ACT IX

Scene One

"Well don't that beat all." Johnny turned in a full circle, like a model at the end of the catwalk. "I'm impressed," Deyvis went on. "I figured you'd be in-patient at least another month, and out-patient for a few more months after that. At the rate you're going, I think you might get your birthday wish after all. Well done, Man!"

"What wish?" Sarah joined them.

"Work," Johnny grinned at her. "I'm going to be back at work by my birthday."

"Then work you shall have."

"Slow down," Deyvis warned them. "I said 'might.' I don't want to be a wet blanket, and, off the record, I believe you can probably do it; I hope you do. You've come a long way in a short time but you're not 100%. Just because you're out of here faster than expected doesn't mean you don't still have a lot to do before you're cleared to work. It's not like yours is an office job, y'know. Don't be too disappointed if you're not cleared until September or even October. That's still pretty incredible."

Johnny's grin blossomed into a full smile. "Don't worry; I'll do it. You'll see."

"I bet you will at that," Deyvis returned the smile. "I'll see you in the morning, John, right after breakfast. We'll do your final evaluation and, if all the paperwork's in order, you'll be out of here before lunch." He extended his hand. "It's been a privilege." They shook. "A privilege and an honor."

He headed toward the office at the back of the therapy gym while Sarah hooked her arm into Johnny's and led him toward the front door.

"Where're we going," Johnny asked.

"Just the parking lot. I left our basket in the car. Come."

When they reached her car, she opened the passenger door to reveal the picnic basket on the seat. She grabbed it with both hands and they headed back to the building.

While he was still in the wheelchair, Johnny had carried the basket in his lap. When he'd graduated to the walker, Sarah carried it herself and had been ever since. Once free of the walker, he'd offered to take it, he'd even tried insisting, but Deyvis had forbidden it with reminders that he'd just started walking without any support and more warnings to slow down. "How about you let me carry that," he offered, mostly from habit. She stopped and smiled at him, then handed him the basket. He took it eagerly, surprised by how heavy it was. His smile slipped as he wondered if Sarah was really that strong or if he was just still that weak.

"I'm small, but I'm strong, and, of course, I carry that every day, three times a day," she reminded him. "You are not weak, Boychik, you're just not used to the carrying. It will come." She reads me too well, he thought, not for the first time since having met her. "Truly."

Why does that still surprise me? Aloud, he said, "Get out of my head." He tried to look serious, but a second later they were both laughing.

They were soon situated on the patio, where they had shared every meal the weather had allowed, even after Johnny was strong enough to join the other patients in the dining room. Despite efforts to get him there, Johnny had continued his adamant refusal. Concern was expressed that he was "exhibiting antisocial behavior due to situational depression," but routine psychological assessments had quickly dispelled that notion. As Johnny had finally explained when pressed, with Sarah he was guaranteed both good company and, more importantly, he'd stated, good food. Although he no longer needed to be fed, her obviously positive effect on his progress had left his medical team in complete agreement that she should continue with him. Now they were at what had become their table, where Sarah spread a red and white-checkered tablecloth and an old wine bottle with a candle.

"This is new," Johnny remarked as Sarah continued to unpack the basket. She produced two place settings of good china, followed by a pair of champagne flutes, which she had carefully wrapped in paper towels, plastic wrap, and newspaper. Next came china serving dishes, into which she placed the contents of the usual Tupperware, and, finally, a bottle of sparkling cider. "That's why it was so heavy. And why you left it in the car to begin with." She smiled slyly, then bent her head. Johnny politely bowed his while she said the prayer over the food; when she had finished, he reached for the bottle and decanted two glasses. "So what is all this?"

"This will be our last dinner." Johnny's smile faltered. He hadn't realized until this moment how much he'd come to depend on her, and how much he'd miss her once he went home. "It's a celebration, Boychik; you are going home. This is a good thing." He pasted his smile back on and looked up at her. "And if you need me, you know where to find me."

Scene Two

Johnny parked and turned off the motor, but made no move to get out of the car. "Johnny," Roy finally asked, "you ok?"

