Ok. Here's the long awaited next chapter. Things are moving for our boys now. If you don't want to read a long flashback scene to Johnny's childhood, skip ahead to the last 5 or so pages. This still follows my hands theme from way back. BTW, Chaske is an endearment for a first son, and Tanagila means hummingbird. It's a nickname given him by his Grandmother explained waaay back in the first few chapters. It's NOT Johnny's Indian name.

Now, on to the story….

Chapter 38

Joseph Nathanial Gage sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the bandaged appendage at the end of his arm, a opened bottle of Jack Daniels in his other hand. He poured a healthy amount of the amber liquid into the glass then set the bottle back down. He tossed the pungent drink into his mouth and quickly swallowed. He grimaced at the burning in his mouth and throat, but desperate for the numbness he craved, he refilled the glass to repeat the action. He stared at the amber liquid. "Whiskey for a whiskey." He sing-songed then downed it as well. The whiskey took his breath away and he closed his eyes. As he did, the memories of the past weeks tumbled through his mind like clothes in a dryer.

He could see again the hard looks given him by the second of the two howitzer teams he'd been sent to shadow, saw in at least two of them the sneer as they looked him up and down. "whaddya want, boy."

He recognized the look, having seen it many times in his young life. He stood silent and straight, hands slightly resting on his hips and let them come to him. The leader, a scruffy looking character with corporal stripes came forward, spitting tobacco juice just shy of Joe's boot. Joe didn't move or acknowledge the insult in any manner. He kept his face neutral, his eyes slightly narrowed. "I said whaddya want, Cochise." The corporal growled.

In a clear even voice Joe told them, "I'm Sergeant Gage, I'm your medic."

"Christ Smitty, he's our 68whiskey?" One of the men whined. Another guffawed, "That's pretty funny! We got ourselves a redskin for our whiskey!" They used the slang for an army medic's designation.

The corporal's beady eyes never broke contact with Gage's brown ones and Joe remained calm and in control. The corporal spit again and grunted, "Just stay outta our way, Saaargeeeant." He said the rank with as much disgust as he possibly could. Joe gave a curt nod and made no move closer to the gun as the crew returned to the weapon. He positioned himself between the two crews so he could easily see both teams. The first team wasn't scheduled to begin firing until afternoon so he concentrated his focus on the second team.

He watched them prep, prepare and then the firing began. He placed his hands to his ears to protect his hearing as he watched. The gun crew was good. Most of their shells fell either on or nearly on target. So the morning went, and as the day heated up, he took off his fatigue shirt so he was only in his white t-shirt and his fatigue pants tucked into his combat boots. His stomach rumbled and he was debating pulling out the sandwiches he'd packed for lunch when he noticed something. The gun crew huddled together near the controls. He perked up, his hand resting on his equipment bag as he watched. Then one of them turned toward him and hollered, "Hey! Medic!"

At that call, Joe leapt to his feet, his bag flung over his shoulder as he trotted toward them. He could see now that one of the men was holding his arm rigid with his other hand. His eyes intent on his patient, Joe didn't see that the formerly tightly grouped men had fanned out. He never saw what happened, just knew that one moment he was hurrying toward his patient, the next he was falling. He instinctively threw his hands out in front of himself to either catch himself or brace himself for the impact and felt his hand and arm connect with something solid. Then his chest also hit the solid object, driving the wind from him with an, "oomph."

A next second inconceivable pain shot through his arm and chest. In reaction to the intolerable sensation and screaming in his agony, he wrenched his body backward away from whatever it was that was tormenting him. But the pain followed as his back impacted with the ground and, still screaming, he writhed in the thin grass.

"JEZZES! Smitty! He hit the barrel!" A voice cried out.

Someone else gasped, "God! His hand! It's . . . it's . . ."

The smell of burning flesh was making Joe nauseas and apparently he wasn't the only one. Dimly, as if from a great distance, he could hear someone retching. The part of him that was a medic sternly told him that he should see to the ill man; it was his duty. But the mind numbing pain from his chest and arm overloaded any abilities he had to act.

"Someone shut him up!" He heard the corporal's voice demand and instantly someone's hand clasped over his face as a very heavy body straddled him, effectively pinning him down. Joe fought to remove it, his breathing hampered not only by the pain and the weight on his abdomen but now by the heavy hand clamped over both his mouth and nose. His body arched and thrashed and he kicked desperately to escape even as he tried to use his uninjured hand to push himself free or at least remove the obstacle to his breathing. All too soon, his vision began to blacken as a roaring built in his ears. He gradually stopped fighting as the lack of oxygen reduced his strength. His body went limp even as he maintained his eye lock with the gaze of the person restraining him. Then his eyes sagged closed. He wasn't out yet when he heard someone say, "Let him breathe, Hicks, you're suffocating him!" Whether the command was obeyed or not, Joe didn't know as the darkness claimed him.

Awareness came back slowly and he could hear voices near him. He started to open his eyes, wanting to ask what had happened to him but then memories surged back and he willed his body to remain limp. He listened carefully to the sounds around him even as he put his other senses to use. 'Antiseptics, bleach, alcohol.' He moved slightly feeling the stiffness of starched sheets beneath him. 'I'm in the infirmary.'

He could hear voices talking quietly near him and he focused in on their words. "We need to talk to him." One was saying in that calm but commanding way he knew usually was attached to an officer.

