Dixie: Glimpses In the Overnight Hours

by ClearingSky

The call had come in long before she'd arrived.

Before the muted colors of sunset hovered in the west to hold the day in suspended animation, stretching across the sky to anchor themselves in the east.

As if afraid of slipping into twilight, into night…

Head Nurse Dixie McCall walked beneath the reticent sky and into the Emergency Department at Rampart General Hospital.

Every few months, Dixie penciled herself in for a shift during the "witching hour" (as Dr. Early sometimes called it), just to keep herself sharp, her finger on the pulse of the place. Keep things running smoothly; check in with the night staff and see how they're doing.

Besides, a shake-up in the routine is sometimes a good thing.

As she rounded the corner, she slowed at the sight of a nearly empty hallway and waiting area with several bags of filled lab vials in a small bin decorating the counter of the nurse's station, while a quiet tremor seemed to seethe in sullen tones, underfoot….

"Ms. McCall," Connie called as she dashed out of Treatment 2, her voice breathless with relief as she spotted Dixie.

"Trouble already, huh?" Dixie wondered briefly if it was too late to mention all the laundry she had to do and make a clean getaway.

"Ole Pneuman's out again," Connie rolled her eyes as she leaned on the counter.

"Oh, you're kidding!"

"I wish I was. Poor Steve has seen the inside of that elevator more times in the last half hour than he has since he's started working." Connie indicated the bin of vials on the counter. "Naturally, it konks out just when they moved the lab—"

"—upstairs."

"—upstairs."

Dixie's hands straddled the counter and she shook her head.

"And with our luck, the renovation will take twice as long," Connie grumbled.

"Three times, if we're lucky," Dixie wryly added. "Well, where's Carlos?"

"On vacation and–-"

"Oh, that's right. And Aaron was supposed to fill in for him—"

"Yeah, except he's out sick and I had to send Steve over to Supply to find a light bulb, because the exam light in One burnt out and all the blankets are mysteriously missing from rooms Three and Five."

"Oh, for crying out loud."

"On top of all that…" Connie leaned on the counter and thumped it as if adding an audible exclamation point. "We have a call coming in."

Dixie's ears perked up at the change in Connie's tone and demeanor. "What do we have?" she asked, her focus snapping sharply into place with long practice.

"Trauma case. Head injury. Respiratory distress and possible spinal injury," Connie reported. "They're bringing-"

Both women stopped as they heard the sirens approaching.

"Room?"

"Two. Dr. Early's on it and everything is set up," Connie replied, giving answer to Dixie's unasked question.

"Alright. I guess this also means a lot of trips upstairs," she said half to herself as she mentally prepared for this incoming critical case. "I suppose it'll be a good excuse to visit the nursery, later, too," Dixie added, trying to find the positive aspects to a shift that will be filled with running upstairs for the next 12 hours.

"Oh, I was hoping to do that," Connie sagged against the counter.

Dixie glanced through the base station medical report on their incoming patient. "It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

"Uh huh. Well, if you feel like sharing the martyrdom, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

"Alright, deal."

The approaching siren suddenly cut, then, moments later, the muted, guttural thrum of its engine sounded as it reversed into the ambulance bay.

A white and blue tornado of activity burst through the ER quiet as a gurney was rushed inside.

Ambulance attendants and paramedics thronged alongside the gurney as Dixie went to meet them. Elbows and bodies, heat and movement, sweat and musk huddled together and moved as one, like tacklers surrounding the receiver during a handoff in a football game.

"Status?" Dixie called out as she joined the mass of humanity moving down the hallway.

Dixie glanced down at the patient; his wet body jostled on the gurney as he was being wheeled along. Through the swinging IV tubing, the inflatable cervical collar, the motion restriction head blocks, the non-rebreather mask, the blood and the grime, a familiar face could be seen….Oh no, her breath caught…Marco Lopez. Startled, Dixie looked up into the mournful expression of Roy DeSoto, his wet hair plastered to his head with random locks jutting out in every which way, his uniform only partially wet and plastered to his body in wrinkly patches. He was bagging as she just now noticed; carrying the terrible burden of breathing life-giving oxygen for his fallen brother.

