since I couldn't answer you via PM):

To Lost Username:

I'm sorry that you had to pump that much water out of your basement! I can just imagine what a headache that was… :-/ I hope there wasn't much damage, that everything is cleaned up now, and that there won't be any more flooding. I'm glad that you enjoyed the fact that I included Sharon and Betsy. I just couldn't leave out the other nurses from Emergency. :) So true, it really wouldn't have been easy for Roy or Johnny to leave their patients. It's definitely not ideal, but giving Hal the instructions to grab everything he could seemed to be about the best solution. He probably did have some help with it all. :) Thank you for the catch! Chances are, that one was on me, lol.

To Marbo:

I'm so sorry to hear that you hurt your knee. I hope that it's healing well, and that you'll recovery quickly! Thank you so much, as always, for your comments! I'm glad you're enjoying all of the cameos. I wished that Sharon Walters could have played a bigger role in Emergency too. She did have an interesting arc for the few episodes that she appeared. If you do get a chance to watch Laramie sometime, I hope you enjoy it! Robert Fuller is absolutely great in it. So is John Smith. I was really fascinated by that early version of CPR too. I knew from the start that I wanted a scene where Roy and Johnny were struggling to save a life, but I wasn't sure quite what that would look like in the Civil War era, so I was very excited to find that information. I love Dr. Early too. He does have some fun episodes, and I do remember that episode with Jamie Farr! :D I promise, Dr. Early will make an appearance before the end of the story. Lol, they really should get a pumper wagon and those horses! I'm so glad that you enjoyed Lane's recognition that Johnny is a good man. Thank you again! Your comments really do mean so much. And again, I hope that your knee is doing better!

As always, I thank my Lord Jesus Christ for his incredible mercy and grace and his many blessings. I would be utterly lost without him.

I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think!

Frontier Medicine

Chapter 11: Sawbones

The pounding of hoof beats grew louder as Dr. Brackett's horse closed the distance, and behind him, Roy caught sight of Maurice Thompson, the old miner who'd volunteered to wait for the doc at his place. Thompson was making good time too, though Brackett certainly had him beat.

As soon as the doc reached the General Store's backyard, he pulled his horse up not far from the supply wagon and jumped out of the saddle. He loosened the saddle strings with a few quick tugs, grabbed his medical bag off the saddle horn, and spun around to face them.

Roy wasn't the least bit surprised by the first words out of Brackett's mouth.

"Where's Dixie?"

"She's over here," Roy answered, already moving towards the porch.

Brackett must have caught sight of her because he rushed ahead, bounding up on the porch and kneeling at her side. He dropped his bag and started to examine Dixie right away, his hands running over her head with an unmistakable tenderness.

"A patient did this?" Brackett asked, clearly repeating what Maurice Thompson had told him.

Thompson himself had pulled his horse up beside Brackett's and dismounted. He was already starting to lead the horses over to the General Store's corral, clearly planning to see to both his own horse and the doc's after what had obviously been a hard ride from the doc's house.

It was Johnny who answered Brackett's question.

"Yeah, it was a patient…an accident." He nodded at the big man a bit farther down the porch. "He woke up disoriented, thought he was still inside the saloon. He started swinging, and it happened so fast that Dixie didn't have a chance to get out of the way."

Brackett grimaced, his hand lingering on Dixie's jaw, his thumb brushing back and forth over the curve of her cheek.

"Dixie hasn't woken up since then, but her pulse and breathing have both been steady," Roy offered. "And Miss Williamson has been watching over her when we can't."

Brackett glanced up, finally noticing Miss Williamson who was sitting on the porch a few feet away. Brackett offered her a distracted nod, then turned his focus back to Dixie, conflicting emotions playing over his face.

Imagining Joanne in Dixie's place was enough to give Roy a good of idea of what the doc was probably feeling. Dixie was stable for now, and she was already being watched. There was no medical reason for Brackett to stay at her side. But he clearly wanted do that anyway, even though his instincts as a doctor urged him to look after the others who might be worse off.