"We have the other's statements but they greatly vary." Another voice was saying, "So we need to hear from him before we can do anything."

"So, are you going to do anything?" Another voice snarled and this one he recognized as belonging to a PA (Physicians Assistant) he'd worked with many times before. His name was Galen Winters and Joe counted him as one of the few friends he had in the Army.

He could almost see the authoritative one draw himself up and look down on his friend. "We are conducting an investigating. We have to conclude our investigation first."

As if to soothe ruffled feathers, the other one spoke, "At least can you tell us about his injuries? That will be a start."

"His condition is serious. He has second and third degree burns laterally across his chest. We'll probably have to do skin grafts on them and several debridements. The same for the area burned on his upper arm." He recognized the voice of Dr. Torrens, the doctor he technically fell under the command of as a corpsman. He knew the man was a excellent doctor and had always treated him fairly, basing his actions on the merits of Joe's work, not the color of his skin.

There was the sound of shifting bodies then the first voice said, "We were told his injuries were minor!"

"Minor!" Galen growled out, "He left most of his right hand behind on the barrel of that gun." There was the deep intake of breath then the second investigator demanded, "Is this true?"

"Yes. His right hand . . ." Here the doctor faltered then began again. "His right hand was badly burned, the flesh nearly melted off. We . . . we are doing all we can to save it, but it doesn't look good right now." He sighed then continued, "You must understand, gentlemen, that weapon had been firing all morning. The barrel was probably heated up to several hundred degrees. When he impacted against it . . . well . ."

There was the sound of pens scratching on paper and Joe laid stunned at what he'd heard. He was burned—badly from the description. Awareness had now fully returned and with it some other more unpleasant sensations. His breathing picked up and he voiced a small involuntary groan at his building pain.

"I think our boy is waking up." He heard Dr. Torrens say. He could feel a hand laid on his uninjured arm. "Sergeant Gage? Can you hear me? C'mon Gage, open your eyes."

He struggled to obey and slowly they opened. He blinked them several times in order to clear his vision. As he suspected, four people surrounded his bed. The doctor gave him a kind smile and he exchanged nods with Galen; seeing the worried look in his friend's grey eyes brought out a faint half grin. Then he looked at the other two and something immediately told him NCIS. The older of the two men spoke first, "Sergeant Gage, I'm Agent Carpenter and this is Agent Kerns; we're from NCIS and we need to ask you some questions."

He nodded, opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a small croaking sound. Instantly a straw was placed to his lips and he sipped it, his eyes looking up with gratitude to the younger of the two agents. He received a faint smile and nod. "I imagine you're still pretty dry."

"He's still dehydrated." Dr. Torrens confirmed, "And burns are drying as well since they pull a lot of fluid from the body."

Once Joe'd nearly drained the glass he pulled back and tried again. "I'll help . . . what I can. What you need?"

The older agent flipped open his notebook. "Records say you were assigned as the medic for artillery practice on July 16th."

He nodded.

"Can you tell us what happened that day?"

He swallowed heavily and looked down, seeing his bandaged hand for the first time. The bandages were so thick, it had no shape to it. Fear filled him. 'Was it all gone? Did they have to take it off? How much was really there of his hand under all that gauze?'

A hand on his uninjured arm re-centered his focus and he looked up into the searching eyes of the younger agent again, "Do you remember what happened that day?" Keeping eye contact, Joe nodded. The agent nodded back. "Alright then. Just start out with when you reported for duty that day."

He swallowed again and took a deep breath, "I came by the infirmary at around 05:30 to get my equipment and make sure I had plenty of water jugs in my jeep. It gets really hot out there in the field and I didn't want to have any cases of dehydration." He started. As both men nodded, he went on to tell about how he'd loaded his jeep, received the map of the area where he was assigned, then left. He told about how he greeted each team, told each who he was and why he was there and then settled in to watch. At that point the older Agent stopped him.

"When you approached the team at TU 5 what was their reaction?"

He looked puzzled and the Agent flipped back through his notes, "They would have been the second team, Corporal Hayden Smith in charge."

Joe grimaced slightly then all emotion disappeared from his face. All four men noticed. He heard Galen curse slightly as he turned away. The older Agent leaned forward. "Sergeant, we need to know everything that happened out there in order to make sure justice is served."

At the statement about justice, a quick scowl crossed Joe's face then was gone. But the four men caught it. The second Agent also leaned forward but before he could say anything, Dr. Torrens spoke up.

"Gage, you're a good man. I've always been pleased with the care you've always given others."

Joe blinked at him, the doctor wasn't known to ever give such compliments and he was thrown off track by this praise. "Th . . thank you, sir." he mumbled. The doctor nodded at him, "I'm only stating what is true. Now. We all know something happened out there. Something possibly criminal." He saw the shut-down look in his medic's face but went on. "I know you're not a complainer. You never have been and that's not what this is about. And I know you don't want to make any trouble."

He saw the faint nod Joe gave and he moved closer, "I also know you've always followed the rules and always obeyed the chain of command. So, let me say this . . . what happened to you, what may have been done out there . . what if it's happened before? Or happens again, say in combat? Would you be willing to put some young private into your position?"

He settled back as he watched the emotions now race across his medic's face. He felt satisfied, he knew his medic and he knew he'd said the right things. They all saw the resolve now in Joe's brown eyes. The medic turned to face the two Agents again. "They weren't pleased, Cpl. Smith and two others. They had some comments about my being there as their medic."

