Chapter 17

By the time Dixie McCall finished her shift, changed out of her less than pristine uniform, and headed for her car, the rain that had been threatening to return all day after the morning's hour of clear skies did so with a vengeance. It poured down in sparkling sheets tilted sideways by the accompanying wind. She sat for a long moment in her blue Mustang and contemplated the mesmerizing ballet of liquid dancing its way down the already fogged up window.

With a shrug of resignation, she struggled out of her pale pink raincoat and draped it carefully on the front seat beside her so that it would drip downwards onto the floor mat. The matching rain scarf that had protected her hair was tossed straight onto the floor with a grimace; it wasn't very fashionable but it had done its job nicely. The white bag containing Johnny's prescription and Tylenol she tucked into the glovebox; the large lidded bowl that held piping hot soup was nestled securely in the top of her handbag. This she stowed upright on the floor with the handle looped around the emergency brake. Unless she was forced to stop suddenly or take a wild corner, the contents of the bowl and of her purse would hopefully remain where they were.

Defrost on high and wipers flying at top speed, she navigated the busy streets with concentration. A last cup of coffee hurriedly gulped before she left the hospital had given her a jolt of adrenaline to keep her alert; she had kept an eye on the weather and had anticipated the additional rain. A wet start to her shift and now it was ending the same way….

Fingers tapping impatiently on the leather wrapped steering wheel, she finally made the turn into her friend's parking lot and luckily snagged a front spot as another car departed it. On went the raingear once again and she executed a fast but dignified trot down the water pocked sidewalk to the locked door of Johnny's building. She used her key to enter the lobby and paused inside to slide her shoes against the mat and divest herself once again of the hat and coat.

The elevator took its usual sweet time to reach the ground floor; Dixie entered leaving a dark trail of water on the rose patterned carpet from both the raingear slung over her arm and her low heeled shoes. The rug in the foyer had soaked up the moisture but the wood floor in the lift left the drops in ropey, liquid mosaics. She contemplated the pattern with a critical eye and decided that wood floors would have no place in the house she hoped to purchase soon, at least in the high traffic areas.

She shrugged at her optimism and slid her hand into and down the side of her purse for her cigarettes, trying not to dislodge the soup and the bag balanced on top. The elevator settled with a jerk onto the fourth floor and the doors slid smoothly open, revealing a shapely brunette waiting who was stabbing a red stiletto heel impatiently into the rug. She brushed past Dixie and thrust an equally sharp fingernail against the first floor button.

"Men!" She exclaimed, popping her gum in a rapid staccato of noise while slinging her oversized bag onto the floor with a thud. "Try to surprise 'em and get the brush off, if you know what I mean? Who needs 'em, anyways?"

Snapping her bag closed, the pack of smokes still buried, the startled nurse stared speechlessly at her and decided to let the moment slide; it wasn't worth her time or frustration to admonish the obviously perturbed girl about her rude behavior. She simply nodded in understanding and strolled purposely out of the Otis box and down the hallway, feeling dowdy in her comfortable square heeled shoes and pale blue pantsuit with a scarf knotted casually about her neck. Well, maybe it wasn't so much dowdy as just the rather unsettled feeling of being older and "not with it". For the young lady had been garbed in tight, ripped jeans and a white oversized sweater, looking more like she had shopped at a thrift store then at one of those name brand designer stores in the mall. Definitely wasn't suitably attired for the weather outside, but Dixie decided it probably wouldn't even faze the agitated young woman.

"Pity, pity, pity," she said out loud as she reached the door of Gage's apartment and realized she was still wallowing in that bottomless bog of unhappiness she had been stuck in all day. It was an easy place to stay, apparently. She knocked softy on the door several times, not wanting to startle Johnny awake if he was still sleeping.

She flinched back when the door jerked open three seconds later and his frustrated voice flew through the narrow opening. "I told you Cheryl, I'm not….."

An embarrassed pause and then John flung the door wide open, looking sheepish and disheveled. "Um, sorry Dix, I thought you were…"

"A very angry young lady, dressed in high heels and jeans, that almost knocked me over rushing into the elevator," Dixie finished for him, stepping inside and smiling as Johnny grabbed the red t-shirt slung over his arm and pulled it on over his bare chest. He hastily snapped the blue jeans threatening to slide down his hips and closed the door, raking the other hand through his hair.