Finally, Brackett pulled away from Dixie and stood up, picking up his medical bag once more. "What kind of injuries are we looking at?" he asked. "And how are our supplies?"

Roy and Johnny quickly told him about having had the supplies brought over from the clinic, then they offered him a quick list of the patients they had been treating. Brackett looked especially grim when they told him about the young man who had died a short while ago. That grim expression remained as the doctor examined Harrison, as well as the big man who had yet to wake again, and the Mexican man. Lane, thankfully, continued to improve, and the same could be said of Mr. Fulton, who, despite his broken ankle and the lingering congestion in his lungs, seemed to be on the way to recovery.

When he'd finished looking over those who seemed to be in the most serious condition, Brackett moved on to the others who'd been hurt as they fled from the saloon. As Roy described their injuries, he'd ended with the man who had the broken wrist, and explained that they'd decided not to try to set the break themselves. Brackett assured them that they'd made the right choice. The injury was serous enough that even the doctor's own skills didn't guarantee that the bone would heal completely. Only time would tell. (The man himself took the news with relative aplomb, but Roy guessed that the morphine might have had something to do with that. He resolved to have a quiet word with Brackett about it later.) Brackett had just begun checking on the man with the cracked ribs when a call came from the other side of porch.

"Dr. Brackett! I think Mrs. Brackett is waking up!"

Brackett was on his feet in an instant, his quick strides carrying him across the boards in a few seconds. Roy was just behind him, and Johnny was right on his heels, and as soon as they reached Dixie they heard it: a soft groan.

"Dix?" Brackett asked, kneeling down beside her.

Her eyes fluttered open a moment later, then closed again. When they opened a second time, her eyes finally focused on Brackett, though it took a minute for her gaze to clear.

"Kel?" she said at last.

"Welcome back, Dix," Brackett answered, relief evident in his voice. "You gave us quite a scare."

Dixie stared at him for a few seconds, and then her gaze drifted to where Roy stood with Johnny.

Roy nodded at her, not bothering to hide his own joy at seeing her awake again, and a glance at Johnny showed that he was wearing a relieved grin of his own.

Dixie managed to give them a bleary-eyed but fond look before turning her attention back to her husband, though a wince interrupted whatever she might have been planning to say. "Oh, I have an awful headache."

Brackett's lips quirked faintly in a sympathetic smile. "I'll bet. Do you remember what happened?"

Dixie frowned, her brow furrowed. "One of the men who was rescued from the saloon was waking up, and I…" Dixie paused, a look of frustration quickly replacing the frown. "I was too close, wasn't I?"

Brackett smiled again at the tone of disgust she'd used, but his words were firm. "It wasn't your fault, Dix. It was no one's fault. Accidents happen."

"But I know better than to get that close," she insisted.

"And I know better than to argue with you, but I'm going to do it anyway," Brackett returned evenly. "Now, stop blaming yourself for something you had no control over, and let me take a look at you."

Roy knew that if Dixie had been at her best, she might very well have had a retort for that, but he could tell by the pinched look she wore that her headache was every bit as bad as she'd claimed. She offered no resistance as Brackett did a thorough exam, though there were a few put-upon sighs and pointed looks that said how she felt about it all.

"Really, Kel, I'll be fine," she insisted when Brackett reached for her wrist to check her pulse yet again. "Just let me rest for a while, and then I'll-"

Brackett held up his free hand up before she even finished. "Resting is all you'll do for now, Dix."

Roy stifled a laugh as Dixie gave him the same look she had given many an obstinate patient. "Don't start that with me, Kelly Brackett. Right now, you need all the help you can get."

"What I need is to know that you're alright," Brackett said firmly. "And you know as well as I do that the best thing for a head injury is rest. Plenty of it. You'd be telling me the same thing if I was in your place."