The older Agent again consulted his notes, "Comments about you being an Indian? Umm, let's see, one called you a redskin and one called you Squanto?"

Joe nodded, slightly surprised that they had that information. "Uhh, Cochise actually." At the agents' bewildered looks he added, "They called me Cochise, not Squanto. Cpl. Smith told me to stay out of their way." He chuckled, "I had every intention of that. I know what those guns can do. I settled in an area between the two crews, kinda on a small hill so I had good vantage over both. I watched them fire and they were good."

The Agents nodded, "Then what?"

Joe sighed and closed his eyes, "It was about 13:30. I'd just looked at my watch. I was getting hungry and was gonna pull out my lunch when I noticed the crew on gun 25 had stopped firing. They were all gathered together, near the breach." He went on to explain how they'd called him over and how he'd ran to help what he thought was a injured man. The pens were again scratching on paper as he spoke. As he told about his body hitting the gun, his voice trailed off.

Agent Carpenter nodded, "You said you were anxious to get to the man you thought was hurt…?

Joe nodded.

"So were you running?"

Joe shook his head, "Not flat out. But I was hurrying."

"So, did you trip?"

Joe paused as he went back to that place in his mind. There wasn't anything under his feet but flat ground. He slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. The ground around there was pretty flat, few rocks and no roots if that's what you mean."

Both agents nodded, they had both been out to the sight and that was true. Joe's eyes widened a little as he realized something. "What?" Agent Kerns softly encouraged, seeing the unfocused look in the wounded man's eyes. He just knew he was remembering something.

"Something . . . struck me. About mid-shin. Then I felt something . . . hit my back . . . ? Pushing me?"

Agent Carpenter looked at Dr. Torrens who nodded, "He has a good sized bruise on his right shin, just above where his boot was."

Joe gulped as realization struck him, he looked from one man to the other as he whispered, "They pushed me. Someone . . . pushed me. Into the gun. Why?"

The agents didn't answer, instead they went on with their questioning. Shocked now to think he'd been deliberately hurt, he went on to tell the rest of what he remembered; the hand over his face, the body physically holding him down, he repeated all the rest of it in a faint monotone.

He ended with a shrug and, "That's the last thing I knew . . . until just a few minutes ago." He sat back, his eyes falling to half-mast in exhaustion. Galan placed the straw to his lips again and he drank.

Agent Carpenter snapped his notebook shut. "Well. That verifies what Privates Hutchers, Peters and Wilkes said. Sergeant Gage? Thank you for your time. We'll let you know if we need anything else." He nodded to the other men and looked at his partner, "Coming Kerns?"

The younger man was still scribbling in his notebook. "I'll be right there." Carpenter gave a curt nod and left. Once the door was shut, Kerns flipped his notebook closed and smiled at the three men. "If there is anything you need, here's my card. Dr. Torrens, we might need you for the deposition to testify to his injures and the condition he was in when he was brought in."

He looked back down at the downcast dark head of the young man in the bed. 'He's just a few years younger than me. What a shame. A mean stunt pulled by some assholes and now he's crippled for life.' Out loud he said, "Sergeant Gage, I hope you get better soon. We'll be in touch."

Then he too left.

Joe kept his head down, even as Dr. Torrens answered his quietly uttered questions about his injures. With words of encouragement and a pat on his arm, the good doctor left his medic.

Joe felt a weight settle on the edge of his bed and knew that Galen had stayed. "They didn't mean for me to survive this, did they." His voice was soft as he made that statement.

Galen sighed, "No. They drug you off into the trees and left you there the rest of the day. It's by God's Own Grace that you didn't die from dehydration or shock. Smith told the newer members of the guncrew that you'd been taken to the clinic. They were never in on it; they were told it was only an initiation. Once you were hurt, they got scared. When they got back to base, Peters heard Smith tell Hicks that they'd head back out to "get rid of the body" after chow. He got worried and talked to Wilkes and Hutcher about what had happened. They called here first and found out you were never brought in. They told Dr. Torrens what happened and he called Command. Command sent some MPS out to follow that . . . bunch (Joe grinned slightly at his friend's self monitoring) and caught them loading you up into a jeep. They tried to lie and say they thought you'd gone for help and came out to check and just found you." Galen made a growling sound in his throat. "That . . . Smith … tried to claim that they'd helped you back over to your jeep and you'd told them you were ok and were gonna drive yourself back. And that he got worried and decided to check back at the gun when he didn't hear anything about how you were doing." He snorted at that. "One look at your wounds and any decent person could tell they were lying. Plus they were loading you into their jeep, yours was still over in the lot." He looked at his friend, saw the bent head, the devastated look on his pale face, and worried. "Hey, Joe? Listen to me, buddy."

Joe looked up as Galen laid a hand on his arm. "You'll get through this, Joe. You're the toughest guy I know. And you know, anything I can do to help . . ." Joe nodded.

Joe blinked at the white walls of his kitchen then sighed. That had been several weeks ago. He'd had several debridement sessions, suffered through infections and finally had to have surgery when they'd been forced to remove the fourth and fifth fingers and part of his right hand. True to his word, Galen had been beside him, helping him fill out the paperwork on his disability and his medical discharge. Joe took another deep breath and poured more whiskey into the glass. He had nothing now. No home—they currently lived on base and would soon be forced out—no job and no other job prospects. Who would hire a one handed Indian? True, his wife worked and he'd get some disability from the Army but that wasn't much. He swirled the drink around, staring into the glass, mesmerized as he did.

