Gretchen glanced at her watch as she completed her latest vitals check then headed toward the nurse's station. She could see several figures standing there and knew the evening shift had arrived. She straightened her shoulders and marched forward. She had some business to attend to. The seated nurse looked up from the charts she was reading as Gretchen approached, and smiled. "Evening Gretchen, looks like we moved two off and got two more, right?"

Gretchen gave the other experienced nurse a tight smile. "That's right, Shelly." She paused and then moved closer, away from the student nurse, CNA and LPNs gathering around the coffee pot. "Shelly, you were on duty yesterday when Roy left, right?"

Shelly looked back up from the chart, a curious expression on her face. "That's right; they'd asked me to cover the day shift for Marci." A concerned look quickly replaced the curious one. "Why? Something happen to Johnny?" She grabbed the file, flipped it open and scanned the notes, her face hardening as she read. When she looked up again, her grey eyes snapped with anger. "That's unconscionable Gretchen. Angie Lewis replaced me and I didn't get to fully brief her due to a crisis with Mrs. Wilson in 4 right at shift change. Stubborn old lady had pulled her IV and cath out. I assisted then had to leave; my Rachel's been sick and the sitter had to leave promptly at 4. But I left a detailed note."

As Gretchen watched, Shelly reached up under the desk's overhang, shuffled through some things and pulled down a sheet of paper. She scanned it briefly then handed it to Gretchen, who read,

"Angie, John Gage in 3 is normally supplemented with outside food brought in and marked with his name. Roy DeSoto normally feeds him but had to leave early. Make sure you offer him water and juice when you do vitals. He prefers grape juice, there's plenty for him in the fridge. Feed him as often as he'll accept. Dr's orders. All this is stated in the chart. Have a great shift, Shel"

Gretchen placed the note in the chart and looked at Shelly. Shelly shook her head, "They ignored it, and him. I should have hunted her down and shoved it in her face. You know we've had trouble with her before whenever she floats here, leaving the students to do everything but medications. I've heard she's even left most of that to the LPN that's assigned to her."

Gretchen nodded. "Yes. I know. I think this time she'll get more than a verbal warning. I plan on bringing this up to the supervisor. We can't have that kind of slip-shod work on this floor."

Shelly nodded, her eyes hard. Both nurses knew that kind of lack-a-daisical care could result in serious harm on SICU. Shelly glanced out onto the floor. "So, is he ok now?"

"I just checked on him. He's sleeping. He ate some cake around 2:30. His temp has been coming down again but you should really push the water and juice. Even with the IV he's still a little dehydrated. Roy brought more food and there's still some pudding and cookies left from yesterday." Gretchen answered as she pulled the chart toward her and marked it. "He's ate pretty good today, but not as well as he did for Roy earlier. Watch his mental state, he's been pretty down also."

Shelly nodded as she listened. Gretchen then pulled the other three charts and began telling Shelly about each. Once that was done, she gave the door to #3 one last look before she left, secure that this evening, the healing paramedic would be better cared for.

At 5:30 pm the dinner cart rattled onto the floor. As the orderly maneuvered it near the nurse's station, he smiled at Shelly. "Three trays of food substitutes and one warm-up as ordered."

Shelly clucked her tongue at him, "Best not let the kitchen hear you saying that, Clarence, or your extras on pudding will stop." Clarence laughed and left. The two student nurses came over to the cart and began removing the trays. Shelly looked at them thoughtfully for a moment turned to the tall stately African American LPN seated next to her and smiled. "Lucy, you want a pleasant hour break?"

Lucy closed the chart she was marking and raised her head, her golden eyes looking at Shelly with a touch of wariness. "Depends." She drawled with her soft Mississippi accent, "Whatcha got in mind?"

Shelly grinned, pulled a chart, flipped it open, placed it in front of the middle aged woman and tapped the instructions. "John Gage needs to be fed. There's food for him in the warmer."

Lucy eyed the other woman, "Ok. What's the catch? He a spitter, or biter? Got a nasty attitude?"

Shelly laughed as she imagined Johnny any of those things. "Well, he can complain, but no more than anyone else who wants off this floor." Then she smiled to ease the other woman. "No. He's not. Actually, when he's on his own feet, Johnny can be quite a charmer."

Lucy looked back at the notes from the doctor, frowning a little as she read. "Gage. I heard tell there's a fireman—paramedic I think . . ."

Shelly nodded, "That's him. Got caught in an gas explosion a few weeks back. The wounds got infected and they had to take him back into surgery." She let her soft smile spread into a grin, "And depending on what you heard, will depend on whether I can say yes or no to the rumors." She pulled out the tray with the warmed food on it. "Go on. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Tell Johnny I'll be in to give him his meds and do a check after he eats."

Lucy stood and took the tray. She walked toward the designated room then glanced back once more at Shelly, still not sure whether she was being had or not. Then she straightened her shoulders and put a determined look on her face. 'Well, I've dealt with all kinds, from screamers and cussin' to biters and spitters. I'm sure I can handle whatever Mr. Gage can send my way." She knocked once on the door then pushed it open. "Mr. Gage, your dinner is here." She announced as she walked in. She paused briefly as she got her first look at the figure in the bed before her. Her initial attention was caught on the unusual contraption pinning the patient's arms away from his body, then her gaze traveled to the thin figure and the sharply angled face on the pillow. The eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping. She was slightly surprised to see he was obviously young, barely in his twenties, she'd guess and not bad to look at. 'Easy on the eyes,' as her mama would say, with a wealth of dark thick hair.