Dixie opened her mouth to object, but she must have realized that he was right, because she shut it just as quickly. "Fine," she agreed at last. "But I don't have to like it."

"I never said you did." Brackett's smile had a teasing edge this time, though it was softened by the kiss he pressed to the back of her hand. "I still have some patients to see to, but I'll be back to check on you soon."

Dixie huffed in exasperation, but a very small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Brackett gave her one last smile of his own, then stood and started back down the porch, heading towards the man he'd been treating before Dixie had woken up.

Dixie's gaze returned to Roy and Johnny as soon as he was gone, and her expression grew serious.

"How's everyone else doing?"

Roy shared a look with Johnny, uncertain about just how much to say.

He should have guessed that their reluctance would be enough to make Dixie realize the truth.

"Who did we lose?" she asked softly.

Johnny sighed and looked down. "The kid - he wasn't much more than a kid, anyway."

Dixie nodded sadly, a solemn mask slipping over her features. Roy recognized it from their time at Chattanooga. It was the same look she'd worn in the medical tents, when they'd been forced to watch as other young men - boys, really - bled and died alongside soldiers twice their age.

There had been so many of those boys that Roy had lost count. Too many. One was too many.

"I know you two did everything you could for him," Dixie assured firmly, as though reading Roy's thoughts. "What about the others?"

"The men we pulled from the saloon are in the worst shape," Roy answered. "The one who hit you wasn't conscious for long, and he still hasn't woken up again. The Mexican man…there's been no change. The man with the broken ankle is fairing well, all things considered, and we got Harrison and Lane out from the upstairs. Lane seems to be on the mend, but Harrison's in a bad way. The rest aren't all that well off - we've got a few injured men who escaped from the saloon when the fire started, and a man and a woman from the bucket brigade - but it seems like they'll be alright in time."

Dixie nodded again, though now there was a crease between her brows; the frown was probably from hearing about the number of patients they had to care for already, Roy guessed. He had a feeling that when Brackett returned to check on her, she would try once more to convince him to let her help.

She might have tried to convince them if her headache hadn't chosen that moment to make its presence known again. She winced, closing her eyes and grimacing.

"We really should let you get some rest," Roy told her, intentionally echoing Brackett's words.

Maybe now, at her body's insistence, she would actually listen.

"Just relax as much as you can, Dix, okay?" Johnny added. "We'll take care of everyone."

Dixie gave a frustrated sigh, but she leaned back against the folded blanket that was serving as her make-shift pillow and closed her eyes.

Roy reached down to give her shoulder a squeeze, then stood up, catching sight of Maurice Thompson once again. The older man was standing outside of the corral now, watching as his and Brackett's horses drank their fill of water. With his free hand, he was rubbing his bad shoulder - the one he'd hurt in that mine collapse all those years ago. Wanting to make sure that Thompson was alright, Roy told Johnny where he was headed and started over to the corral. He heard Johnny offering a few more comforting words to Dixie, though he was too far away to know what they were.

"Is your shoulder bothering you?" Roy asked when he reached Thompson's side.

The older man immediately turned to face him. He was clean shaven, with gray hair and blue eyes, and he had square jaw, a heavy brow, and a cleft chin. He wore gray suspenders and a red-striped shirt with a faded red bandana tied around his throat. A black ten-gallon hat sat atop his head.

"Naw," Thompson assured. "No more'n usual, anyway. It just aches from time to time, is all."

Roy imagined that the hard ride from Brackett's house hadn't done it any favors, but there hadn't really been any choice about that, and if Thompson didn't want to mention the ride, then Roy wouldn't either.

"Do you mind if I take a look?"

"Go right ahead," Thompson agreed.

Roy did a quick examination, gently feeling around the damaged joint. He could feel the malformation of the bones that had never quite healed correctly, but he was relieved to find that the joint didn't seem to be swollen.

