Chapter 3
An uneasy silence settled between the occupants of the squad as they neared the Carson station. Johnny had enthusiastically filled Roy in on his encounter with the new nurse; this chance meeting had resulted in a date planned for their next day off together. That subject exhausted, he had tried to engage Roy in further conversation but had drifted into a sullen reticence when DeSoto had relapsed into his grunted one word answers. Well, ok, maybe he shouldn't have used the words earplugs, your wife, and the answer to your problems all in one sentence, but still…. The dark haired medic gazed out the window of the passenger door, carefully not looking in the direction of his partner, with his arm laid out along the door and fingers curled tightly around the frame of the opened wing window.
When the squad backed to a stop, John jumped out and waited only long enough to observe which direction DeSoto was headed; Roy stalked into the day room and Gage immediately trekked towards the locker room. He needed a little space from his moody partner before he ended up booting him in the rear. He had already mistakenly put the other foot into his mouth with his blurted out comments and he so needed to keep both of those lethal weapons firmly planted on the floor where they belonged. He paused when Chet appeared in the doorway of the dorm; he rested a hand on the passenger door of the Crown, peering quizzically towards the other fireman when he whistled at him and waved frantically. "Pssst, Gage, where's Roy?"
Johnny jerked a thumb towards the kitchen. The curly haired man immediately beckoned Gage to follow him back into the sleeping area and despite serious misgivings as to the wisdom of doing anything that Chet asked, the curious paramedic strolled after him.
Kelly was standing by the side of his bed, hands on hips. Once Johnny stopped at the end of his bunk, he reached under his pillow and pulled out a well-worn magazine.
"Listen, Gage, Roy's still in his funk, right?" At his nod, Chet continued. "That's what I thought. Now here in this magazine is a great article that tells guys what to do and say when they've had an argument with their other half. Either you need to get DeSoto to read this, or you need to read it and enlighten your partner on what he needs to do."
Chet thrust the literature towards Johnny, inadvertently causing a three page centerfold to drop open. Seeing what was displayed on the undulating pages caused Gage to take a huge step backwards, hands raised to fend off the rapidly approaching magazine.
"Chet!" He hissed, voice lowered to an outraged whisper. "Cap sees you with that he'll hang you from the hose tower, by that caterpillar mustache of yours, upside down!"
"What's the big deal? You have a pinup in your locker, most of the single guys in the department do!" Chet retorted, voice rising slightly, as he clumsily folded and tucked the pages up into the magazine. John tipped his head to read the cover, and then retreated farther backwards, finally dropping onto the end of his partner's bed. He clapped a hand onto his forehead in exasperation.
"Kelly, the pictures in the lockers have some sort of clothing on, and they're not doing….doing that! Where'd you get that from anyways? Bodacious Babes… what a name!"
Kelly snickered and closed the gap separating the two men, waving the magazine. "My brothers, babe, my brothers. I'm telling you, there really is a great article in here about relationships. You gotta read it!"
He thumbed open the magazine to an article and tossed the magazine into Gage's lap. The other man immediately recoiled and gingerly lifted the offending thing by a corner; he winged it back towards Chet.
"Get it outa here! Man, I don't believe you! Guys don't READ these things Kelly!" Johnny wiped his hands down the front of his pants and stood up, shouldering past his crewmate who stood, mouth open, holding the now slightly rumpled publication in confusion.
"Geesh, I read them….." he griped, moving back to his bed and sliding the magazine back under his pillow. "Try to help someone out, and see what happens!"
He paused, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. He cast a furtive glance towards the doors and pulled the magazine back out. He flipped rapidly through the pages, stalling for several seconds at the centerfold and studying it intently. Slapping it shut, he pushed it out of sight back under his pillow. "Ok, so maybe he does have a point…"
After scrubbing his hands and trying to banish the unpleasant thoughts that had prompted this desperate action, Johnny decided to head for the kitchen and try to make amends with his troubled friend. When he entered the kitchen, Marco was sprawled on the couch reading the newspaper. Stoker was standing at the counter, peeling potatoes, while Roy sat to his left at the head of the table, cutting up already peeled carrots. Their captain was standing, one shoulder leaning on the wall, and conversing with someone on one of the black station phones.