She placed the tray on the bedside table, moving it into position to comfortably be able to reach it, then pulled the chair closer to the bed. When none of the movement seemed to rouse the sleeping man, she laid a hand on his bare shoulder and gently shook it as she again called, "Mr. Gage, wake up. You need to eat now."

The eyelids flew open revealing dark eyes wide and panic filled as her patient took a great gasping breath and shot upward as far as his partially restrained body allowed. Lucy stepped back in surprise then instantly moved forward again to reassure the now panting man, her hand automatically going to his exposed neck, feeling the rapid pulse pounding there. "It's alright. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Calm down, take deep breaths. That's right. I'm sorry honey, I'm sorry." She found herself using the endearment easily as his breathing settled down and he gulped, then coughed.

She grabbed up the glass of water on the bedside table and placed the straw to his lips. "Drink. Slowly, don't choke." He did as dark brown eyes flicked upward to her face in silent thanks.

She smiled at him and he gave her a faint smile in return. He finished the water and eased himself back into his pillows. "Thanks." he said, then his gaze dropped and to her amazement, embarrassment stained his cheeks. "Sorry about that."

She replaced the glass and sat down, "Don't apologize to me. I'm the one who scared you half ta death." He looked over as she adjusted his bed to a more upright position. "I've got your dinner here, Mr. Gage."

"Johnny."

She looked at him, her brows drawn downward in puzzlement. He smiled again, 'A very nice smile' she noted, but also noted it didn't quite light his eyes. "Pardon?"

"Johnny. My name is Johnny." He restated.

She nodded and removed the lid over the plate. The smell of spaghetti filled the room and her patient's stomach announced it was ready to be filled. Again his cheeks stained red and she laughed, "Well somebody agrees this sure smells good." She carefully cut the noodles until she could get a fair portion on the spoon then lifted it. Johnny obliged her by opening his mouth and they settled into a routine. After several bites, Johnny stopped and frowned, then looked her in the eye. "Is this from here?"

She looked at him in confusion. He tried to explain, "This spaghetti. Is this what everyone got from the kitchen?"

She shrugged as she offered him some milk. "I don't rightly know. I was just told this was your tray."

"Oh." He looked thoughtful as he took a bite of the bread she offered. She watched him and noticed his eyes now looked sad. "Why? Is there something wrong with it?" She sniffed over the plate, "It sure smells good. Better than most of the food served here."

"Yeah." He replied quietly, "It is. That's why I asked. It tastes like. . . ." He stopped. She fed him more and when he didn't add anything else she asked, "Tastes like what?" He still didn't answer. "Is there something wrong with it?" She pushed. He looked up at her as if just noticing her questions and gave a quick smile, "No. No. Nothing's wrong. It's great."

He ate a little more then drank his milk before resting back. She frowned, looking at the amount still on the plate. "Can you eat more?"

He shook his head. Her frown deepened. "You feelin' alright, honey?" She placed a cool hand on his forehead, feeling he was a little warm. He gave her another quick smile. "I'm fine. Just . . . just not really hungry, I guess." He shifted in his bed and smiled up at her again. "Thanks for feeding me."

She wiped his mouth carefully and tried to get him to drink more but he refused, politely, but firmly. She packaged the remainder, throwing glances at him where he'd settle back, his eyes again closed. "Shelly will be in to give you your medicine, Mr. Gage."

That got his eyes open and a faint crooked grin as he shook his head. She smiled and amended, "Johnny." He gave her a wink, then closed his eyes again. As she was headed out the door, she heard him give a heavy sigh.

Shelly looked up as Lucy slid the tray into the cart and walked slowly over toward her. "Well?"

Lucy looked up, "He's not a biter, or spitter, or a complainer." She stated.

Shelly laughed, "I told you that." Then she looked serious as Lucy continued to look pensive. "Ok. What else went on, Lucy."

Lucy looked up, her golden eyes troubled, "He was polite, cooperative . . ."

"But . . ."

Lucy took a deep breath, "But he only ate about a cupful of the spaghetti, a few bites of the bread and drank half the milk before he said he was done. He felt a little warm but insisted he was fine."

Now it was Shelly's turn to look troubled. Lucy shook her head, "I can't help but get the feeling that young man is one very sad fellow."

Shelly frowned as she recalled Gretchen's briefing. She gathered the prescribed meds and told Lucy. "I'll check on him." She found Johnny half asleep and for all her teasing, only got mild reactions. His temperature was just slightly up from earlier in the day and she noted that in his chart. He'd fallen back asleep before she left the room. The other patients on the floor kept them busy for the rest of the evening but either Lucy or Shelly checked on Johnny several times during the shift. Each time they urged him to drink, which he did with reluctance but didn't eat again.

When the shift changed again, Shelly made sure the head nurse knew. To her relief, the nurse on duty was Hilda Jenkins who normally worked in ICU. She smiled as Shelly briefed her. "I know Johnny. Don't worry, I'll take good care of him." And so the night passed. Johnny drank each time they woke him but refused food. A few times when Hilda came in, she found him staring blankly at the wall opposite his bed but whenever she asked if he needed anything, he'd would only shake his head and give a wan smile before turning back to his inner contemplations.

