Hank released his grip and got out of the way, allowing Roy to examine the unconscious man. "Marco, call in a still alarm, and get the biophone. Roy, what do you need us to do?"

Roy pulled out his stethoscope and placed it on Mike's chest, assessing his breathing. He frowned, adjusted the position of the bell, then his expression relaxed. "He's moving air well; I think his diaphragm went into a spasm for a minute there, and that stopped his breathing." He shifted the bell of the stethoscope again, listening to Mike's heartbeat, then nodded at Johnny as he set up the oxygen. "Good and strong, and slowing down. His pulse is now down to about 100, respirations are 22 and shallow. Stand by for BP."

Johnny picked up the handset on the biophone. "Rampart, this is Squad 51."

"Go ahead, 51," Kelly Brackett replied.

"Rampart, we have a 33 year-old unconscious male, due to an episode of respiratory arrest. He is breathing on his own now. Vital signs are: pulse 100, respirations 22 and shallow, blood pressure…" he looked at Roy.

Roy removed the stethoscope from his ears. "BP is 90 over 50." He looked down as Mike's eyelids fluttered open.

"Wha… what happened?" Mike asked, his tone groggy.

"You, uh, passed out from laughing," Roy said softly.

Mike swallowed. "Damn." He closed his eyes, pressed his fist lightly against his forehead and took some slow breaths. "Not again," he mumbled.

Johnny shot Roy a questioning look. "Rampart, patient's BP is 90 over 50, and he has regained consciousness. He was hypoxic for about two minutes, but there appears to be no further difficulty breathing at this time."

Roy asked, "Mike, has this ever happened before?"

Mike took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Not for about ten years, though. Maybe a couple of times before that. It's nothing to worry about." He blinked. "Can I get up now? I feel like an idiot, lying here. I'm feeling fine."

Johnny keyed the handset again. "Rampart, patient reports this has happened before, but not for ten years. He is fully conscious."

Dr. Brackett pulled at his lip, considering. "Squad 51, sit the patient up, then get another set of vitals."

Roy helped Mike to a sitting position, his back supported against the wall. The engineer sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "This is really embarrassing. Look, I'm fine, okay?"

Roy touched Mike's shoulder. "Look, man, you passed out because you couldn't breathe. At least let us check you out, all right?"

Mike's head sagged. "Sure, but you're wasting your time. I'm fine now."

Roy's voice took on a firm quality. "Humour me for a minute, okay?" He took another set of vital signs, his facial expression mirroring his surprise. "Huh. Perfectly normal now. Pulse 80, respiration 14 and regular, blood pressure 120 over 90."

Mike pulled off the BP cuff and handed it back to Roy, then pushed himself to his feet. "Can I get back to work now?" he asked, his tone a mixture of resignation and impatience.

Johnny nodded as he reported the vital signs to Rampart, then shot a quick glance at his partner. "10-4, Rampart. We'll monitor throughout the day, and transport if the situation recurs."

Mike sighed. "Great," he muttered. He stalked toward the apparatus bay, but the captain held up his hand to stop him.

"A word with you, Mike," he said, tilting his head toward the office.

"Yeah. I guess this is one of those 'need-to-know' things," Mike replied, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

"Kelly, do something with those… puppies," Hank growled, following his engineer from the day room. "Marco, finish up with the engine."

Marco groaned, but headed to the bay to finish the unenviable task.

Johnny packed up the oxygen and biophone as the two senior men left the room. "Huh. You ever seen anything like that before, Roy?"

Roy shook his head. "Nope, but I have read about it. Like Mike says, it's probably nothing to worry about, especially if it's been ten years since the previous incident."

"Yeah, but still… no wonder he's so quiet all the time." Johnny stowed the gear back in the squad, while Roy got the lunch started.

When Johnny came in to get a cup of coffee, Roy held his finger to his lips, then nudged his partner and gestured to the day room area. Johnny peered over, and grinned.

Henry was in his usual position, lounging on the couch. However, this time there were four golden bundles of fur draped over his paws – in exactly the same position as the slumbering Basset hound. Henry yawned, and the four puppies followed suit, then closed their eyes and settled down for a nap.

Chet came over and poured himself some coffee, then looked at the sleeping canines. "Hey, fellas, anyone want…"

"NO!" they answered in unison. Johnny chuckled. "Maybe your lady friend would like some children, 'Papa'."

"Aw, c'mon," Chet protested. "They're really cute."

Roy snorted. "And just brimming with energy, I see."

Johnny poked Chet in the chest. "Your problem, friend, not ours."

"What am I gonna do with four puppies?"

"You shoulda thought of that before you let Henry off the leash."