Worthless, he was worthless and useless. There was nothing to his life anymore. As Joe lifted the glass to his lips the sudden banging of the screen door startled him and he spilled the drink. Angry, he poured more even as the excited voice of his young son reached him, "ATE! Looksee! Étuŋwe! What dis?" As usual, the boy's English and Dakhota were all mixed together. But what he'd always found amusing before, Joe now found aggravating.

"Le've me 'lone!" he growled as the dark haired boy exploded into the room. "Damn, doesn't that kid have an off switch," he grumbled to himself. The young child tenderly cradled something in his cupped hands, his gaze intent on what he had and not where he was going as he raced headlong toward his father. He bumped his father's chair which jostled the unsteady man enough that he accidently struck his injured hand on the table. Pain flared up his arm and he cursed loudly. "Damn it John! Can't you be still for one minute!"

He swept his left arm out in anger, but stiffened as it unexpectedly came in contact with something. His head snapped around in time to see his blow catch his young son on the back, just about at the shoulder blades. The force propelled the hapless youngster into the kitchen wall where he impacted face first, then ricocheted backwards to sprawl spread-eagle on the floor. Joe stared at him in shock, his own body frozen as he saw the child gasp for the air pushed out of his body by the duel blows, his large eyes wide in surprise. Then tears filled those dark brown eyes and began running down his tiny cheeks as Johnny inhaled deeply and let it out in a wail of pain. Blood began running from his split lip and nose even as a place on his forehead reddened and darkened.

Movement came back to Joe as he leapt to his feet, his heart racing. "GOD! Johnny!" He knelt next to his son, his hand shaking as he reached for him. Johnny was crying hard now, the sobs shaking his body, his face red with his howling and drenched with tears. As Joe ran his hand over his child's face, trying to assess the damage done Johnny suddenly stopped crying. His breath left his lungs in a long drawn out sigh as his face drained of all color. As Joe watched in helpless horror, his child's small body arched upward as his back bowed, the dark eyes now wide and unfocused before rolling up to show only the whites. Then the slender boy began frantically moving, muscles constricting and flexing involuntarily.

Joe felt his heart freeze as he realized his child was seizing. With an agonized cry, he gathered his small son up in his arms, cradling the child as gently as the twisting body allowed. Joe's head swung from one side of the room to the other, desperately searching for the keys to the car he hadn't driven in months. As he saw them, and scooped them up, he felt Johnny give one last shudder then go disturbingly limp. "No, Spirits no, O ma key yo! Johnny? Chaske!"

He laid his unbandaged hand against the thin neck, relieved to feel the pulsing within but the pale features, the bloody face, the limpness all told the medic his child was in trouble. He had one thought now, get Johnny to help. As he raced across the base to the hospital, his gaze kept going down to the dark head in his lap. He'd turned Johnny onto his side so the blood that still trickled from his nose and lip wouldn't choke him, not caring that it soaked his jeans instead. When he heard the siren behind him, he ignored it. He had just screeched to a halt in front of the hospital when his door was yanked open.

"Alright, buddy, just what do you think . . . Christ Almighty!" The voice started out angry but changed as Joe gathered the limp form of his child gently against his chest. Brown eyes filled with anguish looked pleadingly up into the shocked open mouthed face of the MP.

"Please," he begged, tears running from his eyes, "My son . . . he's hurt. Help me."

Without another word the MP grabbed his elbow, towing him toward the door even as Joe bent his head over his son, pleading. "Johnny? Chaske, can you hear me? God Chaske, I'm so sorry. Please be ok. Stay with me, Tanagila."

Roy placed the straw to Johnny's lips, watching him drink as he reviewed the story his friend had just told him. Being a father himself, he could understand the agony Joe Gage must have felt. Once Johnny signaled he was finished, Roy drank some water himself from his own glass then settled back into his chair.

"Wow, junior. That's' . . uhhh. That's . . ."

"It's quite a story, huh." Johnny acknowledged.

Roy looked at him, "Of course you were alright."

Johnny nodded, "Eventually. Dad said I stayed unconscious for about an hour. I guess I scared him really badly."

Roy gave a snort at that understatement.

Johnny grinned slightly, "Yeah. I know. But Dad also said in the long run it turned out to be one of the best days of his life."

Roy looked at him incredulously. "How could he say that! The man was crippled, jobless and homeless from prejudice and then got drunk and nearly killed his kid!"

Johnny's smile grew as he shook his head, "Dad always told me he was glad that it happened like it did because it changed his life." At Roy's horrified expression Johnny let out a loud laugh as he added, "No! Not that he hurt me! He wasn't happy about that of course. But he understood why it happened like it did."

Roy's face showed his bewilderment so Johnny began explaining. "My father never took a drink of anything harder than a beer after that and never to get drunk. He said he realized, there in the hospital while he watched over me, that he did have something to live for—me and my mom. And more important, he wasn't helpless." Johnny smiled softly in remembrance of his father's telling the tale of the lesson he learned. "See, he drove the car."