Johnny tried to sleep as much as he could, and fortunately his still weakened body cooperated. But, for more hours than he wanted, sleep eluded him. As it did, he was forced to think. "I know that spaghetti was Mike's." He grumbled to his empty room. "I know it was. There's no way it wasn't. And if that was Mike's then I bet Roy brought it in." He frowned deeply, wanting desperately to cross his arms over his chest. The aggravation at not being able to accomplish that move made him more irritated. "He's been checking up on me." But even as he said it, he realized that if that were the case, Roy didn't need to come in; a phone call to the desk would give him any information. And being listed as Johnny's next of kin, they would tell him. He sighed deeply. Somehow knowing that Roy had been there, right there just outside his door, and hadn't come in, made him feel somehow . . . lost. With a heavy heart, he realized his friend was doing exactly as Johnny had asked him. Roy was staying away, even as he did what he could to make sure he—Johnny—was still cared for.

And so Friday passed and Saturday began. For breakfast, Johnny was fed a tray from the kitchen supplemented with pudding from the food Roy left. He only ate a few bites of toast, drank a half cup of coffee and finished half the pudding. His mid-morning snack passed the same way. Each nurse duly charted his intake and his moods. And Johnny became more withdrawn as the hours passed.

When lunch time came, more containers of food were taken from the bag Roy had brought the day before and heated up for him. Again he barely made a dent in the food offered him, drank most of his drink, then fell asleep. Again this was noted in his chart.

When Dixie came to visit her friend that afternoon, she was told all this. She frowned. "Where is Roy?" she growled under her breath. "This time, this time I'll not stand by while he pulls his little . . . What!?!" Gretchen had put her hand on her friend's arm, and getting her attention, she slowly shook her head.

"Don't blame Roy." She said. Dixie stared at her friend, then forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down. Once she felt in better control, she nodded and Gretchen explained what she'd seen, what both Johnny and Roy had said and what she suspected happened. Dixie listened, her heart growing more heavy as she listened. Once Gretchen finished she sighed, "Yes. I think you're probably right." She agreed. "Knowing those two like I do, it sounds like that's probably what happened." She met her friend's gaze and gave a faint shrug, "So. What do we do now?"

Gretchen echoed the gesture, "Not much we can do. This is their business. All we really can do is support them and give whatever help they want when they need."

Dixie nodded, knowing she was right, but disliking it. She looked down the hallway toward room #3. "Has Roy been here yet?"

Gretchen shook her head. "He called this morning to check on him and said something about being in after he got back from camp?"

Dixie gave a faint smile and a nod, "Scout camp. I forgot his oldest has been at Boy Scout Camp all week. They must have gone to pick him up today." She again looked toward the room where the paramedic lay. "This will be a shock for Chris." She turned to Gretchen and explained, "Both Roy's boy and girl call Johnny their Uncle and they treat him like one. Johnny couldn't love those kids more if they were blood relation to him."

Gretchen nodded in agreement. She'd already seen the way both Roy and his wife treated their friend and could imagine the children. She gave a nod toward Johnny's room. "I sent a student nurse in there about ten minutes ago with some milk and cookies from Roy. I was hoping he'd maybe eat them; he hasn't eaten much of anything today or yesterday for that matter."

Dixie smiled at her friend, "Think I'll go see if I can help persuade him to eat. Thanks Gretch, for looking out for him."

Gretchen hmphed, "Baby. Nothing but a infant, of course I gotta look after him." She grumbled as she made her way back to the desk and the waiting charts. Dixie chuckled at her friend's usually complaints as she made her way to Johnny's room. Once there, she pushed the door open, calling out, "Johnny?"

Johnny sat in his bed, his body propped up with several pillows, his tray pulled in close to his chest and his gaze fixed on the plate in front of him. Johnny had barely noticed when the student nurse told him, "Ummm. I'll be right back. I gotta go check something." and quickly left. His focus was on the plate of cookies she had placed before him, his mind lost in memories. As he looked at the cookies, he thought about the other foods he'd been offered over the last several days. He suspected they were dishes cooked by his friends, he had his suspicions on where the food was coming from. He careful leaned forward to look as closely at the cookie as possible, his breath coming a little faster.

Part of him was nervous, part of him was excited and all of him was anxious to see if he was correct. Just then a figure came through the door. "Johnny?" A glance around proved no one else in the room and Dixie frowned wondering where the student nurse had gone. She moved forward. She looked at the figure hunched as far forward as possible with his restrained arms, staring at something on the tray in front of him.

Stepping closer, she saw the glass of milk, complete with a straw, and a small plate filled with cookies. She frowned, "That should be filed under cruel and unusual punishment, placing those things in front of you like that, then leaving." She grumbled as she hurried to his side. She lifted the glass and placed the straw near his lips but rather than drink, he asked, "Dixie, could you hold up one of the cookies so I can see it?"

Bewildered over the strange request, she never-the-less did as he asked. She watched his face as his eyes flicked back and forth, his brows drawn downward in a frown. Then he sighed heavily, "A star." He sank back into the bed, closing his eyes.

Dixie watched him, more than confused and more than a little concerned, "Johnny?" She made his name a question.

"They're peanut butter cookies—with chocolate kisses in them." He murmured, his voice sounding sad and tired.

Dixie looked at the cookie still in her hand, "Yes. I can see that."

He continued as if he hadn't heard her, "When you make peanut butter cookies, it seems to be a tradition to push down the batter with a fork."