"Bagging at 15 liters of O2," Johnny replied, his stern and clinical report belying the distress in his features. He, like Roy, was also partially wet and looking like something the cat had dragged in. "Patient was responsive to verbal commands at the scene but is now unresponsive."

Dixie saw Gage carrying the IVs alongside the lone figure on the gurney, who was swallowed by blankets, the neck brace, the squad's portable equipment and the non-rebreather mask.

"Room two!" Dixie shouted over the cacophony of shoes, gurney, movement, chaos…. The door banged open and Dr. Early and the team were already gowned, set up and waiting.

A flurry of orders, people moved, IV lines were swung around and with a practiced choreography, everyone took a place around the gurney. "Alright, let's move him over," Dr. Early began. "Dixie, you're at the head."

"Right," she acknowledged, hands locking into grip on the backboard. Her eyes quickly took in the medical team surrounding the gurney to ensure all eyes were on her, especially Roy who was still bagging and had the onerous task of having to move as one with the patient. "On three. Ready? One—two—three!"

The supine figure was quickly transferred onto the examination table. The team rushed to surround him as the ambulance attendants quickly slipped the gurney out of the room.

Intubation was performed, orders were given, blood was drawn, an assessment was made. Finally, the radiological technicians were called in. As the room cleared for the x-rays to be taken, Dixie caught the eyes of Johnny Gage and Roy DeSoto. Haunted, anxious. Stunned.

Dixie looked back at 51s paramedics and their helpless expressions with eyes begging her to reassure them he would be okay. "Why don't you guys wait out in the hall? I'll be there in a minute."

The men glanced at Marco's motionless body, covered in tubing and patches, blood and grime, his face obscured by a ventilator. The paramedics didn't move.

"It's okay, fellas. He won't be left alone. Not for a second."

They looked at her, hesitated, then briefly nodded. Roy sought out Marco's arm amid the IV tubing and blankets. "Marco, we'll be right outside, alright?"

"Don't give the nurses a hard time, okay, Marco?" Johnny added, forcing a jovial tone into his voice before sharing a look of grave concern with Roy.

Roy gave a quick squeeze of Marco's arm then followed his partner out into the hallway.

After a final check on patient and technicians, Dixie followed after the paramedics.

But they were nowhere to be found. Her eyes searched and found them down the corridor, near the elevators, the full complement – Minus one, Dixie noted sadly – of 51s. She headed toward them.

They were cloistered around Dr. Early, hanging on his every word, some still in their turnouts, bodies sagging under the awful weight of anxiety and dread, grimy and disheveled and damp, wearing the expressions of death, an expression Dixie knew well from the field hospitals in Viet Nam. Chet was sitting nearby, still in his turnouts, eyes staring at the floor as he listened, hair unkempt and soaked with sweat, his face encrusted with soot, unspoken anguish chiseled into his features. Captain Stanley's expression was stern and serious, eyebrows furrowing every so often as he listened to Dr. Early's preliminary report.

"….when we get the x-rays, but we need to take him into surgery right away." Dixie heard Dr. Early say as she reached the group.

"Yeah, yeah…Sure thing," Captain Stanley quietly acknowledged in a voice that seemed almost lost, distracted. He moved away, nervously rubbing his hands together, his expression haunted, in shock; his crew a huddled mass gathered around him.

Dr. Early turned back toward the exam room and Dixie moved to walk alongside him. "I'll set up a place for them upstairs and get in touch with Marco's family."

"That'd be great, Dixie, thanks." And the two returned to the exam room as the technicians were leaving.

~~ Later ~~

Dixie yanked the canister out of the pneumatic delivery hatch in frustration and set it down on the counter.

"It's not working," Connie reminded her with a wry grin as she stopped at the nurse's station and leaned her forearms on the counter.

"I know. Force of habit," Dixie replied with a defeated sigh. "You know, that's the third time in four months that thing's gone down."

"And between the same locations, no less! You'd think they'd get it right at least the second time."

"Yeah," Dixie answered distractedly, her thoughts still on Marco Lopez… "Well, just as well. I need to talk to 51, anyway." Dixie grabbed the two bags of lab vials that were ready to go and headed toward the elevators.

