A nurses' aid carried the meal tray out of Roy's room just as Chet and Marco poked their heads through the doorway . Upon seeing Johnny already there, sitting in a chair beside the bed, the two came inside.
"Hi, guys!" greeted Marco.
"Hi, Roy, Gage." Chet smiled nervously. Visiting his work buddies in the hospital always made him uncomfortable, as it brought home the realities of the dangers they faced.
"Hi, guys!" Roy smiled stiffly around his fractured cheekbone.
"Hi." Johnny's glance flicked over the two men who had just entered the room, then settled back on Roy.
"How're you guys doing?"
"Fine. I'll be here a couple more days."
"You broke your face?" Marco asked in sympathy.
"Yeah."
Marco and Chet glanced at each other, shifted from foot to foot, and cast around for a topic of conversation, since Johnny and Roy didn't seem to have much to say. Finally Roy asked, "Who finished our shift yesterday?"
"Dwyer and Samson from 36s."
"Oh."
"Hope we don't get stuck with Brice next shift. Hey, Gage, when are you coming back?"
"Probably the shift after next."
Chet and Marco then filled them in on the rest of the Halloween shift. "Actually, it was pretty quiet. We had just one fire caused by too many jack-o-lanterns. Party decorations caught on fire. The old lady was a real witch about it. I felt kind of sorry for her husband."
"No phantom pranks?" asked Roy.
"I... uh, I guess the Phantom decided not to show up since his favorite pigeon wasn't around." Chet glanced over at Johnny, who sat ignoring them. Another long silence descended, and then Chet asked, "So, what happened yesterday?"
Roy explained about the woman they thought was the victim's wife, the garage, Barnes and the shotgun."
"How come you didn't karate chop him, Gage?" Chet wanted to know.
"You can't do much when someone is holding a gun on you," Johnny replied, while Roy spoke at the same time. "He did, just as soon as the gun wasn't pointed at me."
"You know, I've been pinned down by enemy fire in 'Nam. That was enough to make you shit your pants. But, I've never had anyone stick a gun right in my face. I don't know how you guys did it." Chet locked eyes with Johnny. "Especially you. Twice. The man was a psycho. I gotta give you credit for that."
Johnny remained silent for several long seconds before nodding at Chet.
"We're the good guys! This is not supposed to happen to us!" Marco said indignantly, hands fisted on hips.
"Yeah. It seems like we're getting shot at more and more."
"How in the world did they ever let Barnes become a firefighter in the first place?"
"Beats me."
After the conversation wound down, the others headed out of the hospital room, leaving Roy and Johnny alone to talk. Roy rested against the pillows and Johnny leaned on the wall near the door. The only sound marring the silence came from the muted pages over the hospital intercom filtering into the room. The two men looked at each other wordlessly.
"How's your face?" Johnny broke the silence.
"Fine… Johnny…" Roy began and then looked away.
"Roy." He turned back to see his partner staring intently at him. "Go ahead."
"Barnes… Uh… It wasn't the raw meat, then…" Roy couldn't bring himself to voice the horrible notion.
"Yes, it was. Partly. He took me to an abandoned meat factory over in the industrial park. The smell reminds me… Hell, whenever I think about it, I want to puke."
Roy inhaled sharply, anger flooding him. "I never thought I'd say this about someone, but I'm glad he's dead!"
Johnny's expression remained the same. "So am I. But, it's not very satisfying. It doesn't change what happened."
"How can you stand there so calmly?" Roy asked, indicating his partner with an agitated wave of his hand.
"I'm not calm, Roy. I want nothing more than to run from this room."
"Why are you still here, then?"
"Too much running. I've been running for a long time now. Time to stop."
"I'm sorry. God, I had no idea…"
"Yeah, well I'm glad you didn't. I wanted it that way. I couldn't have handled it then. Don't know if I can handle it now." His voice sounded flat and he looked away, arms tightly crossed against his chest. Their breathing filled the silence.
Roy gazed at his friend for a minute. "It wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was! I made the choice!" Anger flushed Johnny's cheeks and sparked in his eyes as he looked back at Roy.
"You didn't have any choice! He had a gun."
"I had a choice. Just not many options. If I had fought him harder, either he would have killed me or maybe I would have gotten away. Either way, it would have been over and he never would have gotten you."
"What are you talking about? You can't blame yourself for this! Barnes is the one who did it! You didn't make him do it." When no answer came from his partner, who was no longer looking at him, Roy demanded, "Are you listening to me?"
"Yes."
Not knowing what else to say, Roy repeated his earlier assertion. "It wasn't your fault."
"How do you know?" Johnny again stared intently at Roy, seeming to look right through him.
"I saw the hell you went through! It wasn't your fault! You didn't ask for any of it." Roy shifted under Johnny's intense gaze, hoping that he was saying the right things, the things his partner needed to hear. "I'm sorry. Sorry it happened to you. Sorry I wasn't there to help you."
"You did help me, Roy. I already told you that. If I hadn't been so afraid…" Johnny broke both verbal and eye contact as his voice cracked and he scrubbed a hand across his face, wiping ineffectively at the tears. "Dammit." He cleared his throat and said in a husky voice. "Well, that's enough of that."
Roy, too, felt the warmth flooding his own face, the sting of tears behind his eyes, and he silently thanked Johnny for changing the subject before he himself started to cry as well. He did not want to think about all the implications of what had happened and how he felt about it yet.
Silence stretched between them once more. "Kind of a conversation stopper, eh?"
Johnny smiled briefly, then sobered. "No one else knows, Roy."
"I wouldn't discuss it with anyone else. Not even Joanne."
Johnny looked at him for a few seconds, then smiled slightly. "You can talk about it with the shrink."
"I'm not going to see a shrink."
Johnny's smile grew fractionally and he nodded knowingly. "Yes, you are. We both are. Kidnapped and injured on duty. That's trauma. Some shrink will be by to talk with you before you go home. See, I did RTFM." His eyes and voice reflected his mild amusement.
As if summoned by their conversation, Dr. Wilson, a psychiatrist with LACoFD, opened the door to their room. Seeing the expressions on the two men's faces he stated without preamble, "Looks like you got started without me. Mind if I come in?"