She smiled as she placed the cookie back on the plate and sat on his bedside, "Yes, I know. I've always seen it done that way and I do it that way myself. Why?"

Another sigh and his voice sounded fainter as he answered, "Those have a star, not a cross."

She looked and sure enough each cookie was marked by four fork marks, not the usual two in a cross pattern. A mostly melted chocolate kiss sat in the middle of each. She turned back to the paramedic. "Yes, I can see that, Johnny." She waited for some explanation on why this seemed significant but Johnny remained silent, his eyes closed, his face expressionless.

In his mind he saw Jenny holding a plate of cookies out to him, a smile on her face as her eyes shone with love. "I made these just for you, Uncle Johnny. I know how much you love them. Momma helped me but I made the fork marks. See? It's a star, not a cross, so's you'll know it was from me. It's like the star on the pretty blanket you showed me at your house that you said your grandmother gave you when you were born."

He took a slow deep breath but it stuttered in his chest. Dixie frowned at the forlorn sound. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and again said, "Johnny? Are you alright?"

He opened his eyes and swallowed hard, "I'm . .. I'm fine Dix." She held a cookie out to him but he shook his head, "Not right now. I'm not hungry." He closed his eyes again, "I . . . I'm a little tired. Think I'll take a lil' nap."

Dixie watched him carefully. She'd seen the shine to his eyes when he'd looked at her and wondered what had caused the tears she knew that represented. She patted his shoulder as she stood. "Ok then Phoenix. I'll put these away and you can have them later."

"Thanks." He whispered. She picked up the plate and milk and headed toward the door. A soft, "Dix?" stopped her. She looked back at the figure in the bed. Johnny had turned his head toward her and was now looking at her, his eyes intense.

"Yes Johnny?"

"The food everyone one's been feeding me . . . it's not from the kitchen."

She shook her head, her eyes keeping firm contact with his.

"Where's it coming from?" He asked.

"From many places, Johnny. You have many friends and they all want you to get better."

Johnny sighed again. He knew Dixie had given him a straight answer. He recognized several dishes and was pretty sure of their creators—from Momma Lopez's Arroz con Pollo to Mike's spaghetti. He was also fairly sure Dixie knew what he was really asking and was making him come out and say it in plain English.

"Yeah, I know." He allotted then plunged on, "What I meant was . . . how's it getting here? Who's bringing it in?" He knew the food was fresh; it didn't have the taste foods get from being in a fridge.

Dix's blue eyes held his firmly, "I think you know the answer to that as well, Johnny." She opened the door as she said, "You sleep now. I'll see you later."

He closed his burning eyes with a heavy sigh. He did know the answer to that and it only made his heart hurt more. Bur before he could dwell on that too much, his still weakened body pulled him under and he slept.

Saturday morning found the DeSoto's up early and breakfasted. Jenny was excited that they were going to get Chris and kept up a steady stream of chatter as they got ready. Even when they were in car, she continued, causing her mother and father to exchange glances and patient sighs. As the car left the highway and began making its way down the gravel road leading to the camp, silence finally filled the vehicle.

Before long the road led to a gravel parking area filled with a variety of cars, most with doors, hatches and trunks open. Beyond that several cabins peeked out from the trees centered around a large clearing. In the center of the clearing were several logs loosely circled around a large fire pit. Boy Scouts, in various combinations of uniform, wandered around the grounds; some accompanied by family members, some just grouped together.

Roy parked the station wagon and Jenny immediately opened her door with a shout of, "I see Chris!"

Before either parent could order the child not to run off, Chris came running up to the car. "Mom! Dad! C'mon! Ya gotta come see what I did! C'mon!" He pulled at the door as his parents laughed.

"Slow down Chris!" Roy chuckled, "Let me get out of the car first." Again the two parents exchanged smiles at their son's exuberance. Jenny had left the car and was jumping up and down near her brother, her mouth going a mile a minute. For the most part Chris ignored his sister, his attention on his parents who, in his opinion, were being much too slow getting out of the car.

As soon as his father's feet hit the ground, Chris swooped in and grabbed his hand, pulling him off toward the woods. "C'mon Dad! I want you to see the rope bridge we made!" With a shared chuckle with his wife, Roy let his son pull him away, listening to his excited chatter and feeling the worries of the week melt from him. For just a few minutes, he could forget everything else that was going on and allow his son's excitement to fill him. A glance behind him on the trail confirmed that Jo had corralled Jenny and they were following them.

Along the path Chris proudly identified the plants and trees around them. Roy had no idea if what his son was saying was right, and a pang of guilt hit him as he realized his partner would know. His partner was always at home in the outdoors, came the thought, then he pushed that notion aside once more. Chris showed the new path they had marked, along with the new rope bridge. Jo watched it sway and shuddered. "There's no way you'd ever get me on that!" She whispered to her husband who grinned and nodded.

Jenny critically looked at the bridge and announced, "Uncle Johnny would like that." She looked around the woods surrounding them and nodded, "Uncle Johnny would like all of this." Roy placed his hand on the little girl's shoulders and when she looked up, he gave her a smile and a nod. Jo placed an gentle hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze.

Chris had turned at Jenny's announcement and had opened his mouth to tell her to shut up about Johnny when he saw his father's reaction. He watched the sad look fill his father's eyes rather than the anger he expected. Then he watched his mother and something inside of him turned cold with trepidation.