"Alright. I'll monitor the base station."

"Oh, hey, Connie?"

"Yeah."

"Have someone put up a sign, will ya?" Dixie thumbed at the pneumatic delivery system.

"You mean to remind you it's not working?" Connie laughed as she teased her supervisor.

Dixie tried to hide her smile as she pointed a finger at her nurse. "I have a few orderly positions I might need to fill, soon."

The younger nurse laughed again. "I'll get right on it, Ms. McCall."

"Thanks, Connie." And over to the elevators she marched to hand-deliver the samples to the lab and check in with 51s. Why do I get this feeling it's going to be a long night?

Moments later, as she left the lab, Dixie headed toward the makeshift surgical lounge down the hall that she had set up for them and spotted a figure languidly walking out into the corridor, head forward, one hand at the back of his neck. Captain Stanley, from the looks of it. Just the person I needed to talk to…

The figure wore his bunker jacket and he leaned back against the wall. After several moments, his head bowed and he slowly slid down the wall until he was squatting at the base of it, elbows on his knees, fingers straddling his nose.

As Dixie came upon him, it dawned on her that she'd inadvertently come upon him at perhaps the first moment he's had to himself to process what'd happened with Marco.

The figure slowly angled his head toward her as she approached. Shoulders sagging a mite, he leaned against his still-steepled fingers, took a deep breath, and slowly dropped his hands. A smile tried in vain to stay in place beneath the fear and worry in his half-lidded eyes. He pivoted a foot toward her and began to rise with a muted groan, his hand hiking in increments along the wall to help himself up. The odors of sweat and industrial grime drifted around him.

Dixie held up a hand, guilt washing through her. "No, don't get up."

"Too late," his voice strained with the effort and he threw her that welcoming smile, again, that belied the anxiety and fatigue so evident in his bearing and in his face.

"Didn't mean to make you move from your comfortable position."

"S'alright. We're still waiting on word about Marco," his voice strained as he stretched.

"Yeah. I know. It…may be awhile."

"Yeah…." Stanley took a deep breath, cupped his hands around his nose as he held it, his shoulders hiked up as his body held the tension. Then he dug the heels of his hands in his eyes as he exhaled.

"Where are the rest of the boys?"

Stanley indicated the waiting room with a vague wave of his hand and blinked his eyes open against the grit and the fatigue. "Inside."

"Oh. Listen, Captain Stanley, I tried getting a hold of Marco's family, but was unable to. Is there another number I should use?"

"What number do you have for him?"

Dixie padded her pockets. "I don't have it on me at the moment…."

"Was it a 213 area code?"

"Yeah," Dixie nodded. She inched closer to make room for several nurses who were making their way down the hall.

"Oh. They have a new one, now. His family moved down to San Diego last month. Seems his aunt got diagnosed with cancer so the family moved down there to help her out, take care of the nieces and nephews and all the rest of it."

"Oh, no."

"Yeah. I'll, uh, I'll see if I can get that new number to you-"

"Cap?" Stoker's voice, so soft as to be nearly inaudible, sounded almost behind him and startling Dixie that he was there, at all. Stoker had evidently walked in behind the gaggle of nurses who had just passed, making it seem like he'd appeared out of nowhere.

Wordlessly, Stanley turned to his engineer, yet it was a wonder, Dixie noted, that Stanley had heard him at all.

"Captain O'Grady," Mike began, swallowing, his voice wavering, his expression sorrowful. "He's downstairs."

Stanley's eyes narrowed for a brief moment before clouding over his already worried expression and suddenly Captain Stanley looked ten times more exhausted than he had just moments ago. As the two men looked at each other, it seemed to Dixie that something passed between them; some wordless exchange, something only the two of them understood and she immediately felt like the third wheel.

A long, slow blink of his eyes. Stanley rubbed his forehead, his hand moving down to his eyes, his whole bearing crumbling under his fatigue. A deep breath. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks, pal." He turned his attention back to Dixie. "I'll get that number to you," he reiterated.

She put a hand on his arm, "I'd appreciate that. Thanks."