Still grinning at his awkwardness, she strolled over to his kitchen counter and set her purse on it. She purposely kept her back to him to allow him time to regain his composure; she fished out the pill bag first and then carefully placed the still warm bowl of soup next to it. Her fingers finally closed over the elusive pack of cigarettes but she dropped it when she heard the coughing behind her.

Once John got it under control and straightened up from his braced position against the wall, Dix handed him a glass of water. "A bit congested from all that water?"

"Yeah, a little bit," he admitted, holding out his palm and accepting the two antibiotic pills she shook into it. He swallowed them and chased them down with another cautious sip of water.

"I take it Cheryl arrived unannounced and woke you up?" She guessed, correctly, as he scowled and nodded his head.

"The girl just won't take the hint that I, well, that I'm not interested. She must have pounded on the door for at least five minutes before it woke me up; I nearly broke my neck trying to get my jeans on, fell flat on my as.., uh my butt, before I answered. Thought it was an emergency, you know, someone needed help…" he trailed off, running a hand once again through his newly shorn locks. He pushed away from the supporting wall and plodded on bare feet over to the loveseat, dropping into the sagging cushion with a resigned look. He threw his head back against the fabric, the dark hair looking suspiciously damp.

Sweat, probably, his fever must have broken while he was sleeping, Dixie decided. She went back to the counter and retrieved the new thermometer from the pharmacy bag, shaking it down as she moved in front of him.

"Let's see if your temp is back to normal before I dose you with some chicken soup," she suggested firmly, holding the stick up to his mouth. He groaned but took the mercury filled rod and obediently stuck it between his lips.

"Mm, 98.8, that's pretty good, John," Dixie said, peering at the number. "Do you have alcohol in your bathroom so I can clean this?"

"Under the sink, just ignore the clothes on the floor, ok?" He mumbled, stretching out his legs and closing his eyes, apparently not really too concerned about what she thought about his housekeeping.

She took care of the thermometer and deposited it in the small metal cabinet above the sink. The only clothes she noted in the otherwise clean room were a pair of faded blue pajamas, tossed carelessly over the tub ledge and partially dangling onto the floor. The damp looking material confirmed her suspicions about his fever breaking; she resisted the urge to scoop them up and play mother to the man in the other room. He was an adult, after all, and no matter what their history was together, he would only tolerate so much. He was so much like….

"Are you ready for that soup, Johnny?" She queried brightly as she went back into the living room, blinking back the tears that had gathered before they cascaded down her cheeks and left a telltale track of mascara. He must have heard something in her voice, however; his eyes flew open, he sat up straight, and he regarded her with concern.

"What's wrong?"

She ignored the question for a moment and instead busied herself with getting the lid off the bowl and retrieving a spoon from the silverware drawer. By the time she had torn off a paper towel and turned around with everything in her hands, she had managed to school her features into a pleasant but bland expression. "There's absolutely nothing wrong."

Johnny shook his head. "You can fool those doctors over at the hospital but not me with that expression. You were thinking about the past, weren't you? Mainly…about Ryan?"

"Ryan…." Dixie repeated in an emotionless voice, sighed, and handed over the things she was clutching tightly with a white knuckled grip. She dropped down beside him and canted her eyes sideways to avoid looking at him directly. He stared steadily back at her averted head, his sad expression telling her that he wasn't feeling anywhere near one hundred percent yet. Usually he tried to jolly her out of her bad moods, even if it was just a goofy grin. And there was something else, too, in his eyes, a fleeting flash of a barely suppressed emotion that he quickly covered with dark lashes.

"I'm sorry Dixie, I really am. Every time you see me, I just remind you of him." He shook his head again in a negative gesture, nearly sloshing the broth out of the bowl with the movement. "We work too closely together; I should never have done the paramedic thing, especially out of that Carson station."