Roy looked around and sighed. "This is all very nice Chris, and I'm glad you had a great time but we really need to get your stuff loaded and I need to talk to Mr. Shultz before we head back." Chris nodded and the family headed back toward the main area. Chris trotted off back to his cabin, accompanied by his sister while Jo stopped to talk to another mother and Roy announced, "There's Bob Shultz. I'll be back soon," before walking away.

As Chris made sure he had everything back in his backpack, Jenny stood next to him commenting on the different projects and 'souvenirs' her brother was packing. Chris, for the most part, was ignoring her, his mind on what he'd seen earlier. It bewildered him that his father hadn't reacted with an edict such as, "We don't mention that name, Jenny." as he had before whenever one of them dared to say something about 'Uncle Johnny'. "Something's changed," he mused aloud, "Something must have happened." Then something Jenny said caught his attention. "What?"

Jenny pulled up a plaster neck slide with a scout emblem painted gold and turned it over and over in her hand. "I was saying I hope Uncle Johnny can come back to our house soon. Doctor Brackett said he needed to rest and eat a lot to get better and I promised to help and I can't help him if he's not there."

Chris blinked as he digested the words. He wasn't sure what to make of what he'd seen and what his sister was babbling about. But he figured if he just let her talk, and he watched, he could figure things out. He'd done that before and often found he could figure things out better than when he asked and was given 'parent-type' answers. So he baited his sister with, "Uncle Johnny was at our house?"

Jenny looked at him, her eyes bright as she launched off on the subject. She told her brother all about their mother bringing Johnny home to help him heal from injuries gotten at work. She described the awful wounds that covered their uncle's body, how he couldn't even feed himself and how she had helped him. Chris listened carefully to what she said and made his own assumptions for what she didn't. He was so absorbed in these thoughts he didn't notice that Jenny was unwrapping the packet made out of his handkerchief. "Oh Wow!" She gushed, "Chris! This is neat!" She traced the beadwork stitched to the leather with one finger. "What is it?"

Chris looked over at what she held and snatched it from her hand. His own finger traced the different colored beads making up the multi-pointed star and the turtle with a its shell a circle divided into four quarters, each colored differently beneath it. "It's a knife sheath."

Jenny looked at him, her expression puzzled. "But you're not a allowed to carry a knife. Daddy said you couldn't have a knife until you turned 11 or got your totin' chip card."

Chris frowned at her as he rewrapped the sheath then shoved it deep into his pocket. "Yeah. So. I know." He stumbled. Thinking fast he shrugged nonchalantly and added, "We had to make something for leatherworking and all the keyholders were gone and there was no way I was gonna make a purse. This was all that was left." He crossed his fingers at that little lie. It had been true for the most part, but he'd wanted to make the sheath ever since the last camp-out he'd had with his father and his Uncle Johnny.

Johnny had showed the young boy the Buck knife he always carried with him and had even let the boy handle it. At that moment, he was showing Chris how to careful shave off pieces of dry sticks to use as tinder for their fire. Roy came up on them and frowned, "Johnny, I don't think that's a good idea."

Johnny looked over at his friend and smiled, "Don't worry Roy. I'm keeping an eye on him."

Roy's frown didn't let up. "I don't think he's old enough yet."

Johnny moved closer to his friend, dropping his voice though Chris could still hear him. "I'm not giving it to him, Roy. I'm just showing him how to properly handle a sharp blade. He's not too young to learn that; you're never too young to learn safety."

Roy sighed as he had to agree with his partner. Chris looked up at his uncle, "How old were you when you got your first knife, Uncle Johnny?"

Johnny gave his friend a quick glance before reaching his hand out for his knife. "I'd best put that back now, Chris."

Roy looked at his friend, knowing why he was suddenly acting nervous and gave a rueful smile. "Might as well go ahead and tell him, Johnny. He'll pester us both until you do."

Johnny slipped the knife into the black leather sheath hanging off his belt and set about taking the sticks they'd collected and arranging them into a teepee form within the fire pit. He mumbled something and Chris frowned and asked, "What?"

Johnny sighed and answered louder, "I was almost seven." At Chris's nonverbal expression of indignation, Johnny quickly continued, "But you have to understand Chris, I lived in a completely different society than you do."

"Yeah," Chris's voice held his indignation as he glared at his father, who was staring at his partner in surprise. "You had a father that trusted you."

Johnny was shaking his dark head and spoke up before Roy could answer, "No Chris. That's not it at all. Your father trusts you but that has nothing to do with this. A knife, like a gun, isn't a toy; it's a tool. I'd learned to handle a knife by the time I was five, a gun by the time I was 8. That's because using both meant the difference between eating that winter or not. That was the way I was raised. I learned how to use them properly because an extra set of hands was always needed when it came time to dressing a carcass. That was my society. In your society, you get food from the store already processed. The need to use a knife isn't as necessary. Your father has the right to restrict you until you learn to handle it properly." Johnny had been striking the flint and steel while he spoke. Now he bent back to the pile he'd created and blew gently at the smoking pile of wood shavings at it's base. Soon a flame appeared and he tended it until it grew strong enough then pushed it under the teepee of wood. The wood there caught fire as well, growing stronger and bigger as he gradually fed it larger branches.