"Huh?"

"Are you ok?"

Roy was about to repeat the question again when, "Yeah. Let's do this." With that, Johnny climbed from the Rover and hurried into the building with Roy running to catch up.

George Belosi was standing in his doorway, beckoning them. When they entered his office, the first thing Roy noticed, even before the chair that had reclaimed the space that had been cleared for Johnny's wheelchair on their last visit, was the map that had been lowered in front of one wall. As he and Johnny sat down, Roy gripped the arms of his chair, careful to keep the tension from his face.

"Gentlemen," said Belosi took his seat across from them. "I'm afraid there's no time for niceties." He focused on Johnny. "Do you remember anything else? Do you remember anything that happened in that laundry at all?"

Johnny fidgeted in his seat and cleared his throat, but said nothing. "Why the rush," asked Roy.

The ADA looked from one man to the other, then turned his full attention to Johnny. "Webber enlisted in the Marine Corps."

"I thought you weren't going to give him a deal," Johnny leaned forward in his chair. "You said the other one got his deal to ensure his testimony. You said at least one of them would go to jail!" Though he kept himself from shouting, Johnny's anger and frustration were plain.

"That's right. Towne is committed to his end of the deal now, no matter what happens with Webber. He will finish his academic career in a military school and begin his life thereafter in service to his country. Webber didn't get a deal; he enlisted."

"Why would he do that," asked Roy with a calm belied only by the tight grip his hands held on each other. "If he didn't feel like he was getting away with something, then why?"

"Because he ships out to Parris Island at the end of the week. If I can't get the indictment before that happens, then he probably will get away with it."

"But why," Johnny demanded. "How?"

"I've spoken with everyone I can; I even had my boss put in a call to the Pentagon. The problem is, Webber has no record."

"But—" Johnny tried.

"A juvenile record has no bearing. With a criminal record he wouldn't've been accepted to begin with. As far as the Marines are concerned, it comes down to this: if he's indicted before he has to report, he's all mine. If the indictment comes while he's still in training, it should just be a matter of paperwork to get him back from South Carolina, but that's a lot of red tape. If he ships out before all the legal ducks are in a row, I may not be able to get my hands on him at all."

"Damn it!" Johnny was on his feet, pacing behind his now empty chair and Roy. "You have the pledges from the fraternity and Towne. You have my medical records and McCluskey's p—" Roy threw a furtive glance toward the map, then quickly turned away, hoping Johnny hadn't noticed. "You have the doctors and nurses and the witnesses from the laundry, including the guys I work with and a cop!" He gripped the back of his chair. "Why do you need me?"

Belosi indicated the chair. Johnny fell into it. "For now, we're just talking about getting an indictment. I have a very strong circumstantial case, but without you it's just that. circumstantial. Those witnesses can spell out the before and after for the grand jury, and that will take time. You're the only witness to what actually happened. Without you, I'm not sure I can get the indictment in time."

The long silence was finally broken by Roy's soft, "Johnny?"

Johnny rose and went to the door. He paused a moment with his hand on the knob. "I don't remember." He left the door open and strode quickly to the exit.

Roy suddenly felt like a very old man, and, for just a moment as he rose, he looked like one.

"Mr. DeSoto. Roy. Do you think … When this case started, the doctors told me he could be in rehab the rest of the year. It isn't even summer yet, technically, yet I understand he's already out-patient and expected to return to duty the first week of August."

"And?"

"And he's come so far so fast, physically. Is it possible he remembers more than he's letting on?"

Roy looked after Johnny's retreating back. "I'm no shrink. I do think maybe some part of him doesn't want to remember, won't let him remember. And I think he'd despise every second of what you're asking him to do. But if he could stop what happened from happening to anyone else, he would."

Belosi nodded. "Yeah. I guess I knew that." He offered Roy his hand. "If anything changes—"

"We'll be here."

"'We'?" Roy replied with a small smile. "Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"That you know." He nodded toward the map, to what was hidden behind it. "That you've seen all that?"