John grabbed a carrot and sprawled in the chair across from Roy. Chomping the orange vegetable in half, he chewed while scrutinizing the chopping and peeling going on. Tilting back in his chair on two legs, he angled his head to view their captain and paused in his carrot crunching to hear the conversation.
"Look, honey, start over again from the beginning…..yep, that's right… Whose woods these are I think I know…ok, go ahead…. Whose woods these are I think I know. Right… His house is in the village, though…..good, that's right…keep going…."
Swallowing hard, Gage set down the piece of carrot still in his fingers and slouched down in his still angled chair. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the words of the poem, silently blending the fragmented lines together to create a poem. Somewhere, somehow he had heard this before, maybe in school….. Silence reigned over the room as all the firemen slowed their activities to a bare, quiet minimum in order to eavesdrop on the memorization lesson, entranced by the unusual words being spoken in the station.
Chet froze in the doorway, the retort on his lips about the bitten piece of carrot lying in solitude in front of Gage effectively silenced, as he took in the scene before him. Marco was sitting forward on the ugly black couch, a newspaper lowered and resting on his forearms but being completely ignored, as he gazed in interest towards the table. Mike was leaning against the cabinets facing Chet with a leg casually crossed, a half peeled potato in one hand, and a peeler held aloft in the other. He too was staring forward with his head slightly tilted, listening intently.
Roy, however, was studiously studying the expanse of table in front of him. A pile of chopped and peeled carrots lay abandoned in the triangular shape provided by his hands, which were lying motionless and palms down in front of him. Kelly studied his still form for a moment, thinking that John really should have read that article about relationships because he was definitely going to need it before this shift was over. At least Roy wasn't talking to himself anymore, but Chet wondered if that was a good thing. Maybe not, because that meant that good old Roy was probably internalizing everything again, and would definitely be taking flight on a guilt trip soon to parts unknown. And even though the guilt didn't involve his partner this time, Johnny would still be going along for the ride, no doubt hanging on for dear life onto the wing of the plane instead of being safely secured into a first class seat. Just the way those two were, Chet reflected; when one of them ran into a problem, the other one would undoubtedly be there to help drag him out of it.
Shaking himself out of his contemplation, Chet turned his attention to what everybody in the room, well almost everyone, seemed to be fixated on. He realized that Captain Stanley was holding an apparently lengthy conversation with one of his three kids; judging by the one sided conversation he could hear the kid was trying to memorize a poem for school and their Cap was displaying an amazing amount of patience in assisting the endeavor. The lineman listened for a moment to the words but after hearing the same line repeated three times lost his own restraint and shuffled forward into the room.
The Cap's eyes lifted briefly in acknowledgement of the entrance of Kelly. He then settled his shoulder further into the wall in the small space that graced the wall between the shelf that jutted out below the two phones and the heating vent. He rested an elbow on the shelf and with a wince switched the phone to his other ear. Chet smiled at him and detoured around the table, heading towards the coffee pot and the liquid caffeine that was always waiting on the stove. Stoker slid sideways to allow Chet to grab a mug out of the drainer, still maintaining his leaning, crossed legged pose. Once Chet moved away from the counter he did resume the potato peeling, however, but kept his body turned sideways towards their captain so that he could still hear the conversation.
Coffee poured and sliding down his throat in a wave of heat, Chet swallowed and stared for a moment at Gage, slyly contemplating how much pressure it would take to tip the chair over with the paramedic still planted in it. The youngest member of the A shift had slouched even further down into the chair, arms crossed and eyes closed. Lifting the mug halfway to his lips, Kelly paused and absently stroked the side of his moustache with one finger, wondering exactly what the other man was thinking about. Why, in fact, was the whole bunch of self-admitted macho firemen so engrossed in the simple words of a poem?
He shook his head and moved forward, stopping at the chair in between the work partners. He rested his hand on the top of the chair and looked to his right at DeSoto, who was still fixated on the seemingly fascinating wood pattern of the table. God only knows what's going through THAT man's thoughts, Chet concluded, could be anything from the poem to how many flowers he was going to have to purchase for his wife after their apparent tiff that morning. There was no way he was going to try and plumb the depths of a married man's intellect, no sir!