Chris had watched as his uncle worked, fascinated by his actions as well as his words. He couldn't image not having all the food he wanted available at the local quickmart. Roy, too, watched and listened to his companion, ever amazed at the little tidbits he learned of his friend's past. "Must have been hard, junior." He said as he laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Johnny didn't face his friend, his gaze was focused on the flames but his mind was in the past. He gave a faint shrug, "Not really. At least, not that I noticed at the time. I had my grandfather and my father and they were with me the whole time, teaching me. That's all I really understood back then. Later though I . . ." His voice faded off and Roy frowned at the sad look that filled his young partner's dark eyes.

Chris broke the moment by calling, "Uncle Johnny?" Both men turned to see Chris holding Johnny's knife out in the palm of his hand. Johnny frowned, his hand going to the pouch on his belt. "Huh? I thought I . . ."

Roy, too, was frowning as he looked closer at the pouch. He was in a better position to see it then Johnny. "Looks like your pouch has worn out there, junior." He fingered the frayed area and loose stitching. Johnny took the blade from Chris, saying "Thank you" and grinned when Chris didn't release the blade until he did. He slipped it into his back pocket as he gave Chris another grin. "Thanks Chris, for finding it. I'd sure hate to have lost it out here. I'd probably never found it again."

"Hi Mommy! Do you see Chris's bed? He said it's not a bed; it's a rack. Isn't that what daddy calls his bed at the station?" Jenny's voice brought Chris back from his trip into the past. His hand snuck back into his pocket, feeling the beadwork he'd made on the knife sheath. Mr. Reynolds, the scout leader in charge of crafts, had helped him carefully design, cut out and assemble the leather for the sheath, then helped him figure out the pattern for the beadwork. Chris had hoped to give it to his Uncle Johnny on his upcoming birthday. He glanced over at his father, his face changing into a frown as he pondered that now.

Other boys had come into the cabin shared by Troop 335 and now packed up their own gear as Chris finished with his. Roy nodded to Jenny's question, "Yes Jenny, we call our beds either racks or sometimes bunks."

"Hi Mr. DeSoto."

Roy turned at the soft voice and found himself staring into deep brown eyes set in a deeply tanned face with dark hair hanging nearly in the eyes. He smiled, recognizing the boy. "Hello, Neal, isn't it?"

The boy gave a shy smile and nodded. Roy's smile broadened into a grin. "Did you get your first aid badge, Neal?" He remembered the conversation he'd had with the young patrol leader while they were making bandages for this past week.

The brown eyes sparkled as he nodded again. The motion knocked the heavy bangs into his eyes and he reached a hand up to push them back; a hand Roy noticed was heavily bandaged. He frowned and pointed to it. "Ummmm, that how you earned your badge?"

Neal's cheeks reddened as Chris turned, becoming aware of the conversation. "No Dad. That's how he got another badge. Mr. Reynolds said he's gonna write Neal up for an award! You shoulda seen it; it was so cool Dad. The wood in the fire pit started popping and jumping around and then started to explode! Pieces of it were flying around, landing on people. One big chunk landed right between Scout Master Reynolds and his little girl who was visiting last night at the campfire and it caught her jacket on fire. Neal grabbed the wood with his bare hand and threw it back into the fire, ripped her jacket from under her where she was sitting on it, pushed her away from it and threw it on the ground and stomped on it until it was out. He didn't even say nothing about his hand until Mrs. Hendricks, that's the camp nurse, came over to check on Amy, that's Mr. Reynolds's daughter, and she noticed he was holding his hand funny." Chris finally took a breath and grinned in admiration of his older friend.

Cheeks red with embarrassment, Neal looked at his hand and picked at the edges of the gauze. "It wasn't no big deal. I just did what they told us about fire."

Roy reached out and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. The dark head slowly rose and brown eyes stared up at him. Roy smiled and squeezed the slender shoulder. "I'd say it was a big deal. I'd say that was very quick thinking."

Those brown eyes blinked then a grin stretched the lips as the eyes lit with gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. DeSoto." Someone called his name and Neal's head turned in answer. The boy looked back up at the paramedic. "I hafta go. I'll see ya later Chris. Nice to see you again, Mrs. DeSoto, Mr. DeSoto." and with that the lithe pre-teen ran off.

Roy watched him go and felt his wife curl up in his arm. "Kinda reminds you of somebody, doesn't he." She softly stated. Roy nodded. "A lot, Jo. I thought that when he was helping me with Andy's burns." He replied then frowned, wondering briefly about his friend. He knew Johnny had never been in anything like scouting. Johnny had once scoffingly told him that the kind of stuff they taught young boys in Scouts for badges he'd learned in real life situations. Roy also knew that by Neal's age, John Gage had been an orphan.

Not knowing what her husband was thinking, but suspecting the direction, she nodded. She remembered what he'd told her later, that young Neal had so reminded him of his partner, he'd even mistakenly called the younger man by his partner's name. Then she looked over at Chris and asked, "Do you have everything now?"

Chris fingered the sheath in his pocket, making sure it was still there as he looked around the nearly empty cabin. "Yeah, Mom. I think so."

"Well then, let's head home. Shall we?" Roy said as he gathered his family and they headed toward the car. Once everything was packed inside and good-byes were said, the DeSoto family headed back home. Not surprisingly, Jenny soon fell asleep and Chris remained quiet, his gaze focused out his window.