Roy shook his head. "Not yet. I wish he'd never have to. That was the best part of all the bargaining. That, and putting an end to it sooner. This new development, this means going to court, doesn't it?"

"The grand jury's going to see them, yes. Once I have that indictment, I'll work out a plea deal that includes allocution and jail time, like we discussed. I think Towne might shape up away from Webber. His reaction to your call to the football field, the fact that he came in – I'm hopeful. Not the other way around, though. Webber needs to be locked up. I can work around his memory. I'm sorry I can't do it without those pictures."

"Me, too."

Now Belosi smiled. "You know, in spite of everything, John Gage is a lucky man."

"He's my friend."

Scene Three

"He's here!" Chet yelled as he ran into the day room from the apparatus bay. "You guys ready?"

"Relax, Chet," Marco laughed.

"Where's Cap," Chet demanded.

"Right here, Kelly." Cap strode in casually from his office and headed to the stove, where Mike handed him a cup of coffee. "Thank you, Mike."

Roy smiled and laid a hand on Chet's shoulder. "Marco's right. If you don't relax, he'll know something's up."

"Yeah," Chet agreed. "Yeah."

The men took up positions around the room. Chet grabbed the morning paper and planted himself on the couch in the corner. Marco stood by the bulletin board to look at the notices. Roy was already seated at the table, where Captain Hammer joined him. Stoker leaned casually against the counter by the stove.

"Good morning," came the enthusiastic call from the back door to the bay, followed a moment later by, "Where is everyone?" They heard footsteps move to the locker room. "Roy?" A minute later, coming toward them from the locker room, "Guys? Hello?" Finally, they were joined in the dayroom. "Good morning!"

"Huh?" Chet looked up from his newspaper. "Oh, hey there, Gage."

"Morning, Johnny," said Roy.

"Welcome back, Kid," Stoker patted Johnny's shoulder as he passed him to join Chet on the couch.

"Yeah, uh, thanks Stoke." Johnny stood in the middle of the room, looking around at his friends, mouth agape, brow furrowed.

Cap looked at his watch. "Hey Gage, we have a couple of minutes, why don't you grab a cup of coffee before roll call."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, ok, sure Cap." Johnny couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice. As soon as his back was to them, the eyes of all the men were upon him. He opened the cabinet that housed the coffee cups to be greeted by a loud sproing! He jumped back and spun around to find himself not soaking wet, as expected, but covered in confetti, and surrounded by his friends.

There were good natured slaps to his back, and his own earlier enthusiasm was met and surpassed as they welcomed him back to 51s. Mike pulled out a chair for Johnny, Chet pulled out another to reveal a large box of donuts, which he placed at the center of the table. Marco retrieved plates and poured Johnny a cup of coffee. With one hand, Chet put a donut a plate, with the other he pulled a small birthday candle from his pocket and stuck it into the donut. He quickly lit the candle and placed the plate in front of Johnny. "Good to have you back, Gage."

"Gee, Chet, I didn't know you cared." Johnny smiled up at him sweetly.

"I don't," Chet insisted, "but without you around, the rest of us end up doing the dishes more often."

Johnny blew out his candle while the men joined him around the table. As the laughter faded, Cap held up his coffee cup, followed by the rest of his crew. "Welcome home, John."

Scene Four

"So, listen," Roy began once he and Johnny were alone in the locker room. Johnny pulled his sweater over his head, then turned from his locker to face his partner. "I know it's not for three weeks yet, but JoAnne noticed that we're off on your birthday and, well, Anne and I were wondering, if you don't already have plans, if maybe you'd like to come over for dinner for your birthday."

Johnny grinned. "Actually, we're on that Saturday, so I'm heading to Santa Barbara the weekend before to celebrate with my family. I was just planning on watching the Olympics."

"We have a television at my house."

Johnny's grin grew. "You do at that."

"So would you like to come over?"

"And have JoAnne cook for my birthday? Yeah!"

"Hey, Gage," Marco stuck his head in the door, "telephone."

"Who is it," Johnny called as he pulled on his uniform shirt.