"'Scuse me, Dix." Stanley rubbed her hand, slipped past her, and trudged slowly down the hall toward the elevators, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dixie turned to the taller engineer, "Hi, Mike."

"Hi, Ms. McCall," he answered as he stepped closer, concerned eyes never leaving his captain.

"Who's Captain O'Grady?" she asked gently.

"Department Chaplain."

Dixie's eyes dropped to the floor, along with her stomach and the rest of her soul. "Mike…..what happened?" she whispered, eyes narrowing in deeper concern.

Stoker's eyes never left Captain Stanley, darkened by palpable worry and glistening slightly. He finally tore his gaze from his captain and looked down at the smaller woman beside him.

Dixie was met by a hollow, haunted expression. But it was his eyes, his eyes that startled her. Soft. Brown. Inordinately sad. Lost… "Storage facility down by the harbor," Stoker answered. "Marco was on the line. Wall buckled and brought the roof down and buried him. We had a hard time digging him out."

Dixie balked at Mike's words. My God….! In disbelief, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his arm, as memories of her time in Viet Nam were rekindled. She slid her hand down his arm and took his hand in both of hers and squeezed gently. She looked up at him as he nodded gratefully with an infinitesimal nod of his head, lightly squeezed her hand in return and went to join the rest of 51s.

Blinking away tears, Dixie headed back to the ER.

~~~/~~~

Dixie dropped off the samples to the lab then headed for the makeshift surgical waiting lounge and peeked in.

Captain Stanley was sitting alone, elbows on his knees, chin resting on a balled fist, eyes staring into nothingness, his feet rhythmically alternating in a 'walking cadence'.

She was about to go in when Johnny sauntered over to Captain Stanley. Stanley's feet stopped their march as he looked up at his junior paramedic and followed him as he sat adjacent to him. Stanley turned to him and leaned back in his chair, as if providing a visual cue that his shoulder was available to cry on, if need be. Gage seemed despondent and exhausted. A hand rubbing his face. They exchanged a few words in muttered tones, heads nodding or shaking at something being said by the other. Dixie quietly knocked and both men turned to her.

"Hey there, Dix. C'mon in," Johnny said, his voice raw, and motioned her inside.

Dixie gingerly stepped over and surveyed the room. Chet was curled on a bench, but Roy and Mike were gone.

"Hiya fellas."

"Dix," Stanley greeted her, a polite half-smile beneath sorrowful eyes.

"Hi. I just wanted to let you know that I finally got a hold of Marco's family. They'll be here tomorrow morning."

"Okay. Thanks," Stanley said.

'You bet."

"Hey, uh, Dix? Did they say if his sister was coming? She's his blood type."

"Yeah. I talked with them about that. His mother, both of his sisters and the oldest nephew will come. I guess his brother will stay behind and look after their aunt and the younger kids."

"Okay. That's great, that's great; good deal, good deal. Thanks, Dixie," Johnny wearily replied.

"Sure." She began to leave then turned back. "Hey, listen, you want me to send up some coffee? See if I can't find some cots or blankets….something...?"

"Oh, gosh, you don't have to—"

"That sounds great, Dix—"

Tired smiles erupted all around. "I'll send up some coffee," Dixie decided.

Johnny huffed a laugh, "Thanks, Dix."

"'On behalf of the rest of the gang, t'will be very much appreciated," Captain Stanley replied, his genuine smile lighting up his exhausted features.

"No problem, gentlemen." Dixie made to leave, but stopped and surveyed the room to see if there was anything else they might need.

Johnny sagged in his chair and stared at the floor, then leaned forward, "Man, I don't know about this, Cap. I just don't know about this." He rested his head against steepled fingers and sighed deeply, eyes closed. Stanley's glance at his junior paramedic was edged with unmasked concern. He groaned as he slowly rose from the chair, laid a gentle hand against Johnny's temple, as if hoping to dispel Gage's fear, then he squeezed his shoulder. "'I'm gonna check on Chet and then go find Mike and Roy, okay, pal?" he said quietly. "Let them know Marco's family is coming..."

If Johnny answered, Dixie didn't hear it. But Cap's tender gesture stayed with her as she returned to the ER.