As Roy pulled the wagon into the garage, he bumped something with the fender. He frowned as he recognized the wheelchair from Rampart. "Oh, the wheelchair. I forgot about that." He muttered. Jo sleepily looked out and caught what her husband said. He looked at her and sighed, "I'll take it back this evening." She nodded silently and laid a hand on his arm. "I miss Johnny too." She told him softly.

Neither one noticed Chris watching them intently from the backseat. The two adults got the children out of the car and Chris's stuff unloaded. "Chris, unpack your backpack and put all your dirty clothes in the laundry room for me please." Jo said as she headed into the house.

"Ok." Chris said as he grabbed up the pack. As he walked into the kitchen, he saw the stack of strange, clean dishes on the counter. His mother was looking into the fridge and he could see other dishes filled with food within.

"Roy? We still have plenty of food left. How about some ham and scalloped potatoes for supper?" She called out to where Roy was placing the wheelchair into the back of the wagon.

"That sounds good." He answered and Chris moved off toward his room as his father entered the kitchen. Roy joined his wife at the fridge and looked over the selections within. "Is there enough for Johnny and us?"

Jo gave him a rueful look. "There is more than enough. I'll package some of that up for him and some of the casserole from Maggie. I made banana pudding this morning for him with slices in it. I'll put some vanilla wafers in a baggie too. He loves banana pudding and vanilla wafers."

Roy nodded.

Upstairs, Chris had finished sorting out his dirty clothes and made his way downstairs. He put the clothes into the dirty clothes hamper by the washer, noticing the sweat pants his mother kept for Johnny in there as well. He looked carefully around, heard his parent's voices coming from the kitchen and snuck on down the hall to the sun room.

Once inside, he looked around, noting the made bed, but also the thermometer, the pad of paper and his father's medical kit beside it. He walked closer and saw the neat columns of numbers written on the pad and recognized them as times and someone's temp. He also saw the small dark brown bag he knew Johnny kept his shaving gear in. He'd seen it often enough on their family campouts. His father's kit was black. He realized his sister had been right. His Uncle Johnny had been here so it was also probably right that he'd been taken to the hospital by ambulance. His head dropped to his chest and his feet dragged as he turned and made his way back up the stairs to his room.

He stayed there even as he heard his father leave, going to the window to watch the wagon drive away. He just knew his father was making the discussed trip to the hospital. It wasn't very long before he pulled back into the garage. And soon after that Jo called the family to dinner.

Chris ate what was on his plate, even if he wasn't really that hungry. He knew if he didn't his mother would get upset and the last thing he wanted to do now, was upset his mother. After supper, he and Jenny cleaned up the kitchen and he asked if he could go ahead and take his bath early.

Roy nodded as he ruffled his son's hair. "Bet you've missed a good bath, haven't you." Chris nodded and gave his father a wan smile. "It'll be nice not to share a big metal basin with twelve other guys to clean up with." He wrinkled his nose in memory, "That thing looked like a horse's trough with faucets."

Then he stopped, sadness on his face as the thought of horses brought his Uncle back to his mind. With a heavy sigh and drooped shoulders, he headed off. As Chris headed down the hall to the laundry room for towels, he stopped, staring at the wall. He looked closer then began looking all along the hallway. They were back. All the pictures of Johnny, those with the family, those of him shot by his father or his mother and those that Johnny had taken of the family—all of them were back in the places they had been. Chris dropped his head again, got the towels and with heavy feet and an ache in his chest, headed off to his bath.

Roy and Jo watched him go. "Do you think he's ok?" Roy mused.

Jo nodded and gave her husband a peck on the cheek. "I think so. I think he's just tired now that he's home. He's had a busy week and I bet they didn't get much sleep in that cabin."

Roy chuckled. "You're probably right." He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down with a sigh.

Jo poured one for herself and looked at him expectantly. Finally she asked, "So?"

Roy shrugged. "I didn't see anyone I knew. I gave the bag to some CNA and left again." He took a sip of the coffee. "Gretchen is working days this weekend. I'll talk to her tomorrow." Jo nodded and the two drank their coffee in silence. After the cups were nearly empty, Jo spoke again. "Roy. I think it's best you tell Chris tonight."

Roy nodded. His wife had told him about the fight between the children over Roy's ban on all things Johnny. He knew he needed to explain things to his son. "I will. When his bath is done." Jo rinsed her cup and left. Soon Roy could hear her in the laundry room and knew she was sorting the laundry. She'd begin washing the clothes as soon as the children's baths were finished.

Jo heard the water shut off in the upstairs bath, then the sound of Chris's door shutting and called out, "Jenny? Chris is done. I want you in that bathroom in five minutes."

"OK, Mommy." Came the little girl's voice from the den. She heard the TV switched off then Jenny's feet running up the stairs even as Roy barked out, "Walk young lady!"

She put the first load into the machine so all she had to do was turn it on, grabbed some towels and left. As she passed the kitchen, she paused near her husband. "Roy? Now would be a good time."

He sighed and nodded as he got to his feet. He rinsed out his cup, placed it into the sink and together the two parents headed upstairs.

Chris was sitting at his desk when his father first knocked on the doorframe then entered his room. He put the pencil down on the paper he'd been writing on and looked at his father.

Roy shifted uncomfortably as he looked around his son's room. "Bath felt good?" he finally lamely asked.

Chris nodded.

"Bet it'll feel good to sleep in your own bed again too, right?"