"How should I know," Roy heard the reply as he finished dressing. "Cap said it's for you."

A couple of minutes later Roy found Johnny sitting in the squad, lost in thought. "What's going on?" Johnny seemed not to hear him. "Hey, Junior, who was on the phone?"

The rest of the crew came into the bay for roll call. Once that was done, Roy and Johnny completed their morning equipment check, then headed off to attend to their chore assignments.

Though Johnny remained a bit stand-offish, the mysterious phone call was all but forgotten as the men went about their business. The crew was just about to sit down to lunch when the klaxon sounded.

The vehicles of station 51 pulled up to what looked to be an art gallery. A group of seven people was gathered, all wearing smocks and varying degrees of paint splatter and watching the smoke pouring from the back of the building. Cap issued his orders and the engine crew sprang into action while their Captain approached the group.

"Is everybody out?" No one seemed to hear him. "Excuse me," Cap demanded as Roy and Johnny joined him. The three people standing closest to him turned around. "Did everyone get out? Is there anyone unaccounted for?"

"Roberto," sighed the woman closest to him. She thought a moment. "And... Damn it," she exclaimed in frustration, "I don't remember her name. We've been working on the human form. The model... Our teacher and the model are still in there, in the studio in back." She gestured toward the smoke.

"You're hurt," Roy reached for her hand. It was was red, blistered, and swollen.

She looked at it, surprised. "Oh, yeah." She looked up at Roy. "I think something in the kiln ignited; there was smoke and a terrible smell. My station was closest, so I hit the switch to turn it off. I guess I touched it -- the kiln, I mean. I never noticed the burn. Wow."

"Lopez," Cap called. He assigned Marco to join Johnny, then pulled the HT from his turnout pocket and ordered two ambulances as he headed off to back up Chet on the hose. A minute later, Johnny and Marco, in full gear, were at the back of the building, heading into the studio behind the gallery, while Roy escorted the injured woman toward the squad to treat her and to prepare for the two victims the others would bring out.

Inside, the men found far less in the way of flames than they expected, but plenty of dense smoke. The young woman was on the floor near the door. Although conscious, she was coughing and her face twisted in pain. She held her brassiere and shoes in her hand; her left foot turned at an impossible angle. A few yards further in, near a large sink, lay Roberto, semi-conscious. He held a clean, wet cloth in each hand, holding one over his nose and mouth.

Johnny laid Roberto down on one of the yellow blankets Roy had waiting for them while Marco set the model down on the other. "Hey," she call after him as he moved to return to the hoses, "thank you." Marco smiled and hurried off.

The paramedic team worked in perfect unison, moving smoothly among their three patients, passing first the biophone back and forth as they obtained and shared vital signs, then the items from the drug and trauma boxes needed to carry out Dr. Early's orders.

The ambulances arrived together. Roberto, the most seriously injured of the three, had never fully regained consciousness. He was on oxygen, had an IV, and cardiac leads attached to his chest. Roy took the biophone and drug box, and rode with him in the first ambulance. Johnny and the women were in the second ambulance. Laura, the model, was also still on oxygen, despite her insistence that she didn't need it. Her broken ankle had been splinted and pain medication administered. The art student, Deborah, had received a smaller dose of pain medication and her hand was lightly wrapped with a saline-soaked sterile dressing. He knew that, if communication with the hospital became necessary, he could route the call through the ambulance dispatcher. Should either of them need additional medication, though, she would have to wait until their arrival at Rampart. Roy and John had considered calling for a second squad, but in less than the time it would take for that squad to arrive, they would be at the hospital.

Their patients' care taken over by Rampart's doctors, the paramedics restocked their supplies, then headed to the lounge to wait for Chet and the squad.

Waiting. No chores, no rescues, no fire. Nothing to do but wait, nothing to occupy his mind. Johnny jumped from his seat and began pacing the lounge. He finally paused when he caught his partner watching him. "Don't start."

"Johnny—"

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine."

"I don't want to talk about it."

The door opened to reveal Dixie. "Your ride's here." She smiled.

