When Squad 16 arrived on the scene it was complete chaos. All they knew was that two of their own were down, but they didn't know who or how bad it was. Brice winced as they turned the corner by the apartment building and saw a bullet-riddled Squad 51 sitting out front. Gage and DeSoto--oh no.

They hurried into the alley, where they saw the car surrounded by police and detectives. Vince Howard greeted them. "Over here. We've pulled Roy out the car and he's out, but I can't tell where he's hurt. Gage is more serious. He took some bullets," he informed them.

Bob headed over to Roy, while Brice kneeled down by Johnny. He noticed the large pool of blood under Johnny and began to assess his overall condition. Johnny was gasping for breath and was groggy.

"Roy…" he murmured. He tried to find his partner but could only see spots dance before his eyes and the ghostly outline of Brice's face.

"Be still, Gage, you've been shot. I've got to get you stabilized," Brice said calmly. He quickly cut off Johnny's shirt. Assessing Johnny's chest, he found two bullet holes, one by his left shoulder, the other in his neck. He carefully log rolled Johnny to check for an exit wound, finding only one for the shoulder wound.

Ignoring his shaking hands, Brice efficiently put occlusive dressings on both wounds, then took Johnny's vitals.

"Bad?" Johnny asked.

"Just stay still and stay quiet, Gage," Brice ordered, slipping an oxygen mask over Johnny's face. Johnny closed his eyes as Brice grabbed the biophone.

"Rampart, this is Squad 16. We have a male, age 29, the victim of a shooting. There are two entrance wounds, one just inferior to the left clavicle, the other in the posterior of the neck. Only the bullet from the first wound exited. Skin is pale, cool and diaphoretic. Vitals are BP 84/50, pulse 140 and thready, respirations 28 shallow and labored…"

"Oh . . . man . . . hurts like hell . . . my chest is burning!" Johnny couldn't stop the tears falling from his face.

"It's okay, Gage, just hang in there," Brice soothed.

"Rampart, patient is still conscious and complaining of severe pain," Brice continued. "There are no other signs of injury besides the gunshot wounds, which we've covered with occlusive dressings. We've also put him on 10 liters O2 by mask."

"16, start two IVs, Lactated Ringers, wide open," Brackett ordered. "Give 2 milligrams MS, slow IV push, immobilize the patient and transport as soon as possible."

"10-4, Rampart. Two IVs, Lactated Ringers wide open, and 2 milligrams MS, slow IV push," Brice repeated back to him. "Stand by for information on our second victim." He handed the biophone to Bob and pulled out the IV set-up.

*******

Roy opened his eyes and immediately regretted doing so. The room was too bright, and he still had that blasted headache. What's going on? He moved his head to the right looking for clues as to where he was and felt the pounding worsen in his ears. Everything was hazy, and his eyes kept watering as he tried to focus on his surroundings. As he continued to stir, he noticed someone entering the room and tried to look that way.

"Wha…what, I…where am I?" He tried to get his voice louder as he struggled for the right words.

"Roy, this is Dr. Brackett. Do you know me?" Brackett asked, pulling out his penlight.

"Uh, yeah . . ." Roy jerked his head away as Brackett flashed the light in his eyes. He moaned at the pain the movement caused and closed his eyes. "Don't…do…that."

"Sorry, Roy, you know I have to check your pupils," Brackett reminded him. "You got a pretty good knock on your head. Can you tell me your name?"

"Roy DeSoto," Roy murmured.

"Good. What day is it?" Brackett asked.

Roy thought for a long moment, but his mind refused to give up the answer. "I don't know," he finally admitted.

Brackett's mouth twitched, but he reassured Roy, "It's okay, it will all come back to you. Do you know where you are?"

"Rampart."

"That's right, you're at Rampart. Do you remember anything else?"

He searched his hazy mind, but only came up blank. "Uh, not really," he stated. "Why am I here?"

"There was a shooting," Brackett started to tell him. Roy shook his head slightly as he heard the gunshots. Then came loud voices as the wave of memory crashed over him. Johnny…Johnny was shot...No!... Roy looked down at his hands and saw himself holding a gun. He shuddered and closed his eyes, hoping to end this moment. Instead, the darkness only brought more gruesome images, as he saw Johnny lying in a pool of blood.

"Roy?" Dr. Brackett asked. "Are you still with me? Are you in pain?" Brackett's words dragged Roy from his memories.

"What happened?" he questioned. Brackett, trying hard to focus on the doctor's face. "Where's Johnny?"

"Like I said before, you hit your head pretty good, I guess when the car crashed you sustained a concussion," Brackett informed him.

I don't care about that. "Where's Johnny?" he asked again, louder this time.

"Well, from what we've been told by the police, you two got caught in some cross-fire at a holdup," Brackett stated.

Roy stared blankly at Brackett, not believing what he was hearing. I can't remember anything but holding that gun. And Johnny bleeding.

"Johnny was shot," Brackett continued. The doctor's words sliced through the hazy fog of Roy's thoughts. Shot? But I had the gun. Did I…?

"Is he….Is he okay?" managed Roy. Images of Johnny bleeding, Roy holding the gun, and the furious shouting all around him continued to flash through Roy's mind. He couldn't shake the dread that now penetrated his very being. Did I . . .? He didn't want to finish the awful thought, but his mind wouldn't let it go. I must have shot Johnny while I was trying to get the gun. That's why Brackett is acting so funny. He doesn't want to tell me!

Brackett watched the array of emotions on Roy's face as he struggled with remembering the incident. "Roy, he's in stable condition," Brackett reassured him. "I'm going to look in on him as soon as I'm done here. Why don't you get some rest, and I'll come back with an update as soon as I know more?"

"Johnny…" whispered Roy as his mind kept replaying the image of his partner falling to the ground in agony. "Johnny. Johnny," he continued to mutter until he slipped into unconsciousness again.