"It seems alright," he said at last, stepping back. "But it would probably be a good idea to rest it, if you can."

Chances were that the reminder wasn't necessary - Thompson had been dealing with the injury for years already - but Roy felt obligated to say it nonetheless.

Thompson himself just gave an easy nod in answer, then reached up to pat the neck of Brackett's faithful black gelding.

"I wanted to thank you for getting the doc here," Roy added, "and for letting my wife know what's going on."

Thompson shrugged his good shoulder. "Figured it was the best thing I could do - getting the doc. And talking to your wife weren't no trouble, Mr. DeSoto. A mighty fine missus you got there. She said to tell you to be careful."

Roy couldn't help but smile faintly in appreciation, both at the compliment, and at his wife's message. Joanne knew him well…too well, sometimes. She knew that he wouldn't be satisfied to sit idly by when others were in trouble.

He hadn't been able to do that during the war, and he couldn't do it now.

He was about to offer Thompson his thanks once again, when the familiar clatter of a wagon caught his attention. A glance at the porch showed him that both Brackett and Johnny were already moving to stand where they could meet it.

Roy quickly excused himself from Thompson's side and hurried over to join them.

This time, it was Chet at the reins, and Roy guessed that whoever these new patients were, they were in more serious condition than the last two, because Chet seemed to be driving the horses as fast as he dared without jostling his injured passengers. He kicked up a small cloud of dust as the wagon rolled to a stop.

"These lads are hurt bad!" Chet exclaimed immediately, hopping down out of the driver's seat. "They were in the saddle shop! A burnin' beam fell on 'em!"

Roy's legs were carrying him to the back of the wagon before he'd even fully registered the words. His eyes widened faintly as soon as he caught sight of the men who were laid out in the wagon bed. He'd been prepared for the blood, but he hadn't been prepared to recognize both men.

The first man, Deke Evans, had short brown hair and sharp features, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin. He had a lean build, and was wearing brown pants, a blue shirt, and a brown vest. A blue bandana hung around his neck, bunched up around his jaw, like it had slipped from its place over his mouth and nose. He was unconscious, and one shoulder was clearly sitting at an unnatural angle - dislocated, Roy guessed. There were a few burns on his arms and chest, but they didn't look particularly deep. If that was the worst of it, maybe he'd been lucky. Then again, sometimes it was the injuries you couldn't see that were the most dangerous.

Roy swallowed hard. He had gotten to know Deke pretty well over the last couple months. Joanne had met Deke's wife, Susan, at a church social, and they'd quickly become good friends. He, Joanne, and the children had been over at the Deke and Susan's house for dinner just last week.

The other man, Dick Chandler, had blond hair, a broad forehead, a long nose, and a wide mouth. His eyes, Roy remembered, were blue, but his eyes were closed now, his face worryingly lax. A still-damp, red bandana hung loosely around his neck, and he looked to have been wearing a green shirt and dark pants, though both fabrics were stained a deep scarlet in several places, and even turned black where the material had been charred.

Roy didn't know Dick quite as well as he knew Deke, but his wife, Molly, was yet another friend of Joanne's, and Dick and Molly's young daughter, Jeanine, was set to start school with Chris and Jennifer next year.

Beside him, Johnny had gone still with surprise. He knew both men too, having met them through Roy.

Roy drew a deep breath and did his best to push his feelings aside. Right now, Deke and Dick didn't need them to be their friends, they needed them to be Brackett's assistants.

Brackett, with his medical bag in hand, was already climbing up into the wagon bed to look over his new patients. He started with Dick first, kneeling beside him and pressing his fingers to Dick's bloodied throat. The grim set of Brackett's jaw was enough to tell Roy what the doctor had found, and he felt dread curl in his stomach. His worst fears were confirmed when Brackett quickly took his stethoscope from his bag. He put the ear pieces into his ears, then leaned down to press the bell carefully to Dick's chest, over his heart, clearly hoping that the instrument might find what he hadn't found by touch alone: a pulse.