Gage on the other hand, though…..Chet turned his head to the left to peer again at John, who still remained lost in his own little world. Probably a world of wheels, gears, and women, not necessarily in that order, Chet speculated; there was no way the often tongue tied Gage was wrangling those rhyming phrases about in his head, unless maybe he was trying to memorize them to impress some chick? Chet snorted, clapping a hand over his mouth as he realized that Roy, at least, had heard his gleeful noise over the droning voice of their leader. He immediately pasted an innocent look on his face and lifted the cup to his mouth.
The sandy haired man slowly turned his head and glared at Kelly, annoyance splashed all over his face. It took only thirty seconds of unblinking scrutiny at the other man before Chet sheepishly slunk off towards the couch, taking his coffee with him. Roy looked back down at the table, then finally moved a hand and swiped it down his face, feeling the start of a headache lightly caressing his temples. He slowly pushed back his chair and got to his feet, carefully picking up the newspaper that the carrots were piled on. He dumped them into the pan that Stoker had sitting on the counter and tossed the paper into the trash can, keeping his back to the room for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. When he turned around he swept the room with a cursory glance, noting with displeasure that his counterpart was watching him with obvious concern. He tried to stifle the sigh that had been relentlessly stalking him since leaving home, but knew he was unsuccessful when he heard the thump of Johnny's chair hitting the floor as he went behind him.
The loud noise of the tones stirred the other four men into action. As the words of the call registered, the paramedics stopped their forward momentum and stepped out of the way as the engine crew donned their coats and climbed into the Firecoach to respond to a dumpster fire. Both men stood staring out into the street as the engine left the driveway; Johnny slapped the button to lower the door and then slowly turned to look at his partner.
"You going to tell me what's really going on with you, Roy?" The younger man moved forward and leaned on the grill of the squad, absently rubbing a finger across the waxed surface of the hood before lifting his head and fixing his gaze on his friend. "Just seems like there's more to it than a fight with JoAnne…."
"Look Johnny, I'm sorry, ok? I know I've been out of line…there's just, I don't know…there's nothing else, just the quarrel." Roy paused, dropping his eyes as John continued staring at him with an odd look, as if challenging the validity of the explanation. Shaking his head in denial, Gage leaned forward across the hood and pointed his finger at him.
"Nah, I'm not buying it," he declared in a slow drawl, punctuating his words by lowering and stabbing the same finger into the glossy paint; Roy was sure if he had been closer that lancing phalange would be poking him in the chest.
He drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and trying to look intimidating. He wanted to back his disbelieving partner into a corner and make him believe he was telling the truth. Only, Johnny was having none of that. A sly smile slithered across his face as he correctly read the other man's posture. He leisurely straightened up, crossing his arms across his chest and planting his legs wide. It was kinda hard to appear threatening when the guy standing across from you was the exact same height, and had a shit eating grin plastered across his face, Roy decided. Forgetting for a moment his earlier insecurities, he relaxed his rigid posture and leaned against the bay wall, his own smile breaking loose and finally making an appearance.
"Something Jo said has been bothering me all day," he finally admitted, unconsciously mimicking Gage's stance by crossing his arms in a defensive gesture, the brief smile already gone as he reflected on the words hurled about early that morning. He pulled away from the wall, dropped his head, and contemplated the cement floor, missing Johnny's wince of sympathy and understanding.
"The comment about you not being a good listener?" John queried softly, leaning forward once again on the hood and propping his head up on one hand, elbow digging in and smudging the wax.
"Yeah, that's the one."
Johnny sucked in a deep breath, carefully considering his next words. Judging by the irritable mood swings the other man had been riding on all day, he figured there were good odds that whatever words left his mouth would be misunderstood or definitely twisted around. "So… are you thinking that what she accused you of is true?"
"Guess so," came the terse reply.
Instantly forgetting his earlier resolve to tread carefully, Johnny jumped into his friend's emotional river with both feet. "Uh huh, and for some weird reason you've been obsessing about this, this, er exaggeration all day? So what exactly explains the paranoia and jumpiness you've been throwing about all day? You haven't exactly been the model paramedic since you stomped into the station this morning."