~~~/~~~

Dixie led the way out of the lab while her friend, Janet, followed, closing the lab door behind her.

"…and she kept repeating what she'd told us and I wasn't sure if it was nerves or she was just not hearing the questions correctly."

"That's probably the thing I enjoy least about this job. The job interviews. So, what'd you do?" Dixie asked, arms casually folding.

As Janet relayed her story, Dixie saw movement out of the corner of her eye and she glanced down the hall. Mike was slowly ambling out of the lounge with his hands on his hips.

Oh no…did they get word about Marco? "Yeah…." Dixie replied, half-listening to her friend as she watched Mike down the hall.

Stoker sauntered over to the far wall in an aimless stride then slowly leaned a hand against the wall with one hand, the other covering his eyes.

"…Anyway, listen, I'd better run. See you next week at the staff meeting. Hope they fix Ole Pneuman, soon," Janet added.

Dixie rolled her eyes. "I think they fix it enough so it'll break again, just so they'll make money fixing it."

"I wouldn't doubt it. See you, later, Dix," Janet waved and marched to the elevators.

Dixie turned back down the hall to see that Stoker was now talking to Captain Stanley. Mike was still leaning against the wall, his hand still covering his face. Stanley's close stance, the complete focus on his engineer... Stanley reached out and cradled the crook of Mike's shoulder, a tender squeeze. After some moments, Mike nodded slightly, then brought his hand down from his eyes to gently rest in the crook of Stanley's arm.