Roy pursed his lips. "You could get in touch with the Humane Society, or put an ad in the paper."

"Check with the local kennels and see if anyone is lookin' for a low-key puppy," Johnny suggested with a grin.

Hank entered, his expression unreadable. "Roy, can I see you a minute?"

"Sure, Cap." Roy followed the captain through the apparatus bay, where Mike and Marco were finishing up with the engine and into the office.

Hank gestured him to a seat, then closed the door. "I've just finished talking with Dr. Brackett at Rampart about Mike. He says there's nothing to worry about, but he wants you to check his vital signs every couple of hours until lights out, then again in the morning. He also said that if this was a first-time occurrence, he'd have him in Rampart for all kinds of tests. Now, Mike has authorized me to disclose this to you, but it goes no further, all right?"

Roy nodded, pondering how he was going to keep Johnny from pestering him with questions.

"Dr. Brackett said that what happened to Mike was 'gastric syncope."

"Gelastic syncope. It sorta means that the person laughs himself into unconsciousness. I read something about it in one of the magazines in the doctor's lounge last month while waiting for Johnny to finish up with a patient. As I recall, it's got something to do with the laughing causing the diaphragm to go into a spasm, and not enough oxygen getting to the brain. It's not really that common, but Mike said it's happened before."

Hank nodded. "According to Mike, the last time was in college, but I guess that the idea of Henry moving quickly, or having puppies was so ridiculous…"

"… that it was laughable. I don't believe it myself, either, but there are four little golden examples out there, and you just know they're Henry's. They have his eyes and ears, and they act just like him."

"Meaning they're sleeping on the couch, right?"

Roy chuckled. "Right in one." He stood up. "I'll make arrangements with Mike to try to minimize things, and handle this as privately as possible."

"I appreciate that, Roy. I know I can trust your discretion – and that you'll let me know if anything needs to be addressed, but as far as I'm concerned this is a non-issue. Now I'll let the others know there's nothing to worry about, but you're the only one apart from Mike and I who knows the whole story."

"Gotcha, Cap." Roy walked into the bay, whistling a light tune, caught Mike's eye, and gestured to the dorm with a tilt of his head.

Mike nodded, and put his mop into the bucket. "You go ahead, Marco, I'll be right there. Thanks for the help."

"I'll be right in to fix lunch," Roy added. "Gotta wash first." He headed toward the bathroom, while Mike dumped the mop water, then followed Roy past the bathroom and into the dorm.

Mike sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over. "I was hoping this wouldn't be necessary," he mumbled. "It's been so long since the last time, I thought it would never happen again. Just my luck, right?"

"Mike, do you really think Dr. Brackett would agree to this if he was worried about your ability or safety?"

He sighed. "I guess not, Roy. I don't think we have anything to worry about right now – last thing I feel like doing is laughing. Besides, now I have to go to Rampart tomorrow for some follow-up tests, anyway." He held out his arm for the blood pressure cuff. "At least Cap doesn't seem worried."

Roy smiled as he finished taking the readings. "And I'm not, either. Perfectly normal, as expected. Now I'd better get lunch on the table before they start eating those puppies."

"If you tell me you're making hot dogs, I'm gonna kill you," Mike warned, a smile playing on his lips.

"Perish the thought; more like a tuna salad."

"Sounds about right. Thanks, Roy, for not making a fuss about things… and for being there to… you know."

"Hey, it's in my contract. No problem. Now our main worry is gonna be what to do with Henry's puppies. They are kinda cute, in a really passive sort of way."

"Would that be a 'Henry, not-gonna-move-unless-there's-an-earthquake' passive, or a 'cuddle-me-I'm-cute' passive?" Mike asked as they headed to the kitchen.

Roy held up both hands as if balancing weights. "A little of both, really."

"Hmmm. I might know someone who'd be able to take all four of them. I'll have to call her first, though."

"Oh?" Roy asked. "That'd make Chet's day."

"It's gonna take a couple of days to check on things. Let him reap the fruit of his labours first… well, Dora's labours, really."

Roy stifled a laugh as they peered into the day room. Chet was seated at the end of the couch, his eyes closed, with all four of the puppies draped over his legs. "I guess every dog has his day."

"You callin' me a dog, DeSoto?" Chet murmured, not opening his eyes.

"Just wondering how you're adjusting to fatherhood, Chet."

The lineman reached down to rub the ears of the nearest puppy. "So far, so good. Just not quite sure what to do next. And what am I gonna do with four puppies?"

"Find a very tolerant woman."

-E!-

Author's note: I'd like to thank my wonderful beta-reader, who wishes to remain anonymous. You help me improve my writing, and I really appreciate it!