A/N: I know I said this one was complete, but I have a couple of more chapters to add. I hope you don't mind.
Warning: Sexual situation and references.
Alcohol Abuse!
The next day, Johnny sat on the DeSotos' deck, enjoying the quiet sounds of nature The sun had already set, leaving a few streaks of golden hues stretching across the quickly expanding night sky. A gentle breeze ruffled his mussed-up hair; he hadn't had a haircut since his accident, and he didn't intend to get one until he was ready to go back on shift. His casted arm was aching, but he had found a comfortable position for it on the arm of the Adirondack chair, and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard the sliding glass door open.
"Hey, Junior? You have a visitor," Roy stated, walking towards the place where his injured partner sat.
Johnny, heard the shuffling sound of footsteps and the closing of the door. He gingerly opened one eye and released an audible groan.
"Ugh! I thought you said I had a visitor, Roy," he sat up with an exaggerated eyeroll, but a crooked grin let Chet know that Johnny was only razzing him.
"Yea, nice to see you too, Gage," the lineman snickered, pulling a chair over closer to his nemesis. He set a paper sack down beside him. Johnny's comments had let the sneaky Irishman know that he was feeling much better.
"Okay, Kelly, whatcha got in the bag?" Johnny asked, eyeing the bag, suspiciously.
"Well," Chet chuckled, seeing as how you've got a broken bone and all… um, and since Roy said you were still on pain meds… And since all the guys had so much fun talking about some of your greatest rescues…" The lineman hesitated, giving Johnny an evil grin. "I just brought Roy and me a little something to remind you that you were lucky to break your arm instead of something else."
Johnny's happy face grew darker and he shifted his position in the seat. His arm no longer bothered him, but he was beginning to feel a dull ache elsewhere. "You didn't… did you?"
Chet reached inside the bag and withdrew two cans of ice cold beer. He tossed one to Roy and placed one on the arm of his chair, slamming it down a little harder than necessary. Then he looked at Johnny.
"Chester B., you know I hate talkin' about that run, man."
"Yea, well…" He gave Roy a quick wink, popping the top of his beer and allowing it to spew over the railing. "Me and DeSoto like talkin' about it."
"Speak for yourself, Chet," Roy said, a fine layer of sweat already popping out across his upper lip as he remembered that particular call.
"Chet, you know I haven't been able to drink beer out of a can since that rescue!"
The curly haired lineman guffawed. "Yea… I know… Good thing you can't drink yet. Besides, I figured we'd work on getting you past your little, uh, problem with alcohol abuse."
Johnny leaned forward, pointing the middle finger of his good hand at his own chest. "Me? I don't have a problem, Chet. I mean, I don't have a problem. But that guy at the gas station… Weelll, now HE… HE was the one abused by the alcohol."
Roy rolled his eyes, knowing that they were going to be reliving one of the most difficult rescues they had ever encountered.
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.``..`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.``.
"Man, I hate unknown rescues," Johnny groaned, the chinstrap of his helmet waving in the breeze as Roy expertly maneuvered the squad into the parking lot of the corner gas station.
The paramedics exited the vehicle while Mike pulled the engine to a stop behind them. Hank jogged up to the place where Vince was standing, his face a sickly ashen color.
"What do we have, Vince?" the fire captain asked, looking at the questioning looks his medics were giving him.
The patrolman shook his head, taking a seat on the bumper of the squad. "Man, I've been in this business a long time and… I ain't never seen nothing like that."
"Where? In the station?"
"Yea, Hank… He's lying on the floor in there… He'll be… uh, going to jail, but… not today… definitely not today," Vince replied, his eyes almost glazing over.
"Vince… You a'right?" Johnny asked, taking in the paleness of his friend.
"Yea… Yea, I'll be fine… Jus'… he's inside there," Vince said, waving his dark-skinned arm towards the station.
"Mike, stay with him," Hank ordered, nodding his head towards the resting officer. "Lopez, Kelly, help Gage and DeSoto with their gear."
As the men of 51's, sans their engineer, entered the gas station, they were met with a very unusual sight. The clerk, a woman in her late 50's, was perched on a stool, thick arms crossed over her ample chest, staring at her most recent customer. The customer was curled in a fetal position on the floor, beside a pool of what must have once been his stomach contents. He was groaning and writhing in obvious pain, his face contorted grotesquely. His hands were cupping his crotch.
Roy kneeled beside the fallen man while Johnny looked over at the smirking clerk.
"Ma'am? Can you tell me what happened to him?"
She slowly pushed a bent can of beer from beside her register towards the younger paramedic. "He should've just paid for the damn thing."
"Hey, Johnny, get on the horn with Rampart, will ya?" Roy directed as he and Chet log rolled their victim onto his back.
Roy heard his victim moan as they moved him, but it had to be done. There was no way to inspect his injury while he was in a fetal position. "Easy, mister, just take it easy and try to relax. Can you move your hands for me?"
"Ohhh… Ungh," the victim groaned, continuing to grip his crotch.
The men of station 51 were all beginning to feel sympathy pains.
"Rampart, this is Squad 51… How do you read?" Johnny asked, holding the biophone in the crook of his neck while he reached for his victim's carotid pulse point.
Roy's blue eyes surveyed the situation. He didn't want to cause the man further injury. "Chet, help me remove his hands."
Chet grimaced, wishing that he had allowed Marco to take the lead when they entered the station. At least that way, he would be the one standing beside their captain instead of kneeling down about to pry a man's hands away from his own aching member.
Johnny quickly wrote down the pulse rate, then rested his hand on the victim's abdomen. He jotted down another number. "Hey, Marco? Will you hand me the BP cuff and stethoscope?"