Dixie sighed with a mixture of sympathy and worry. Having no wish to interrupt what was clearly a personal conversation, Dixie decided to return later for any news about Marco. Butterflies settled uncomfortably in her stomach as Dixie wondered whether Captain Stanley and Mike were waiting for news or reacting to it, and she returned to the ER with a heavy heart.

~~~/~~~

"Let's get some blood work on her," Dr. Allen ordered on their elderly patient. "Creatinine and culture, too."

Dixie nodded and collected the samples. "I'll be back," she announced.

After leaving the lab, Dixie made her way to the makeshift lounge. Muted voices wafted from inside.

Dixie found Roy, Johnny and Chet crumpled around the table from fatigue and sheer anxiety from waiting. Johnny had an elbow on the table and resting his head against his hand, the fingers of his other hand absently picking at some old stubborn piece of tape stuck on the table. Chet had his arms folded and flat on the table, head down. Mugs, a banana peel, the flotsam of several orange rinds and various empty wrappers and Styrofoam containers littered the table. Behind them, a coffee urn was bubbling on a cart, filling the room with its earthy aroma. A hot water dispenser was next to it alongside a bowl of snacks, fruit, and packets of tea, cocoa and packages of Cup o' Noodles™. Several cots were set up with blankets haphazardly strewn on top of them. Dixie inwardly smiled, glad that the cots had come in useful.

She knocked lightly on the doorframe.

Roy was leaning his elbows on the table, mindlessly picking at his fingernails as he and Johnny conversed in muttered tones. He saw Dixie out of the corner of his eye and he straightened up slightly as she entered. "Oh, hey there, Dix," Roy greeted, his voice a little raw, his exhaustion and worry tamping his enthusiasm.

"Hey there, Dix," Johnny said, eyeing her out of the top of his reddened eyes.

Chet wearily lifted his head. "Hi, Dixie," he said, sounding morose, and he put his head back down.

"Hi, fellas. Where's Captain Stanley?"

"Mike's with 'im," Johnny replied, as if that wholly answered Dixie's question.

Dixie frowned slightly and looked to Roy, who pointed and mouthed 'downstairs'. 'Ah' she mouthed back. "Yeah, I'm sorry we couldn't accommodate everyone up here, especially with space being such a hot commodity, lately. Do you know there are three departments fighting over this room?"

"Three?" Roy was sleepily astonished.

Dixie nodded. "So, I thought, 'well, you can all continue fighting over it. In the meantime, I am going to temporarily abscond with it, and you can all just tough it out.'"

"Well, we definitely appreciate it, Dixie," Chet replied, his voice muffled as it sounded from under the table.

"It's no problem. I'm just glad I thought of it. Besides, it seemed a good idea since we weren't sure if Marco's family will want some privacy."

Three firefighter heads nodded at that.

"Any news?"

"Nope. We're still waitin'," Johnny languidly answered.

Chet tiredly sat up and took a deep breath as he stretched his arms out against the table. "Yeah. I'd rather be workin' a brush fire, that's for sure."

"It does seem to be taking quite a long time," Roy agreed.

Dixie sighed. "Yeah. I know…."

"Not half as long as it took to get 'im outta there," Johnny's voice was laced with anger.

Chet plunked his elbows on the table and set his head down between his hands while his fingers scratched at the top of his head and his curly mane of hair.

"Yeah… Mike told me a little of what'd happened. Said it took you guys awhile to get him out," Dixie said, her features darkening.

Roy stood with some effort and made for the hot water canister, "Took us almost an hour."

Chet put his face in his hands and rocked a little on his elbows.

"An hour-! I…can't even imagine," Dixie shook her head.

"By the time anyone realized the structure was becoming unstable, the wall buckled and brought the roof down with it. Marco was right underneath it," Roy continued from across the room.

"My God."

Johnny concentrated at scratching harder at the stuck tape. "Yeah, we couldn't… There was…there was just too much debris on top of 'im. I mean, we couldn't…we couldn't find 'im."

Roy returned to the table, set his tea down and gingerly took his seat, again. "We finally heard him so at least we knew he was still alive. We had to get him to keep making some kind of noise so we could locate him. Problem is, the more noise he made, the more air he was using. We finally did find him, but then we realized he was buried under a whole lot more stuff than what it initially looked like."

Dixie sighed heavily, rubbed her temples with both hands.

Chet took a deep breath and wrapped his hands around his coffee mug, finger jack-hammering. His lips were pressed together as anguished eyes stared a hole into the center of the table, his knee bouncing.

Tears welled in his eyes as Johnny shifted to sit square in his seat, hands under the table, playing with his fingernails. "We heard his voice for a while, you know?" Johnny began, his own voice thick and low as he closed in on himself. "And then, uh, then we told him to just tap on something or somethin', you know? Conserve his energy. So, uh," Johnny rubbed his nose. "So, he did and then um… he radioed in that, uh…. his alarm was goin' off." Johnny took a quick breath, his eyes glistening. "We'd finally pinpointed where he was, but, uh, 110s and 86s was havin' a hard time controlling the fire…and there was still so much debris we still had to-"

"I can't-" Hands raised, Chet bolted out his chair. "I can't do this." He stalked over to the back of the room and sat on the floor, legs folded, his head in his hands as he rocked slightly.

"About the only thing that saved him was that he'd just changed out his air bottle," Roy added, rising from his seat to go after Chet, but Johnny lay his hand on Roy's arm.

"No. I'll….I'll go talk to 'im." Johnny planted his palms on the table and struggled for a moment to push himself up. He moved over to where Chet had settled and sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

Dixie and Roy exchanged a shared look for several moments, before Dixie broke away, her eyes dropping to the floor. She patted the back of the chair as she gathered herself. "Yeah. I'll, uh, I'll send for more coffee."

"Appreciate it, Dixie. Thanks..." Roy yawned and shaded his eyes. His body slumped under the draining weariness within him.

Stoker wandered in at that moment, uttering a quiet "'Hi, Dixie" as he trudged in. Mike lay his hands on Roy's shoulders in a gesture of comfort, then quickly rifled his hair in a teasing, brotherly gesture before heading to the coffee.

Roy angled his head toward the engineer then sat up straight. "Hey, I worked hard at getting my hair just right."

"You missed a spot. I fixed it for you."

"You'll need to do more than that to fix his hair, Mike," Chet added, wiping his eyes and sniffling, his voice thick with emotion.

"Maybe a chain saw," Johnny offered.

"The K12 might be faster," Mike replied, pouring coffee.

"Hey, now I appreciate the care and interest you all seem to have about my hair. But it's my hair and I'll wear it how I see fit."

"Well, see, that's your problem right there, Roy," Chet pointed out.

"How is that a problem, exactly?" Roy asked, pushing off from the table to get the front chair legs off the floor so he could better see Chet.

Dixie smiled, shook her head and quietly slipped out of the room.