Lulled into a thirty second respite of complacency, Roy was startled by the rising tone of his partner's voice and the accusations that he knew were true. But still….. He threw up his head and gaped at John, denial and anger ready to spew forth at his insensitive friend. He paused, uncertainty clouding his features as he continued staring forward, noting with slight detachment that his so called buddy had his arms folded once again and had one foot resting on the bumper. There was definite stubbornness evident in every line of his posture as he glared back at Roy.
Swallowing hard in rising dismay and disbelief in the happenings of the last eight hours, including his own reactions and most assuredly his galloping, detouring thoughts, DeSoto slumped back hard against the brick wall and did a slow slide downwards until his rump hit the unyielding floor. He heard the slapping footsteps as Gage rounded the squad and came to a halt in front of him, seeing only the blue clad legs until Gage hunkered down and the rest of him dropped into view.
"Sorry, Roy, I did it again, didn't I? Open mouth, insert giant foot, and then remember a little late that it's your problem we're talking about here, not mine…sorry. In my book, Pally, you listen just fine. You're a damn good paramedic and fireman, and from all accounts you're an even better father. As far as being a husband, well I guess that's between you and JoAnne, but I think that in a couple of days this will all blow over and you guys will, ah, kiss and make up, ya know?"
Speech delivered, John shifted back on his heels and leaned his weight on the rescue truck, carefully observing his friend. Roy looked back, considering the rapidly spoken but unquestionably sincere words. He worried his lip between his teeth and held out his hand.
"Yeah, ok. You're right, unusually so. Help me up, will you Junior?"
Gage twisted his facial features in feigned hurt, an eyebrow rising in what Roy had silently named the "Spock maneuver." He sprang to his feet, however, and grabbed the proffered peace offering and pulled DeSoto to his feet with an exaggerated grunt. Roy simply smiled at the not so subtle reference to his weight and figured he had it coming.
"You want some aspirin for that headache?"
"How do you know that I have a headache?" Roy queried, somewhat mystified, as both men turned into the dayroom.
"Come on, man, we've been partners for what, about a year now? I can read you like a book. In fact, except for today, I probably know you better then J…..ah, never mind. I'll go get some…ummm…..aspirin, yeah, aspirin." Gage beat a hasty retreat out of the room he had just entered and Roy headed for the coffee pot, shaking his head in amusement. Gage was right; he undeniably had the knack of saying the wrong things at the worst times. And yet Dix had pegged Johnny so very accurately when she had summarized the man in a few brief sentences. He might have his awkward and unquestionably strange moments, but the good far outweighed the peculiar.
He grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and poured coffee into them, shaking the pot to see how much was lurking in the bottom. Replacing the pot, he picked up his cup and took a tentative sip, hoping his brave voyage into the unknown wouldn't result in a mouthful of scalding tar. He sighed in appreciation as the strong but decidedly coffee tasting liquid flooded his tastebuds.
Staring around the slightly disorganized area once more, he contemplated the rectangular shaped room that was a big part of his second home. During their downtime, if they weren't sleeping or working on chores, this was where they gathered. Six men, all with different personalities and varied pasts, working and relaxing together for twenty four or even forty eight hours straight. Deep within himself, Roy knew that if he wasn't a team player and a good listener to his crewmates, he would not be here right now. Johnny was completely right.
Roy slammed his fist down on the table. "I am a good listener! Damn it JoAnne, look what you started!"
Sighing, Roy backed up to the table and sat on it, cradling his head in his hands. So, he did his job well here at the station, but what about at home? What was it that was bothering him so much, or maybe bothering his wife this time around? He rubbed his forehead in exasperation, feeling the pounding behind his eyes intensifying. Just where the hell was his apparently lost partner with the aspirin, or had Gage forgotten what he had gone to retrieve?
A thump and a startled yell interrupted his reverie, and he slid off the table in alarm and loped towards the locker room, the muffled sounds emanating from the locker area beckoning him like a trail of breadcrumbs….
A/N: Word in italics and bold above are from Robert Frost's poem "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening." The complete poem will be in the last chapter.