"Kel? Have you got a minute?" Dr. Morton stopped Dr. Brackett in the hallway near the base station.
"Sure, Mike. What's on your mind?"
"Did you see Gage this morning?"
"No. Why?"
"Somebody used him for a punching bag. DeSoto says he was mugged."
"How severe were his injuries?"
"Facial contusions, an infected split lip. Bruising around the rib cage… Damn! I was going to send him to x-ray. It looked like he was kicked. I think a couple of ribs might be cracked." Dr. Morton moved his hands as he spoke, illustrating his point.
"Any signs of internal injuries?" The two men continued down the hall to the base station.
"No."
"You could call his station and have them send him back for x-rays."
"Yeah, I'll do that. But, I'm more concerned about his mental state."
Upon reaching their destination, Dr. Brackett folded his arms and leaned back against the counter. "What do you mean?"
"During the examination he fluctuated between anger and dissociation."
"Psychiatric trauma is one of the sequelae of assault. Do you think he needs to be referred?"
"Not exactly. Maybe you should talk to him."
The ringing of the base station phone terminated their conversation. "Okay. Let me know when he comes back for the x-ray," said Dr. Brackett ,turning away to take the call.
Cap poked his head into the kitchen where Roy was mopping the floor. "Roy? That was Rampart on the phone. They want John to come in for x-rays."
Roy looked surprised. "Okay. Let me just dump out this water. Did you call us in?"
"Yes. I'll let John know."
By the time Roy put his cleaning supplies back in the closet, Johnny had already gotten into the squad. Upon seeing the thunderous expression on his partner's face, Roy tried for a little levity as he climbed in behind the wheel. "At least it gets you out of cleaning the latrine."
Johnny's reply was unintelligible, and Roy decided he was probably better off not knowing exactly what his friend had said. They accomplished the seemingly longer than usual drive to Rampart in silence. Once there, Johnny got his chest x-rays, and was just ready to leave when Dr. Brackett stopped him, asking to speak with him for a moment.
Johnny followed Dr. Brackett down the hall to the doctor's office, silently damning Dr. Morton for making him return to Rampart for x-rays. Dr. Brackett held the door open for the paramedic, ushering him inside.
"Have a seat."
"What's this about?" Johnny remained standing as Dr. Brackett crossed in front of him to perch on the corner of the desk.
"I understand you've been mugged."
"Uh, yeah. It's no big deal."
"Well, I think it's a pretty big deal." Dr. Brackett folded his arms and kept his gaze on Johnny's face.
Johnny glanced away. "I'm not hurt that bad."
"Physically, you don't seem to be. But it's a traumatic experience, and you may need a little help in dealing with it."
"I can handle it!" Johnny protested a little more loudly than he intended.
"As you probably know, emotional trauma is often longer lasting and more painful than physical trauma. I'm just saying that you should keep your options open. I'd be happy to talk with you if you need to. Or, I can refer you to someone else."
The expression of irritation on Johnny's face belied his words. "I'm okay. I don't need any help. But, thanks for offering."
"Okay, then. You know where to find me." Dr. Brackett placed a hand on Johnny's shoulder as he guided him to the door. Johnny's personal victory for the day came from not flinching at the other man's touch.
The rest of his day steadily went downhill after the visit with Dr. Brackett. Johnny snapped at anyone who tried to talk with him and his whole demeanor radiated animosity, effectively keeping his shiftmates at bay.
The paramedics had just returned from a late afternoon run. Johnny stood at the sink, drinking water. Marco, whose turn it was to cook dinner, brought over a package of ground beef and began to open it on the counter next to the sink. When the scent of raw meat wafted over to Johnny, his stomach flip-flopped, making him gag on the water. He hurriedly put the glass down, and made a run for the doorway leading into the engine bay. His stomach heaved again, and he knew he wasn't going to make it to the latrine. Grabbing the wastebasket near the doorway on his way out, he rushed half way across the bay, then began vomiting into the receptacle. His gut felt like it would never stop convulsing, although his stomach contained very little.
Roy, who was crossing the bay from the latrine, hurried over to Johnny. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to reach for the wastebasket and put a hand on Johnny's back at the same time. He received an elbow in the ribs for his trouble.
"I'm okay. Leave me alone." Johnny gasped, as soon as he was able.
"You're not okay. You're puking your guts out in the middle of the engine bay."
"I choked on some water. The hamburger smelled bad. Tell Marco not to use the hamburger. I think it's spoiled." He spit in the wastebasket.
"Let me take care of that while you get cleaned up," Roy offered.
"No, it's okay. I'll do it." The greenish tint faded, being rapidly replaced with the red of embarrassment.
By this time, Cap had come over. "You okay, John?"
"Yeah. I'm just going to get cleaned up."
Cap watched him go. Turning to Roy, he asked, "Is he okay?"
"He said the meat smelled bad and he choked on some water."
"What exactly did Dr. Morton say?"
"He said Johnny probably had a couple of bruised of ribs. And an infection in his lip."
"Well, that wouldn't make him puke, would it?"
"No. Could be the antibiotic. Erythromycin has that side effect."
"He sure has been a bear this shift."
Roy shrugged. "Yeah. Tell me about it. I don't know, Cap. Sorry."
Half an hour later dinner was ready, Marco having used the hamburger after all, since no one else thought it smelled spoiled. As Johnny never returned to the break room, Roy went in search of his partner.
He found Johnny lying on his bunk, left arm over his eyes in his usual sleeping position. Roy softly walked closer, obviously not wanting to wake his cranky partner if he were asleep. Johnny opened his eyes as Roy came nearer, his expression bleak. Bruises and split lip aside, he looked somehow much older than he did the previous shift.
"Uh, supper's ready."
"I know. I can smell it. I'm not going to eat."
"You haven't eaten anything all day."
"I'm not hungry."
"You… uh… does your stomach hurt?"
"No. I just don't feel hungry. Maybe it really is the flu." Johnny closed his eyes, signaling that he wasn't going to talk any more.
Roy gazed at the enigma that was his partner a moment longer and then left the room.