~~~/~~~

Dixie rubbed the back of her neck as she closed the door to the lab for what seemed like the four millionth time that night, even with Steve and Connie and the other nurses also running samples to the lab. Of course. Of course, all of Los Angeles has to come to the ER the night Ole Pneuman breaks down…

She glanced down the empty hall toward the lounge and ambled her way down. Surely, there has to be news, by now…. Please, Joe, don't leave them hanging too long, huh?

Dixie stood in the doorway and felt a sense of déjà vu: the coffee urn was burbling in the back and pumping out its aroma to Roy, Chet and Johnny. Three nearly motionless, silent bodies ringing the table, leaving the coffee urn to talk to itself. Three men: one leaning his cheek against his open palm, another lying on folded arms flat on the table, the third sitting slightly back with his forehead on the tabletop. The back of the room was dark.

You know, fellas, there are cots you could sleep on- But she stopped herself in mid-thought. No. They're congregating because they don't want to be alone… Oh no….

Part of her was afraid to step inside any further.

She must have made her presence known, somehow, for Roy stirred and straightened up. "Oh, hey there, Dix," he greeted in a whisper, a tired smile half-forming on his features. He motioned her inside as Johnny and Chet began to move.

"Hi fellas."

Roy gestured to her to keep her voice down, then thumbed back toward the darkened area of the room. Dixie peered into the darkness and noticed a figure lying on a cot.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Just checking on any news."

"You're right on time, as a matter of fact," Roy sleepily answered.

"Oh?" Dixie brightened.

Johnny rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Nurse came out few minutes ago and said Dr. Early'd be out in a little while."

Stoker walked in and nodded greetings to Dixie. "I miss anything?"

"He hasn't come by yet," Johnny reassured him.

Roy and Mike cleaned off the table, then sauntered over and grabbed several cups of coffee and snacks. They brought them over as Chet and Johnny tried to rouse themselves.

"I hear someone coming," Dixie said, hearing footsteps out in the hallway. A short, Asian female nurse, still in scrubs and hair and foot coverings, entered. "Hi, gentlemen. Oh hi, Dixie. My name is Joyce. I assisted Dr. Early with Mr. Lopez's surgery. Is his family here?"

"They're on their way up from San Diego. They'll be here in the morning," Dixie answered.

"Oh, okay. Well, Dr. Early is walking over right now. Is everyone else here?"

"Uh, yeah," Roy answered, doing a visual check on the crew.

Mike and Roy exchanged a concerned look. "We'd better wake him up," Roy said quietly.

Mike's eyes slid toward the darkened corner for several moments, then turned back to Roy, his expression troubled. He laid a hand on Roy's shoulder, then slipped past him and quietly trudged over to the darkened corner of the room. He bent over the supine form of Captain Stanley, then squatted and spoke in a hushed tone as he laid a hand on his chest and gently shook him. Stanley started, as if waking from a nightmare. He laid back down and turned to his side facing Mike amid a soft, pitiable moan-cry of agony; the raw anguish of one frantic and desperate for sleep.

"How much sleep has he had?" Dixie turned to Roy.

"He only came upstairs about a half hour ago," Roy replied, eyeing Dixie with an anxious expression.

"Oh, you're kidding…."

Mike spoke softly to Cap again, placing a hand at the back of his head, then the side of his face, his thumb gently caressing his temple, then he slowly shook his shoulder.

"Hi, everyone." Dr. Early walked in, still in scrubs that were soaked down the middle and at the armpits, though without his hair and foot coverings. His face was drawn, his hair looking much like Roy's when they'd first brought in Marco all those hours ago.

As the crew gathered around, Dixie kept her eyes on Mike and Cap. It seemed Mike finally roused Captain Stanley into some form of lucid state. Mike stood, offered his hand and helped pull Stanley to a sitting position on the cot, where he slumped in on himself, hands holding the cot's edge.

"Oh hi, Dix. You came at just the right time," Dr. Early offered a quick wave.

"Hi, Joe. Everything go okay?"

"Yeah." He looked around. "Where's Captain Stanley?"