Roy frowned. And Johnny laughed at the expression. "He drove the car to the hospital. Roy, it was a stick shift. He said at the time he didn't think about doing it, he just did it. After that, he'd try just about anything. He found out there was plenty he could still do. He still had his thumb and two fingers on his right hand."

Johnny shifted in his bed, his gaze going now to his own hands, his exposed thumb and two fingers on his left hand. "Dad taught himself carpentry and hired himself out as an independent." His voice was soft as he realized the determination his father had had. Could he do that? Could he totally redo his life like his father had done? Did he have the strength to do that?

Roy laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder and Johnny looked up, his eyes dark with memories. "He sounds like he was quite a guy." He told his young partner solemnly.

Johnny slowly nodded, his smile tender, "He was, Roy. I wish you could have met him."

Roy nodded, "Me too, junior. He sounds like someone quite exceptional." His fingers tightened on his friend's shoulder as he added, "Kinda like his son. He's pretty exceptional too."

Brown eyes stared solemnly into serious blue ones for several long moments then Johnny gave a faint nod as he whispered, "Thanks."

They stayed that way for a bit longer, two friends sharing their own kind of silent communication. Then Roy ran his hand over his face and settled back in his chair with a huge sigh. "God." He groaned. "I need coffee."

The delighted snicker from the bed sent his spirit soaring as he grinned at his friend. "Bet you could use a cup too, huh Junior?"

Johnny nodded as he grinned broadly. Just then his stomach voiced it's opinion and Johnny's face colored while it was Roy's turn to grin broadly. "Coffee and other things." He reached down and pulled up the bag he'd placed at his feet earlier. Johnny watched avidly as Roy pulled out several containers, naming each as he placed them on the tray.

"Garlic bread, Greek salad with blue cheese crumbles, and Jo's lasagna." Johnny's eyes widened in appreciation of one of his favorite meals. Roy opened the containers and chuckled again as he watched his partner's eyes close in bliss as he inhaled deeply through his nose. "Open up, partner. I assure you it tastes even better than it smells." He placed a generous forkful of the sauce-covered noodles into Johnny's eager mouth.

Johnny chewed happily, savoring the tastes before he swallowed. Even before he could open his mouth again, another bite was ready and waiting.

Roy's grin never faded as he fed his friend, getting as much delight over watching Johnny eat as it appeared Johnny was getting out of the meal. All too soon though, Johnny turned his head, his mouth closed.

Now Roy's brows turned downward in concern. "You didn't eat much, junior. Are you sure you can't take any more?"

Johnny shook his head, "Not right now." His gaze dropped to his lap. "Sorry. I don't mean to be a disappointment."

Roy reached out and took Johnny's chin in his hand, gently forcing his friend to raise his head and face him. "You aren't a disappointment, Johnny. If you're full then you're full. The rest can wait until later. We—Jo and I—just want to make sure you get everything you need."

Johnny stared into his friend's blue eyes, seeing the concern and the conviction there and gave a faint grin. "ok, Roy." He blinked sleepily and tried to stifle a yawn.

Roy chuckled, "Looks like it's somebody's naptime." He teased.

To his surprise a slightly panicked look entered those chocolate-shaded eyes. "I'm not sleepy, Roy. Honest!" Johnny's eyes darted about almost frantically. "Uhhmm, coffee! You said you needed coffee. That sounds really good!" He blinked again heavily, stifling another yawn. "Yes, coffee. A nice big cup. And maybe one of Jenny's cookies. Doesn't that sound great? Boy, I could sure go for a coffee and some cookies right now."

Roy listened to his friend babble on, confused by this sudden turn. "Oookkay. If that's what you want. I'll . . . I'll just go get the coffee and be right back." He moved to stand up.

"NO!" The panicked shout from his bedridden mate froze the paramedic. Johnny tried another smile at the sight of the frown on his partner's face. "I mean, no, you don't have to leave. Hey Roy? Why don't you buzz the nurse and have her bring us some coffee? I'm sure Gretchen would do that."

Roy watched the dark haired younger man closely. After several moments, he spoke, "Johnny. You look tired. I think you need to sleep, not drink coffee."

Johnny was frantically shaking his head, "No Roy. I . . . I'm fine. Not tired at all."

"Uhhuh." Roy could see that even as hard as Johnny was obviously trying, his blinking was getting slower, his eyes getting glassy. His partner's behavior confused him. Why was Johnny insisting he wasn't tired when it was so obvious he was? With a sudden flash of insight, Roy gave a faint smile even as he squeezed Johnny's shoulder. "Get some sleep, junior. You know you need it. I'm not going to go anywhere unless you tell me."

Johnny blinked slowly at him then shook his head, "Doan wan you go . . . anywh're . . .Doan . . . wan be . . . 'lone . . .'" he breathed softly then yawned so widely it hurt Roy's jaw. "Please . . . stay . . ."

Roy chuckled as he patted his friend's cheek, "I promise, Johnny. Sleep. I'll be right here." Then he quirked a grin at his partner, "And I promise the only place I'll go is to get some coffee for myself, and for you when you wake up. Deal?'

Johnny's eyes were nearly closed now, his body resting back against his pillows but he gave an exhausted grin back, "Deal . . ." he whispered as his head lolled to one side and he fell deeply asleep.