The doc listened for a long moment, changing the position of the stethoscope's bell once, twice, and even a third time, but through it all, his expression remained grim. Finally, he sat back on his heels and shook his head.

Later, Roy told himself. Later, there would be time to grieve; later, he would figure out what he would say to Molly and Jeanine.

Brackett quickly turned around and began to examine Deke. This time, at least, Brackett didn't have any trouble finding a pulse, but there was no mistaking the concern on his face. The doctor used his stethoscope to check Deke's lungs next, then began an examination of his abdomen, pressing gently with his fingers. He even tugged Deke's shirt up so that he could get a better look at his abdomen without the fabric in the way. The bruising there was red and angry.

Brackett sat back on his heels again and grimaced. "He's bleeding into his belly. He needs surgery. Now."

Chet, who'd been standing nearby with his soot-covered bowler hat in hand, frowned. "D'ya need me to take 'im over to the clinic for ya, Doc?" he asked quietly.

Brackett shook his head. "I'm not sure he'd survive the trip. Better to do it here." He turned, looking first at Roy, then at Johnny. "I need a place to work. Somewhere close by, but private if you can manage it."

"What about next to the supply wagon?" Johnny suggested, pointing to the wagon that was sitting a short distance away. "We wouldn't have to move things very far, and we could drape some blankets over the side to block the view."

"That should do it," Brackett agreed. "Let's go."

The doctor grabbed his bag again, putting away his stethoscope and pushing himself to his feet. He walked a few, short steps, then gripped the side of the wagon to steady himself as he hopped down out of the back.

Roy quickly led Brackett over to the wagon that held their supplies, showing him where his surgical instruments had been packed away, and pointing out the crate that held the chloroform. While Brackett began collecting what he'd need, Roy jogged back towards the General Store, asking some of the women - those not already watching over the unconscious men - to find more blankets, along with lanterns to light the space.

While he waited, he saw Johnny and Chet carrying Dick Chandler's body away from the wagon that Chet had driven. They carefully laid Dick beside the young man who'd passed away earlier, and Roy made a mental note to ask one of the women to find yet another blanket to cover Dick with. Eventually, they might reach a point where any remaining blankets would have to be set aside for the living, but for now, they had enough to offer the dead at least that much respect.

The women returned a short while later, and Roy directed them over to the supply wagon with the blankets and lanterns they'd gathered. He thanked them for their help, then quietly pulled one of the women aside and asked her to look after Dick. She gave a solemn nod and promised that she would.

When the women had left, Roy set to work, spreading a couple of the blankets over the ground beside the wagon, and draping a few more over the side of the wagon, covering the wheels and the area between the axels. The overall effect reminded Roy of the walls of the medicals tents he'd become so familiar with during the war. He figured that it ought to be enough to keep the surgery from becoming an unwanted spectacle.

With their own grim task accomplished, Johnny and Chet had returned to help Brackett move some of the crates holding his instruments. Roy lent his hands to the task as well, and with the four of them working together, they finished quickly. They stacked the empty crates, then lit the lanterns and set them on top of those crates so that the light would shine down over the makeshift operating area.

Once Brackett seemed satisfied with the arrangement, they all worked together to carefully move Deke out of the wagon where he lay and over to the blanket-covered ground. Throughout it all, Deke himself didn't so much as stir. On one hand, at least Deke didn't seem to be in any pain, but on the other, the fact that Deke was so unresponsive already didn't bode well.

As soon as they were finished, Chet gave the doc his best wishes, offering an Irish blessing, and then walked back to the wagon he'd arrived in and climbed into the driver's seat. He directed the wagon's team quickly to the water trough for a drink, then turned the horses around, headed back in the direction of the bucket brigade.