Dixie pointed behind him in the darkened corner.

Stanley braced himself to stand up.

"No, don't get up. I'll come to you," Early had a hand out to stay him. He moved over to Stanley's cot and sat on the corner of the errant desk that was left behind in the vacated office space. Chet and Johnny joined their captain on the cot while Mike and Roy stood around it.

"Okay, the first thing is, he pulled through the surgery and should be okay. I don't' forsee any real complications on that front."

"Yes!" Chet cheered, nodding in triumph.

"Oh, thank God," Dixie breathed out, and she grabbed Roy's shoulder to steady herself, surprised at how much anxiety she really had been feeling all night.

'Secondly, he is in recovery and you can all visit him later in the morning. I'll give Joyce all the information for you."

"Thanks, Doc," Cap said sleepily. "What's his prognosis?"

Dr. Early rubbed his palm. "He has a skull fracture, concussion, compartment syndrome in his left leg which we repaired, fractured ribs, a punctured lung, a broken wrist and a fractured scapula." He looked down, his face distressed. "I'm not gonna lie. It's gonna be a long and difficult recovery. There's also the possibility that his injuries will preclude him from returning to the fire service. Only time will tell. But he is going to need a lot of support as he recovers."

"Oh, you can count on us, Doc," Chet eagerly replied.

"I have no doubt of that," Early chuckled. "Anyway, I'm sure you're anxious to get some shut eye. I know I am."

Muted chuckles sounded all around.

"Thanks, Doc. For everything. Really appreciate it," Stanley said, a weary smile under squinting eyes.

"You bet. Well, let's all get some sleep and we can talk more later."

A chorus of grateful 'thank yous' erupted around the room as Dr. Early and Joyce began to leave.

"Joe, I'll walk down with you," Dixie offered.

"Alright. I'll be right back," Early answered and headed out.

"Well, I guess that's my cue," Dixie said. "Ohhh, that's the best news I've heard all day. I mean, not that he's injured, of course-"

"Oh, yeah. No no, we understand. Trust me," Johnny reassured her with his hand to his chest. "We completely understand."

"Yeah, I mean, it's gonna be a rough ride for him as far as recovery goes, but he's gonna pull through," Roy added with a beaming smile.

"I am so glad. Sure, recovery will take a while and it'll be a difficult road for him. But he's alive and he's gonna be okay."

"That he is. That he is," Stanley said, rubbing his hands together as a smile lit his features.

As the guys moved around and prepared to settle in for the rest of the night, Dr. Early's face appeared in the doorway. "Dix, you ready?"

"Yeah. Alright, fellas. Get some sleep. I'll leave a note for Dorothy about this room and Marco's family."

"We appreciate you looking after us," Johnny said.

"You've been a godsend," Chet replied.

"Thank you so much, Dixie. It really is appreciated," Roy said.

"What they said," Mike added.

"My pleasure, fellas. It's what anyone would do for family. Tell Marco I've been thinking about him, okay? I'll see you all later. Oh-!" and she hopped over to the snack cart to see what needed refilling.

"I already took that bunk, Gage," Chet complained.

"I don't see your name on it, Chet," Johnny replied with a huff.

"Of course, it doesn't have my name on it, John. But it does have my jacket."

"That's not your jacket, that's Roy's!"

Chet looked around. "Alright, which one of you jokers moved my jacket?"

"Has it occurred to anyone that maybe I had dibs on that cot?" went Roy's unheard remark.

"Well, why don't you just take that cot, Chet?"

"Because I can't sleep in the middle of the room, Gage! I need to be near a wall."

"Well then move the cot. They are portable!"

"Oh, cryin' Jiminy, would you guys shut up and just go to sleep?" came Cap's irritated and entirely un-listened to order from his renewed lying position on his cot.

"Well then you take it if it's not such a problem for you."

Dixie rolled her eyes and stifled a laugh as she quickly made for the door. She headed back to the ER with Dr. Early, feeling a newfound brotherly warmth toward the men on A-shift at Station 51.

fin

A/N: Marco does return to duty because I refuse to let this kind of reality ruin a perfectly lovely Universe which is inhabited by our favorite fire crew. :)