Roy smiled at his sleeping friend, watching his deep and even breathing for several long moments. He too, was reluctant to leave his friend but the thought of that promised coffee and cookies drew him. He leaned closer to his partner. "Sleep, Johnny. I'm getting the coffee and then I'll be right back."

Johnny's head moved fractionally but his breathing never changed. Roy patted his shoulder and with one last look at the sleeping figure he gave a contented sigh and left the room.

As he approached the desk, Gretchen looked up, one eyebrow cocked upward. Roy's grin answered her even before he spoke. "He ate, he's asleep now."

Gretchen nodded, "Good."

"Yeah," Roy smiled, relishing the happy feeling filling him. He was back where he needed to be—helping his partner. He tapped the desk top with his fingertips. "Uhh, listen Gretchen, I promised Johnny I wouldn't leave him for long but I gotta have coffee."

The nurse's smile broadened as she nodded, "Understood. The best is probably right over there in the nurse's area. Made it fresh myself just a few minutes ago."

Roy nodded, "Great. I promised Johnny some coffee and cookies when he woke. And I'd best call my wife too while I have the chance. I know she'll be eager to hear about Johnny."

Gretchen motioned him over to a phone behind her desk. "Use that line there. I think there are still some of the cookies you sent in still marked for him. I'll go check." Roy smiled his thanks as he walked to the pot first. He grabbed a mug and poured out the fragrant brew. Cautiously he took a sip. His eyes widened. It was strong . . . but very good. He sighed in appreciation and drinking more, moved to the phone.

He dialed the familiar number and waited eagerly to hear his wife answer. His smile widened as her voice came over the line. "Jo. Jo! Yes, I saw him. Huh?" He paused, his spirits sagging a little. "Umm, I guess he looks the same. Yeah, he still looks thin. He's pale and . . . and he gets tired very easily."

His excitement returned, "but Jo, he's talking again. Yeah! He . . he told me a story about his father! Yes! I know! He rarely talks about his parents! I'll tell you all of it later. I don't want to stay on too long. He's asleep right now. What?"

His smile faded and his brows drew forward. "Chris? He did?" He listened, his face growing darker. "He told his sister what?"

He shifted uncomfortably, "Why would he do something so mean?" He listened more, this time his brows raised and his eyes widened. "He thinks Johnny's WHAT?" Roy sagged as his wife repeated her statement and explained. Running a hand over his face he sighed heavily. "Yeah. Yeah, I can see how he could think that, I guess. Did you tell him . . ."

He listened nodding, "Well, did you tell him . . .. uhhuh. Uhuh. I see." Another deep sigh. He glanced back toward Johnny's room, his brows downward in a frown. "Hang on Jo, I've got an idea. What? Yes, that's what I'm gonna do. I think it will help BOTH of them. Yeah. I'll . .. I'll call you back in just a few minutes. Love you too. Yeah, I'll tell him. Bye."

Roy hung up the phone and sipped at his coffee, his brows twisted into a frown. Then, with a determined look, he walked back over to where he could see Gretchen talking to another nurse whose back was toward him. "Gretchen, do you have the number . . .oh."

As he began talking, both nurses turned to face him and he now recognized . . . "Dixie? What are you doing in uniform?"

Dixie smiled at him., "Hello Roy. I'm taking the evening shift. We've had a bit of a scheduling problem here . . ." She tilted a sly grin at Gretchen who gave one right back at her, "And they needed a floater for the evening shift so I volunteered."

Roy eyed the two, his arms crossing. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the neglect of a certain patient a few nights ago, would it?"

Dixie innocently batted her pretty blue eyes at the younger man, "No. Not really." Then seriously she added. "She's done similar things before on other shifts here. But that . . . neglecting a bedridden patient to the point of endangering his care, that's unconscionable. So she's been suspended and as I said, I volunteered."

He smiled gratefully at the older nurses, "Thanks. You two are really special people."

Both woman colored briefly, "I told you before," Gretchen stated, "My main concern is only my patients. The sooner I get them off my floor means the sooner they are better. Just because one certain patient has been occupying one of my bed for way too long . . . well, that has nothing to do with the quality of care anyone here deserves."

Roy nodded, but his eyes still spoke his gratitude. "yeah," he said softly, "He has been here way too long." His gaze went back toward Room #3.

"You needed something, Roy?" Dixie's question brought him back to the present. He faced them, "Yeah . . I need you to see if you can get ahold of Dr. Bentley. I want to get permission for my family to visit with Johnny."

The two exchanged looks then Gretchen opened her mouth to comment but Dixie again beat her to it with, "Roy, this is SICU. Johnny is doing well but seeing him like this could upset . . ."

Roy was already shaking his head, "It can't upset them any more than they already are. Seems my son has gotten it into his head that while he was at camp, Johnny died."

"WHAT!" Dixie's eyes widened.

Roy nodded, "And what's worse, he's told that to his sister as well."

Dixie blinked. "How did he get such an idea?"

Roy rubbed his face, as he began to explain how he'd had a talk with his son about Johnny and their fight but hadn't realized what Chris had already seen. And he explained how his words only appeared to reinforce what Chris had surmised. "So when he saw me return the wheelchair, he figured that meant Johnny wouldn't be returning to our house. And he knew Johnny'd been too injured to go home alone from the descriptions Jenny told him of how weak he was and how he couldn't use his hands. Then when he saw all the food brought in by everyone, well . . ."