She finally turned her head and tried a smile that trembled a bit but remained in place. "Nonsense, it has nothing to do with you working out of Rampart. And as far as you reminding me of Ryan, well, that's definitely a good thing, John. He's the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm having a very melancholy day, that's all. The rainy weather, seeing you hurt and sick, and my "woe is me" mood have just all added up to one miserable lady."

A snort of disbelief met her earnest statement but Dixie understood that it was a quick reaction, and didn't necessarily mean he didn't believe her. She hoped he did, because it was the truth, mostly anyways. Ryan WAS the best thing that had ever occurred in her life, but seeing Gage almost every day did remind her of what she had lost, in addition to the good parts. It wasn't his fault though, and she wondered how she could persuade him of that.

A lengthy silence followed, broken only by the sound of soup being swallowed. Halfway through the contents, Johnny abruptly stopped and wiped his mouth with the paper towel. He set the bowl down on the milk crate next to the loveseat and got up, his movements slow and carefully orchestrated. Dixie frowned as she caught his lean to the right, clearly favoring his left side, and also saw the hand that went to his stomach and then immediately dropped to his side. She opened her mouth and then shut it firmly.

He didn't say anything until he had reached the counter in the tiny kitchen, where he deposited the soup. He fiddled with the lid for a moment before half turning to look over his shoulder at her. "I'm okay, just still sore."

She pursed her lips, amused at his mind reading, and wondered whether to believe his words. But he had not argued with her about Ryan even though he had expressed skepticism in a polite way. He was probably telling the truth about his health, although he could be distorting it a bit. She knew all about his encounter with the runaway hose on his overtime shift at another station, and also understood that his safety belt during that canal rescue had probably left more bruises on his stomach and back. Was it all that, or was his stomach rebelling from the food? Then again, it could be both.

"How's the head?" She asked instead, rising and joining him at the counter.

"You mean, is it still hard as a rock? Yep…." He forced a laugh and finally got the lid snapped in place. He stowed the leftovers in the fridge and leaned casually against the counter with arms crossed, smiling at her reaction.

"Johneeeee….." she drawled out in protest. "You know very well what I mean."

"Yeah, I still got a bit of a headache, but nothing like it was earlier. And, my stomach is just rolling around in appreciation of the soup."

"I hope so; I had Greta make it from some of the chicken stock she was going to use tomorrow for one of the specials. When I told her it was for you, well, I barely got out of there with just this small bowl."

Johnny splayed a hand across his chest indignantly. "You mean Greta, as in the lady who manages the cafeteria?" His lips jutted out in an exaggerated pout. "I thought she liked me."

It was Dixie's turn to laugh, and she poked a lacquered fingernail into his arm playfully. "She does, that's the problem. She must have whipped up ten gallons of this stuff and wanted me to take the whole batch. When I said I couldn't manage it, she wanted to know your address so that she could drop it off when she got off shift."

"You didn't…" he began with an indignant huff, and just as quickly cut it off when the finger jabbing him turned into a fist.

"Of course I didn't, John, give me a little credit here," she harrumphed.

He rubbed his arm and took a hasty step away from her. "Geez, Dix, maybe you should take up boxing as a second career. Say, how DID it go last night in your debut? I'm sorry I missed it."

She smiled in genuine delight. "I think it went…"

The sound of a buzzer cut into her answer and Johnny rolled his eyes at the ill-timed interruption He answered the door intercom with an abrupt "yes?" and held up a staying hand at her as she gathered up her raingear and purse.

"It's Marco Johnny, ok if we come up?"

"Sure, sure," he answered in surprise, shrugging his shoulders and making a wry face as he buzzed his coworker plus one in the lobby door. He touched Dixie on her rain coated shoulder as she opened the door. "Thanks for bringing the stuff. You're going to tell me how it went, right?"

She settled her purse and tucked a hair behind her ear. "Of course I will." She stepped into the hallway and he took a step after her. She paused, her face and tone now serious. "We're going to have a talk about Ryan too, John Gage, and soon, very soon."