Roy watched him go and glanced back just in time to see that Brackett had finished cutting away Deke's shirt; he'd been forced to cut around the worst of the burns, leaving patches of charred fabric behind where they had stuck to the burned skin on Deke's chest and arms. They would have to work carefully to remove the fabric later, but for now, the surgery had to come first.

Roy helped the doc administer a dose of chloroform next, placing some of the anesthetic* on a small sponge which sat at the base of a cone. When that was done, Roy held the end of that cone over Deke's nose and mouth. His wounds might have rendered him unconscious already, but Roy knew that the cut of a surgical blade was sometimes enough to bring a man around regardless. He hoped the chloroform would prevent that this time.

Roy took the cone away when Brackett signaled that he should, then he watched as the doc picked up his scalpel and made the first incision.

It was easier, Roy discovered, if he didn't look at Deke's face. He could pretend that Deke was just another patient, one of the dozens that he and Johnny had helped Brackett treat in the last few months. He focused on the procedure instead, focused on handing the right instruments to Bracket when he asked for them, focused on Johnny's responses when Brackett asked him to report on Deke's pulse or breathing.

It wasn't that different from what Roy had done during the war, when he'd learned to concentrate on carrying out his duty no matter what was happening around him, and to distance himself from the rest as best as he could. It wasn't easy, and it didn't always work, but it allowed him to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It allowed him to do his job.

"Dr. Brackett!"

They all looked up at the worried cry that had come from somewhere over on the porch.

"I don't think this man's breathing!"

Roy started to rise instinctively, and beside him, he saw Johnny do the same, but then reality caught up to both of them, and they turned to look at Brackett in tandem.

Brackett's bloodstained hands clenched around his instruments for a moment, and he wore an expression of helpless anger as he nodded down at Deke. "If I leave him now, he dies," he doctor said bluntly. "You two go. I'll have to manage alone."

"No, you won't."

Roy turned in surprise to see Dixie walking quickly but unsteadily around the side of the wagon. Miss Walters had one arm around her back, and the other at her elbow, helping to support her. The younger woman was obviously uncertain, clearly wondering if she'd done the right thing by bringing Dixie over. Dix herself, however, had a stubborn look about her that Roy recognized all too well.

"Dix!" Brackett exclaimed. "What are you doing? I told you-"

"There's no time to argue about this, Kel. I knew you'd need my help even before I heard that shout, and I'm well enough to sit here and hand you your instruments."

Brackett seemed both exasperated and relieved. "We'll talk about this later," he warned.

"I don't doubt it," Dixie answered dryly as Miss Walters helped her sit back against one of the wagon wheels.

Sure that Brackett would be able to continue now, Roy pushed himself up from the blanket covered ground, and turned to run towards the porch. He heard Johnny's footsteps pounding in the dirt beside him.

Miss Williamson must have taken over the watch on this side of the porch at some point, because she was the who drew their attention now.

"Here!" she called as she caught sight of him and Johnny. "This one, here!"

She pointed to the man in front of her - a man with dark, curly blond hair that fell to his collar - and Roy felt his stomach clench.

Harrison.

"His heart's beating," Miss Williamson explained as they reached her. "I tried to shake him a few times, like I saw you do with…with the other man. But he's still not breathing."

"You were right to try," Johnny assured her.

He turned to Harrison and pressed two fingers against his throat.

"His pulse is fast," Johnny declared after a moment, "and it's getting fainter."

Knowing they needed to hurry, they pulled Harrison away from the General Store's back wall, and like he'd done with the younger man, Roy hooked his forearms underneath Harrison's shoulders, giving him a few rough shakes. He'd hoped that he'd be able to use more force than Miss Williamson might have managed on her own, and perhaps, it would be enough to get Harrison breathing again.

It wasn't.

Roy shared a look with Johnny as they laid Harrison down on the porch on his back. How long had it been since they'd done the same thing with that young man? Roy wasn't sure.

He just hoped that the outcome would be different this time.