While he and Marco worked together to take the victim's blood pressure reading, Dixie's voice came over the radio.
"Unit calling in, repeat."
Johnny finished making notes of the vital signs, then picked up the biophone again. "Rampart this is Squad 51, we have a male victim, approximately 35 years old with vitals of pulse 100, respiration 20 and shallow, BP 140/86. The victim is in extreme pain from a possible testicular rupture from, uh…" The paramedic took another look at the counter with the bent can of beer on it. Why did it have to be Dixie responding to the call? Why not one of the doctors? At least they were all men. "Rampart, he seems to have been injured when a can of beer was thrown at his genital area."
The clerk's eyebrows raised upwards. "Oh, I didn't throw it at him," she said, shaking her head. "I-," but before she had a chance to finish her statement, Chet removed the victim's right hand, then let out a muffled yelp, falling backwards onto his backside.
"Argh, damn!" the lineman cursed, knowing he would face the wrath of his captain when they returned to the station. "What the… Ugh," he groaned, turning away from the sight before him while fighting off dry heaves.
Johnny's dark eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw the condition of the victim's injured part. "Um, R-uh, Rampart," he stammered, feeling pain in his own groin. He shifted his position then continued the conversation as Roy took a closer look at their victim's injuries. "Rampart, we haven't been able to fully inspect the victim's pelvic area, but he, um, he has a… a…"
Roy, having spent time in the Army and having seen more genital trauma than his younger partner, reached over to take the biophone. "Rampart, the victim has swelling and discoloration throughout the groin area and has experienced what appears to be a penile fracture."
Johnny's mouth hung agape. He saw that the victim's pants were snapped, but unzipped, exposing his traumatized penis. Slowly, his brown eyes moved back up at the smug clerk and saw the dented can still resting on the counter. He recalled her earlier words – 'Oh, I didn't throw it at him.'
As Johnny's addled brain was putting the pieces together, Dixie's professional voice brought him back to the present.
"51, stabilize the fracture and apply an ice pack. Start an IV of D5W. Does the victim have a head injury?"
"Um," Johnny gulped, his mind not functioning properly.
"Not that one, you twit," Hank said in a stage whisper, still aware that a woman was present on scene. "Lopez, find us some ice," he ordered, pulling the black biophone receiver away from his stunned junior medic, relieved when Johnny seemed to kick himself into gear, opening the drug box and removing the ordered supplies. Hank cleared his throat before speaking into the biophone. "Negative, Rampart. His injuries appear to be limited to his genitalia."
"Does he have any other drugs in his system?" the smoky voice asked.
Johnny, who was nearer the patient's upper body, leaned down closer to his ear. "Hey. Buddy, are you on anything?"
"Nu-nu-uh," he groaned, trying to shake his head. "Don't… do that… stuff."
Hank relayed the information to Dixie who immediately responded.
"Administer 5 mg of MS, IV push, and transport as soon as possible."
"10-4 Rampart," Hank replied, watching in amazement as his medics tended to the injured man while Chet continued to struggle with his stomach.
Minutes later, with the injured man loaded in the ambulance, Roy turned to his partner.
"I think I better be the one who rides in with him. You're looking a little pale, Junior."
Johnny saw Mike leaning his forearms on his knees while he sat beside Vince on the bumper of the squad. Obviously, Vince had filled the engineer in on what had occurred, which left both men looking ashen. Chet was sitting on the tailboard of the engine, trying to avoid the other men while he tried not to lose his lunch. Hank was walking slowly back to the engine, reaching in for the microphone to make the engine available. Marco had his back turned to the others, quietly staring at nothing. And Johnny felt waves of heat washing over him, feeling a bit of dizziness. He looked back at Roy. "Yea… Yea, maybe you should."
"First time seeing a penis fracture, huh?" Roy asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yea… I've seen pictures of amputations, but… nothing that looked like… like a dark purple accordion." He slid the biophone into the ambulance while Roy climbed in. Johnny closed the door, giving it the requisite two slaps. Once the ambulance pulled away, Johnny walked over to the place where Mike and Vince sat. The others slowly joined them.
"Vince?" Hank began, asking the question the others were posing inside their own minds. "I think I know the answer, but help me out here." The fire captain jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the departing ambulance. "Did he do what I think he did?"
Vince nodded in agreement. "Yep, Hank… He thought he'd give the clerk a shock. He put the can of beer on the counter, watched her ring it up, then when she asked him for the money, it wasn't his wallet he whipped out and tossed on the counter."
Hank saw the patrolman standing up gingerly and leaning against the hood of the squad. "Clerk said it was just an automatic reflex. She slammed the can of beer on his, um, erection."
"Well… I'll bet he won't do that again," Mike said, flatly.
"I bet he won't be ABLE to do it again," Hank mumbled.
"He may NEVER be able to do anything with it again," Marco added.
"Gives new meaning to the phrase 'broken bone,' huh?" Chet commented, his mouth still a pale green color.
"I don't think I'll ever be able to drink a can o' beer again," Johnny added, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I, uh, I better go get Roy," he said, stepping over to the driver's side of the squad.
,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`
Johnny looked over at Chet who was still sipping his beer on the DeSotos' deck. "How can you drink that, man? It sends shooting pains across my lower body."
"Lots o' practice, Gage," Chet responded, unaware of the faux pas.
Roy and Johnny snickered and Chet rolled his eyes. "Not that kind of practice! I mean, I do have a girlfriend, you know."
"Uh-huh, and right now she's wrapped around a can of beer," Roy deadpanned.