He dipped his head but nodded, apparently more than willing to let the promised talk happen at a different time. He sighed as she turned toward the elevator; it was a sound so soft that she wouldn't have heard it even with her sharp hearing if it wasn't for the despair that echoed from it. She drew a deep breath and bit her lip, every nerve in her body responding to the misery radiating from him. She wanted desperately to help, fix the problem, whatever it was that was eating at him and he had almost concealed from her. But the groaning of the ancient elevator as it creaked its way upwards stopped her and she knew she couldn't do it, at least not right now. Lopez and someone else were approaching and she understood Johnny, enough, to know that he wouldn't appreciate any show of sympathy or help in front of other people any more than he would tolerate the instinctive mothering she had almost succumbed to earlier. She rotated again, wishing fervently that she could do more than suggest a few words of lame advice.

"Oh and Johnny…? If your headache gets worse, there's Tylenol in that bag."

"Yes Nurse McCall," he answered dutifully, finally lifting his head and waving an acknowledging hand at her.

"Incorrigible," she muttered loudly, hoping he heard her and maybe cracked a smile at the insult; she was pretty sure he would take it in the spirit intended.

She reached the elevator and punched the button with her thumb, realizing that she had meant to tell him about Roy asking how long they had known each other. Johnny's new partner appeared to be a caring, intelligent, down to earth guy who knew what he was doing, both in work and his personal life. She was pretty sure the simple question had been asked because Roy DeSoto was curious in a good way and wanted to know more about the man that would have his back. Unlike Kelly Brackett, she thought they made a good fit as paramedic partners. Different in many ways, yet both had the needed compassion, common sense, and quick thinking needed for the job.

But the usually confident Johnny seemed to need his own reassurance right now or something else; she couldn't quite put her finger on it but there was something going on with him that went deeper than just the physical injuries he had suffered. It had to do with the job, obviously; perhaps a particular rescue or victim had gotten to him? She knew he sometimes took things too personally, found it hard to brush things off. And once he had become a paramedic his sensitivity had seemed to increase. The last couple of weeks he had been all over the place with his moods, at least with her, which coincided with him becoming an actual paramedic. It had never happened while at work, though, only when they had met up several times for coffee or beer as had become their habit over the last several years. She was glad that he felt comfortable enough with her to let himself go but yet he still couldn't seem to confide in her.

The thunk of the elevator as it reached the floor caught her attention and she watched in interest to see who was accompanying Marco. He came out first with a rolled up umbrella in one hand and two brown paper bags clutched by the rolled up tops in the other.

"Come on Kelly, close that thing up and quit making a mess. Eh, hi Miss McCall, were you visiting Gage?" The annoyance in Lopez's voice turned to pleasure as he caught sight of the waiting nurse, whose lips were pursed in mirth as she glimpsed a rounded part of whom she assumed was Chet Kelly.

"Well, hi Marco, and yes I was visiting John; I brought some things he needed." She craned her neck to see better for Kelly was still struggling with something in the elevator. He finally came out backwards wrestling with a huge, opened umbrella that was so big it looked like it belonged on a beach. The fact that it had wide blue stripes on a white background made her wonder if it was indeed a pilfered shade from one of the numerous beaches or poolside tables in Los Angeles.

"I think I got it," a frustrated voice floated out from the depths of the canopy; Chet jumped backwards as a definite click sounded and the nylon folded inwards. He grinned triumphantly and hoisted the bulky umbrella up to his shoulder, staggering a bit as he got it settled.

"That you did," Marco commented drolly, glancing at Dixie and shrugging his shoulders. He looked at her again, apparently noting her empty hands. He proffered his neatly rolled umbrella. "Say, why don't you take this? It's really pouring out there, even worse than it was earlier."

"That's ok, I'm parked fairly close," she started to say, stopping abruptly as he shook his head and pushed it into her hand.

"You'd be doing us both a favor. That circus tent Chet has there is big enough for our whole crew, and it really takes two men to control it." He snickered and shifted his attention to his friend, who glared in irritation at the laugh. "I almost lost him in the parking lot when a gust of wind caught him and he became airborne! It was like Mary Poppins all over again!"

"Ha-ha, that's really funny, good buddy," Chet said sarcastically, stepping forward to take one of the bags from Lopez's hands. Dixie and Marco hastily stepped backwards as the heavy handle to the umbrella swung with Chet, nearly knocking them both over. He sputtered and twisted; they immediately ducked as the shiny metal cap on the top whipped passed and nearly beheaded them. A shared look passed between them and they split apart, going in opposite directions and stopping a safe distance away from the weapon wielding lineman.