Roy tilted Harrison's head back, and made sure he had a free air passage. When he was certain that he did, he and Johnny bent over, reaching for Harrison's arms, moving them up, away from his body, trying to expand his chest. They pushed them back down a moment later, once again hoping to mimic the rhythm of natural breathing.

Johnny was on Harrison's left, so this time, he was the one to massage Harrison's chest, trying to encourage the circulation of the blood around the heart.

They worked for a full minute, and there was no change, but one look at Johnny's face told Roy that his partner felt just like he did: they had lost the other man; they weren't going to lose Harrison too, not if they could help it.

"Come on, Harrison," Roy heard Johnny say. "Don't do this!"

Another minute passed, but they kept going.

Harrison had endured being shot, managed a two-day trek through the desert with a bullet lodged in his back, and then battled through the infection that followed.

If he could do that, he could survive this.

"Come on, Harrison," Roy insisted. "Come on!"

They continued to move his arms up and away from his chest, and then back down, and finally, they heard it: the very quiet rasp of an indrawn breath. He and Johnny stopped to watch and listen as a faint breath followed the first, and then another, and another…

It was worryingly shallow, and still far too slow, but he was breathing again.

He was breathing.

Roy saw Johnny swallow hard and close his eyes for a moment in relief. Roy could relate - he felt like a weight had lifted off his own chest, and he took a small step back, taking just a moment to brace himself against the sudden rush of emotion.

When he felt a little more steady, he leaned forward again to check on Harrison. He wasn't out of the woods yet, and it was plain to hear just how congested Harrison's lungs were. They'd have to keep a close eye on him until his breathing was stronger, and for now, it was best not to move him, or to try to sit him up until his condition had stabilized. Even then, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't stop breathing for a second time.

But with every rise and fall of Harrison's chest, Roy found himself feeling a little more hopeful.

A few minutes later, when he left the porch to give Brackett an update on Harrison's improving condition, he felt a strong breeze stirring the air, this time blowing from the west instead of the east.

Maybe, Roy thought, just maybe, there was another reason to be hopeful as well.

TBC

Historical and Content Notes

Deke Evans: Deke is, of course, meant to be the same Deke we see in the season three episode, "Inferno." In the episode, his wife, Susan, is said to be Joanne's best friend, and she's the one to take her anger out on Roy at the hospital. Deke's not given a last name in the episode, so I chose the name "Evans" for him here.

Dick Chandler: Dick is the fireman who died in the line of duty as was talked about in the season six episode, "The Exam." In that episode, it's Dick's wife, Molly, who keeps calling the station for help, and their daughter, Jeanine, who falls out of a bunk bed. Dick is also not given a last name in the episode, so "Chandler" was my own choice.

Anesthesia in the Civil War Era: As mentioned in previous notes, a variety of pain killers were available during the Civil War, including morphine, but, "Anesthesia was in its infancy when the American Civil War began in 1861." (Source: uab ( d o t) edu, "Anesthesia came of age during Civil War.") In fact, "sulfuric ether was first used in 1846, and chloroform a year later [in 1847]." (Source: same as above.) Nonetheless, these anesthetics were widely used by both the North and South, and despite what Hollywood would have us think, "Anesthesia was used in 95% of Civil War surgeries." (Source: civilwarmed (d o t) org, "Anesthesia in the Civil War.") Still, there may be a reason for the stereotype of surgeries without anesthetic, since, "Only a low dose of anesthetic was used during the Civil War, just enough to make the patient insensitive to pain…Many men moaned and moved about due to the agitating effects of a light dose of anesthetic. Some had to be held down by assistants, but they were unconscious and could not feel pain. Outside observers may have assumed that the men were being operated upon with no anesthetic, not understanding that the groans and thrashing movements were caused by the chloroform or ether." (Source: same as above.) The procedure that Roy uses to administer the anesthetic in this fic was the same one that was used during the Civil War. (Source: same as above.)

A/N: One last chapter to go. :)

As always, thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!

Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)