Again just a silent nod. Roy sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Chris, I need to talk to you about something." He began. Chris looked at him expectantly. Roy took a moment to really look at his child. He noticed Chris's face was tanned darker from the week of being outside and his blue eyes watched his father with intelligence. He sighed, 'He's growing up; he's not such a little boy any more. No more stammering around. The boy knows something is going on.' he told himself and began, "Chris, I love you and your sister very much."

"I know that, dad." Chris said softly. Roy nodded, "Good. I have to tell you that it hurts me to see one of you hurt. I know it's not possible but a dad would rather himself be hurt than to see his child hurt. OK?"

Chris frowned in puzzlement but nodded. He guessed that was true but he had no idea where this was leading. Roy picked up on of the metal fire trucks from the nearby shelf and fiddled with the tires. "Chris, when your mother and I left for our anniversary and John Gage was here and Jenny got hurt . . ." He paused at the look on his son's face and hurried to say, "I don't regret Johnny being here. In fact other than your mother or I there's no one I think better capable of taking care of you and your sister. He did everything exactly as I would have if I'd been here."

"Then why'd you get so mad at him?" Chris remembered the tense scene he and Mike Stoker had walked into a month ago. He could still see his father's fists twisted into the material of the younger man's shirt as he shook his partner, his angry face inches from the man he'd called friend as he screamed at him. Chris had been sure that in the next move, his father would throw the slighter man he held backward away from him. Mike Stoker had intervened and gotten his father to release Johnny but his father's anger was obvious. And from that moment on, his father never mentioned his partner's name, had removed all evidence of his part in their family and had forbid the rest of them to talk about John Gage. That was how it was when Chris had left for camp.

Roy sighed again and nodded, "I was mad and wrongly, I'll admit, blamed it on him. Johnny didn't do anything to deserve my anger. I really was mad at myself, Chris. See? I was feeling guilty about not being here to take care of your sister when she was hurt. And in order to make myself feel better, I tried to make sure I was there . . .for everything." He looked up and caught his son's eyes. "Do you understand?"

Chris shrugged. It kinda made sense, he guessed, but it didn't explain what happened. Roy continued, "A lot of people made me see what I was doing wrong, Mike Stoker, Bob Shultz were two, as well as your mother." He looked back down at the truck and took a deep breath coming up to the hard part. "Johnny got hurt at work and he developed an infection. Your mother brought him here because he couldn't take care of himself. We talked. And I apologized to him for the way I'd been acting." He again sought out his son's sad gaze, "Now I'm apologizing to you, son. I know that my actions confused you and I'm sorry. I know about the fight you had with your sister and I want you to know, it was alright for you to still care for Johnny. Even as badly as I was treating him—everyone really, I still cared deeply for him."

Chris watched his father, saw the sad look in his father's eyes. "Did he forgive you?"

Roy gave a short laugh and nodded. "He said he did." He remembered the brief discussion in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

After several long moments Chris added, "I knew about that, Dad, and about him going back to the hospital. Jenny told me." Roy nodded still silently contemplating the truck in his hands. He recognized it as one that Johnny had given Chris for a birthday. "Chris, " he started, "Johnny . . ."

"You don't need to say anymore, Dad. I know." Chris cut him off.

Roy looked at his son a little bewildered, "You do?"

Chris nodded. Roy felt relieved he didn't have to go into what was going on right now with Johnny. If Jenny had talked with Chris then she would have told him what she was told. Both Jo and Roy had left this latest development in the relationship out, hoping to get it straightened out soon without having to tell the children.

Father and son sat there for several more long moments then Roy stood up with another sigh. "Better head to bed, son. We're going to church in the morning." Chris nodded and watched his father's slumped figure leave the room before he moved over and plopped onto his bed.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, Chris thought over all the things he'd heard and seen. He reached under his mattress and pulled out his photo album. He carefully turned the pages until he reached the ones of photos from that camping trip. He examined each, Johnny standing behind him, grinning broadly as he helped Chris hold up the large fish the boy had caught. Chris and his father looking out over a sparkling clear bend in the river. Johnny, his body bent nearly in half as he pounded in the tent pegs. Each one held so many wonderful memories.

He pulled the sheath out of his pocket and carefully laid it next to the book as he went through each picture. Then the final picture, one Johnny had set his camera to take so they were all three in it. The tent sat in the back ground, Roy and Johnny sat on a log, arms over each other's shoulders. Chris sat in front of them, and each man had a hand on his shoulder as well. All three were grinning broadly, although Chris could see that Johnny's grin was extra large and his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischievousness, Chris's was just this side of bursting into hysterics and his father's eyes held just the very beginnings of puzzlement and his eyes were just widening in shock. Right before the camera had clicked, Johnny had whispered something to Roy. Chris wasn't sure what it was, but he'd heard his father's quick intake of breath, heard his startled, "GOOD GOD JOHNNY!" just as the camera clicked. It was Chris's favorite picture.

As he stared at it, something wet struck the plastic surface and slid down it. More drops fell and Chris closed his eyes, grabbed his pillow and buried his head into it's softness as he mourned for the man he'd called Uncle.

The wheelchair—being returned because it was no longer needed; it's user not returning, the medical gear still in the sun room but repacked in his father's jump bag, all the food in the house brought over by other people—he knew there were two reasons people brought food to somebody's house and his mother hadn't just had a baby. Then there were his father's sad looks and his mother's comment of "I miss Johnny too." In his mind it all added up to only one thing. Uncle Johnny was dead.