"Stand still, Chet, before you hurt someone!" Marco commanded, but there was no anger in his voice, just disbelief and a hint of embarrassment.

Dixie gave a little shake of her head, hair slapping against her rain proofed shoulders, and raised a hand to get Kelly's attention. "Chet, why don't you leave that against the wall here and pick it up when you leave? I don't think Johnny has room in his apartment for that, um, umbrella."

"Okay, okay," he answered sheepishly, dropping the monster down on the floor and nudging it against the wall with his foot. It took him several pushes to get it against the wide trim and out of harm's way. When he had it safely stowed, he stood back and surveyed it with a critical eye. "You know, it is pretty big for an umbrella…"

"I don't think big is the word for it," Marco said under his breath, just loud enough for Dixie to hear as she moved closer to him. He turned and looked at her, his expression serious. "How's Johnny doing?"

"He's better, much better. Thanks for the use of the umbrella, Marco; I'll return it via Johnny or Roy on your next shift."

"Oh, no hurry, it'll probably be awhile before we see rain again and besides, I have a dozen more of these things scattered around the house." He nodded at her as she stepped into the elevator and waited until the doors had closed before marching over to his partner and handing him the lighter of the two bags. "Here, take your bag."

"Yeah sure, I could have carried it, ya know," the curly haired Irishman complained good-naturedly, snatching it and following Lopez towards Johnny's apartment, but only after a last, over the shoulder lingering glance at his prized possession.

~eeeEEEeee~

Johnny watched the men and Dixie with a raised eyebrow and lips twisted slightly upwards. Her parting insult had cheered his dull mood slightly as well as giving him hope that she wasn't as melancholy as she appeared to be. His bruised features smoothed into a blank expression as he mulled over the short visit and her promise about the future talk about Ryan. Rubbing his churning stomach absently, he considered everything she had said as well as the way she had acted. She usually kept a pretty tight lid on her emotions and he couldn't help but wonder what had set her off. She had come out of his bathroom fighting back tears and as far as he knew, there wasn't anything in that little room that should have caused her such distress. Seriously, it wasn't that dirty! She was tired, he could see that; hell, even a blind man would be able to pick up on that. But it wasn't like she had never experienced that before…they all had in the careers they had chosen, often on every shift. So there was something else happening in her life, or he really had been the cause. It was another thing to add to his growing list of mistakes and just plain screw-ups in the last couple of weeks, both on the job and off.

He gave a minute shake of his head, forcing his own depressing downward thoughts away, eyes still tracking the strange and questionable antics of Chet Kelly. That was one odd guy, for sure. A bit of a smile returned as he watched the pole wielding lineman almost decimate both his partner and the equally nimble Dixie McCall. Another minute passed and it looked like they had persuaded Kelly to abandon his umbrella; Johnny watched as Dix finally stepped into the elevator and his two crewmates waited for the doors to close before heading in his direction.

Tearing his eyes away from the approaching pair, he tried a tentative stretch, wincing as muscles protested. His whole body hurt, but now that he was up and moving he definitely felt better than he had when he went to bed. His fever had broken several hours ago; it wasn't a pleasant experience waking up soaked with sweat but a quick rinse off in the shower plus clean sheets on the bed had easily fixed the problem. He had succumbed to the call of cotton and a soft blanket, falling back asleep instantly. His sound and dreamless rest had lasted only about thirty minutes, however, before clueless Cheryl had arrived. He knew he had been rude to her but since it hadn't been the first time he had tried to thwart her bold advances, he didn't feel too bad about it. At least he was pretty sure he had been clear about his feelings…whatever her take on the matter, he knew he'd probably not seen the last of her, simply because she lived in the same building on the second floor.

"Hey Gagey baby, how ya doing?" Chet's hearty and rather loud question derailed his line of thought regarding forward girls and their behavior; it took him a second to focus in on both the inquiry and the concern that hovered within the playful words.

"Umm, ok, better, definitely better, what brings you guys around?" He backed up into his living room and lifted his hands questioningly.