Dixie and Gretchen nodded, both well aware of traditions. "He thought 'funeral'. Ok Roy, I'll call his service. I think you're right, the only way you'll convince him is for him to see a living breathing Johnny." She turned to the phone on the desk and quickly dialed a number.

Gretchen smiled at him, "Besides, after all Army has told me about how deeply your family feels toward Johnny, and how Johnny feels toward your family, this visit could only do him good as well."

Roy nodded, "My thoughts exactly." He sipped his coffee and noticed with a frown, the cup was empty. Gretchen laughed, "Get more. I'll make another pot. You did say Johnny wanted some as well. Oh, by the way, here's those cookies."

Dixie joined them and Gretchen handed her a cup of coffee as well. "The service is calling him now. He's pretty good about calling back quickly." She looked at the cookies under the saran wrap and frowned, looking closer. Roy saw her look and asked quizzically. "Something wrong with the cookies?"

"I don't know." She told them about her experience with Johnny over the cookies. "He was awfully sad, Roy, but all he said was 'There's a star not a cross.'"

Roy's jaw worked as his vision suddenly got mysteriously blurry again. "Jenny did that. She said she does that to the cookies so that Johnny will always know that she was the one who baked them 'just for him'."

The two nurses exchanged sad looks, the strange actions of the injured paramedic making sense now. Dixie straightened her shoulders, "Well, that's in the past now. You're here and you're not leaving, right?" She held his gaze firmly with her own as one brow cocked upward.

Roy grinned reassuringly at her, "Not unless he wants me too." He looked back toward Room #3 again, "And considering the near panic he had earlier, fighting sleep and making me promise and all, I doubt that will happen anytime soon."

At their bewildered expressions, he quickly explained. Then he picked up the plate and his cup and saluted the two. "Sooo, I'd better get back in there before he wakes up. I'd hate to have him think I broke my promise." With a last smile, he left.

He carefully pushed open the door and saw to his relief, Johnny appeared to still be fast asleep. He placed the cookie plate on the bedside tray and sat down. He stared at the figure in the bed, watching the deep respirations for a while, glad to be back at his partner's side. He just sat there, sipping his coffee and watched, contented. Then a pressing situation made him shift uncomfortably. Finally with a sigh, he stood, muttering, "Liquid in, liquid out."

Johnny shifted his head on his pillow as he became aware of light on the other side of his eyelids. Gradually he became more alert and recent memories came back to him. Roy. Roy had come in. Roy had fed him. A warm glow filled his chest and suddenly he felt lighter, not so heavy even strapped into this bed. He forced his eyes open as a grin lit his face. "Hey Partner. I'm ready for that . . . coffee . . ?"

He stopped, the grin fading. Other than him, the room was empty. His head fell back into his pillow and he gave a heavy sigh as a weight shifted back into his chest. Tears filled his eyes as he realized he was still alone. "Guess I just dreamed it." He muttered as he turned to stare up at the ceiling. 'What am I thinking? Roy isn't gonna come back. After all he tried to do for me, trying to get me to see he was sorry and then I acted worse than him, blowing up at him like that, kicking him out.' He chastised himself harshly. 'Face it Gage, you're a screw-up. You were born a screw-up and you'll die one and no one will care.'

Roy turned out the light and quietly exited the bathroom, unwilling to wake his sleeping partner with any noise. But he paused with two steps toward the bed as he focused on the figure there. Johnny lay like he had before but his tear-shiny eyes were open, staring blankly up at the ceiling, and on his face the saddest expression Roy'd ever seen. Roy's heart froze as he rushed forward. "Johnny? Johnny, what's wrong?"

Johnny's head whipped around making Roy cringe, 'I wish he wouldn't do that. He makes my neck hurt,' came a brief thought but was quickly scattered by Johnny's words. "ROY! You . . .you're here?" His eyes were wide and his mouth gaped open.

Roy gave his partner a puzzled look, "Johnny? Are you alright? I've been here. I promised you I wouldn't leave and I didn't."

Johnny swallowed hard, "I thought I dreamed . . .I didn't . . I was afr . . ." He stuttered. Then the beginnings of a hopeful smile drifted across his lips. "You're here?"

Roy laid his hand on his friend's shoulder, understanding his friend's actions and feeling both warmed and saddened by them. "Johnny, I promised." He said softly. "And I swore to you that I would not leave unless you told me too."

Johnny gave a sigh, his body relaxing as the smile grew. Roy grinned back at him. "Ready for that coffee and cookies now, partner?"

Johnny blinked at him. "Yeah. I think I am."

Just then, the door opened and Gretchen stepped in. In her hands she held an empty cup and a full pot of coffee which she handed to Roy as she continued on to Johnny's side. "Vitals check, Johnny. Shift's about to change and I need one last one for my report."

He grinned happily up at her. "Ok." He cheerfully conceded. Gretchen felt a smile pull at her lips at the change in her patient. She took the vitals, listening as her patient chatted happily with his partner. She shook her head, marveled at the difference she saw in him. However, that smile changed to a frown as she took his vitals. They were still low, although his heart rate was up a little and stronger. However, his temp was still elevated as well. She duly recorded the levels and smiled at the sparkling brown eyes that looked up at her. "Better, John. Now, you just keep this upward trend going and I'll soon be able to get you out of that bed and off my floor."