"Great," Johnny muttered. He snatched up the supplies and bolted out the door.

"What's with him?"

Roy sighed. "I don't know. Could be nothing. He got a phone call this morning; it bugged him. He seemed ok today, but now, well … He's definitely bugged."

"Bugged isn't too bad."

"I guess not."

"And didn't you say something about this last fire getting in the way of lunch?" Roy grinned. "Why don't you go get him something to eat. Maybe then he'll feel better. Or at least more willing to talk."

"Thanks, Dix." He ran out to join Johnny in the squad.

Scene Five

"I think Roy's mad at me." He kicked a pebble by his left foot. "I think all the guys are mad at me." He toed the spot where the pebble had been. "Except maybe Cap. I think Cap sort of understands, maybe, a little."

"Do you?"

"Do I what," he snapped. He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Not to worry, Boychik. I understand."

After the art studio fire and the hospital follow-up the day before, Johnny had grown more preoccupied. Though he stayed focused on the job, his mood between runs only darkened as the day wore on. He spent a restless night and had managed to snap at each of crewmates in the hour between the wake-up tones and end of shift.

When the shift did end, Johnny didn't even linger long enough to change out of his uniform. He bolted from the station with no real plan, but soon found himself parked across the street from the Wexler Pavilion. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when he heard the tap at his window.

He went around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. The only conversation was her directions to the small cafe where they now sat at one of the two small outdoor tables, each nursing a cup of coffee.

"Are you sure you won't get into trouble at work?"

Sarah smiled. "Before I came to you, when I first saw you parked there, I went inside and told them a family situation had come up and that I would be back later today."

"'A family situation,' huh?"

"'A family situation,' yes. It will complicate their morning, but there will be no trouble. You, my friend, are another story."

"I'm not in trouble." She looked into his eyes. When he looked away, she sipped her coffee and waited. At last, Johnny said, "Those men who attacked me, remember I told you one of them made a deal to testify against the other?" She nodded. "And the deal?"

"Military school and military service in place of prison in exchange for telling the truth of what he and his friend did."

Now Johnny nodded. After another stretch of silence, he told her, "The other one, the one that one was supposed to testify against, the District Attorney said he was the worse of the two, that he needed to go to jail. That everyone needed for him to go to jail."

"Needed? Past tense?"

"They were going to prosecute. Had a good case, too."

"But?"

Johnny finally met her eyes. "He enlisted in the Marines. He went into basic training before the indictment came down."

"And?"

"And by the time it did he had shipped out."

"So no trial. As I recall, you had concerns about a trial." He clenched his jaw, then nodded. "On the other hand, no trial, no justice."

"I don't know about that," Johnny mumbled into his coffee. He looked up at her. "Maybe they would've gotten him to jail without a trial, or maybe they would have prosecuted …

"I got a call from the DA yesterday." He gulped and swallowed hard. "Webber, that's the guy's name, Jack Webber, he was killed in action." He watched her, waiting for a reaction. Sarah sipped her coffee. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"What would you like me to say, John?"

He sighed. "I don't know. Something. I honestly don't know why I'm so upset."

"This man is dead. He was not a good man, but a man connected to you is dead."

"That's just it; I'm not upset that he's dead. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm glad he's dead. He deserved to be locked up for what he did to me, he didn't deserve to die. I didn't want that."

"But you're not upset about it."

"No, I'm not."

"But perhaps you think you should be?"

"Oh, hell!" He offered her a weak smile. "You're right. It doesn't bother me that he's dead. It bothers me that it doesn't bother me." He pounded the table with his fist. "He did something awful to me, but I'm not a vindictive guy. I've have dedicated my life to helping people. I just can't get myself to care that this guy is dead. What does that say about me, about the kind of person I am?"

"That you're a person." He smiled uncomfortably, surprised that she had answered his rhetorical question. "Do you remember what I told you about forgiveness?"

"I'm working on it. Haven't quite gotten there yet."

Sarah reached across the table and took Johnny's hand. "Lesson for today: when forgiving, start with yourself."