Kelly followed and promptly slapped a bag into his hands, grinning widely. "Well that was a pretty uncertain answer! We stopped by to see you, ya big dummy, and bring you some nourishment."

"Nourishment, huh," he commented doubtfully, hefting the light bag and then peering inside. A bag of oyster crackers was nestled inside. "Crackers…"

"Sure Johnny, they'll help settle your stomach, along with this." Marco slid the bag off of his gift and wiggled the six pack of ginger ale.

"Hey, that's nice, real nice of you guys to bring this for me." He laid the bag down on the counter and accepted the pop, slinging it into the nearly bare refrigerator. "I need to let my stomach settle a bit before I try these, though. Dix brought me some chicken soup and that's all I can handle right now."

John didn't add that the combination of rich, tasty broth and wide noodles was bouncing around in his gut, equivalent to the jumping of a kid on a trampoline. It was too much too soon, apparently, for he also felt like he was standing on the swaying deck of a schooner. Not a good combination and he gulped and licked his lips, trying to think of something else.

"Hey man, I like your fireplace," Marco enthused, placing a light hand on the medic's shoulder and guiding him towards the loveseat as he gushed over the inanimate object. He hadn't missed the green cast settling over Johnny's skin or the convulsive swallowing that followed. The guy was about to lose his cookies, or soup, so maybe if he distracted him….

It seemed to work for once Gage had semi reclined on the seat, his color improved and he was able to answer the fireplace questions with fairly lucid answers. After he admitted freely that he didn't know much about the architecture of the building, Marco decided that his answers were more the result of unfamiliarity then exhaustion, illness, or injury. Relieved, he relaxed his twenty question routine and instead enjoyed their conversation as they easily segued into baseball and which teams were going to play themselves into the World Series. Chet perched on the end of the convertible chair and added a few choice words about the statistics, as well as his thoughts on the final Dodger's games against Houston.

Johnny listened to the heated argument, hands laced loosely over his grumbling stomach, as Chet carried on about the starting pitcher. Kelly's voice rose as he gestured wildly; Lopez merely smiled as he interjected a word here and there to keep his friend going. He inclined his head slightly and winked at Johnny. The paramedic gave him an understanding grin in return and jumped slightly as his intercom buzzed again. He lurched to his feet and padded on cold feet back to the box by his front door, pushing the button and leaning on the wall with a braced hand.

"Hello?" He queried, glancing quizzically over at his crewmates, who were making noises.

"Johnny? It's Roy…."

"Ah, hey Roy, I'll buzz you in…." He pressed the release button and then unlocked his front door, which Kelly had thoughtfully secured. He wondered how Roy's ankle was doing as he turned back to the guys and folded his arms. "Ok, what's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing, you just might get a few more visitors, that's all," Chet replied innocently, smirking.

John stared at him, trying to figure out what that meant. "You mean the rest of the guys are going to make an appearance? Stoker and the….the captain?"

"Sure, why not?" Marco replied with a shrug. "You're one of us, and we take care of our own."

"Huh," was Johnny's eloquent answer to that statement; he mulled Marco's words over as he waited for his new partner to arrive.

It was rather an unexpected and strange concept, having his whole shift show up at his home to check on him. It wasn't that any of his other crewmates , from Station 10 and the one before that, had been to his apartment – they had, just not every single one of them in the same day. In fact, he'd shared an apartment with several firefighters and even a couple of cops until he had moved into this place at the beginning of the year. He supposed it was just the level of personal attention he was getting, from guys he barely knew, that was disconcerting. It was just a simple case of the flu, after all…..

~TBC~

A/N – to answer the comments/questions from the reviews of the last chapter:

Mike Stoker's marital status - In the Season 1, Episode 4 – Brushfire, the firefighter trapped under the tree limb makes a comment about Mike being a good guy, no matter what his wife thinks – so it looks like Stoker is married in the early episodes but then later on is possibly not? A tempting idea for a future story…...

Roy's daughter was never named in the series, so I used the name Lisa for a particular reason – which will be revealed in my "F" story.

Thanks for reading, commenting, and following as this first fan fiction of mine draws to a close.