He batted his eyes at her, "But, then would you miss me?" He whined, his lips twitching with his put-on pout that wanted to burst into a full Gage grin. She swatted his arm and he chuckled. "You scamp. No. I'd not miss such a pain as you. Not one bit."

Roy's eyes twinkled as he watched his partner once more act like his partner. Gretchen caught his look and scowled. "Don't you encourage him."

Roy laughed, "On the contrary, I plan to encourage him all I can." She patted his arm as she left the room, her gaze telling him that was just what she'd hoped as well. Roy watched her go then looked back at Johnny to find him leaning over as far as he could out of his bed, trying to smell the coffee. He chuckled again as he took the now filled cup and carefully placed it to his partner's lips. "Here junior. Careful, it's hot."

"Of course it's hot, Roy. It's not as good if it's not hot." Johnny grumbled before he sipped the brew. He closed his eyes, a contented sigh leaving him as he let the warm liquid trickle down his throat. "Spirits, that's good."

Roy grinned as he held the cup as long as Johnny wanted it. Then he offered him a cookie which Johnny eagerly accepted. As he chewed, he looked over at his older partner, "Roy? How's everything at your house?"

Roy sighed as he let Johnny take another bite of cookie then sipped his own coffee. "Funny you should ask. I need to talk to you about that."

Johnny pulled back, his eyes growing dark with worry as his brows drew downward.

Dixie had complete the shift turnover, assigned her nurses and was on her way into Room #3 with Johnny's meds when she heard his voice cry out, "I'm DEAD?"

She paused briefly then moved on into the room. Roy sat by his partner's bedside, a cup of coffee in each hand. Johnny sat as straight up in his bed as he could, his eyes wide as he looked over at her. "Dixie! Chris thinks I'm DEAD!"

She nodded, "Yes. Roy already explained it to us."

Johnny looked back at Roy, "What . . . ? How . . . ? Why? When?"

Roy put both cups down and raised a hand up, palm toward his partner. "Calm down, take a deep breath and relax. I'll tell you."

Johnny's body pushed back slightly, but Roy could tell he was still tense. "Ok. I'm relaxed. Tell me."

"Yeah. As relaxed at a strung bow." Roy muttered and heard Dixie's snort as she injected Johnny's meds. He explained again what Jo and he surmised. "Seems Jenny told Chris about you being at our house and how you were injured and everything. Then when we got home . . ."

Once he was finished, Roy looked at Johnny with a faint helpless shrug. I guess to a pre-teen boy, it all added up to one thing. He's wrong, of course but it does make sense."

Johnny slowly nodded his head, "Yeah. I can see how he would think that." He looked up and Roy felt his heart lurch at the deep worry in those brown eyes. 'God. He cares so much for my kids. How could I ever have been angry over this?' Johnny sighed, "I've got to see him, Roy. I've got to show him I'm alright." He frowned down at his hands, "Well, at least that I'm not dead."

Roy carefully cleared his throat and Johnny looked back over at him. "Uhh, that's not all, junior." At Johnny's questioning look he continued hesitantly, "Apparently he . . . he uhhh, tried to convince Jenny you were . . uhhh . . .also."

Johnny leaned back into his pillows, eyes closed as he groaned. "Oh God." Then he opened his eyes and both Roy and Dixie could see his determination. "Dixie. I have to see them. I need to get out of here. Uhhhh, maybe a day pass or . . . or something . . .I need . ."

"I know what you need, young man, and it doesn't include getting out of that bed yet. You're still too weak. If you tried to even stand right now, you'd just fall flat on your face. What kind of impression would that make, hmmmm?" She crossed her arms and arched a brow at her patient.

Johnny bit his lip in exasperation. "But Dixie. I gotta . . ."

She interrupted him, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder, "Relax Johnny. It's already been taken care of." She turned from Johnny's puzzled but relieved look to his partner. "Dr. Bentley called back and I explained the situation to him. His exact words were . . . 'Hell yeah they can visit him. You mark it down that a visit from Li'l Miss Jenny Sunshine AND her brother is just what this doctor is ordering. I think it will do all THREE of my patients good."'

The two men exchanged smiles at those words. Dixie watched them, her own grin just beneath the surface. She begin fussing with Johnny's sheets and blankets. "Now Mr. Gage. If you are finished with your snack, I suggest you close those eyes and get some rest before your company gets here."

Johnny smiled back at her and relaxed. "Yes ma'am." He chirped as the smile morphed into a Full Gage grin. Then the medications pulled his eyes slowly closed and as his tow friends watched, he was once more asleep.

Roy motioned toward the door and Dixie, nodding, followed him out. Once the door to Room #3 closed behind them, Roy turned to Dixie. Dixie sighed, "he's hanging in there. His vitals are still down but stronger today than before. You got him to eat and his mood is definitely better now." They walked toward the desk as Dixie continued, "That . . . . blasted . . . fever just won't let go of him, though."

Roy nodded, his eyes dark with worry. Dixie laid a hand on his arm as she smiled up at him. "I think this visit will do him good Roy. That, and you being here."

Roy gave a crooked grin, reminiscent of his partner, "I think so too. Dixie, you don't know how hard it was to stay way. Especially knowing he was having trouble.'

Dixie nodded, she did know. Roy looked back toward the room, then gave a firm nod. "Well, I'm gonna call Jo and let her know what the Doc said. We'll let Johnny sleep for awhile while she gets the kids ready and over here."