The next days all blurred together for Joanne. She was muddling through, somehow, but she was losing track of all the things she was supposed to be doing.

As the shock of losing Roy started to wear off and the reality set in, she wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and cry herself out. But no, there was no time for that. There were phone calls to make and arrangements to finalize and yes, of course she would make sure that Roy's dress uniform was at the funeral home and yes, of course Johnny should give the eulogy even though he was a terrible public speaker and would surely screw it up.

That same man was now at her dining room table, staring blankly off into the distance, looking as rough and as ragged as she'd ever seen him. Johnny's eyes were rimmed in red, and if Joanne had to guess, he'd barely slept since that terrible night.

He tapped his pen against the table, his brows knitting together as if he were deep in thought, then shook his head and hunched over to continue writing. Crumpled bits of paper surrounded him, evidence of repeated attempts to put thoughts into words.

The phone rang again for what seemed like the thousandth time and Joanne sighed heavily. Johnny's response was immediate, setting down his pen and rising from the chair to start across the room.

"I'll get it." He told her quietly, lightly squeezing her shoulder as he passed by.

Joanne had to admit that she was grateful for Johnny's presence, his seeming willingness to put his own grief aside to get her through this time.

"Right, got it." Johnny sounded as tired as she felt. "I'll let her know. Thanks."

He hung up the phone and tore a sheet of paper off the note pad, crossing back over to where Joanne sat on the couch. "Funeral date and time are all set." He told her, handing her the piece of paper.

"Thank you." she replied softly, staring down at Johnny's slightly messy writing. Seeing it there in black and white brought her emotions to the surface again, the tears welling up and spilling over.

Joanne had always known the risks that had come with being married to a firefighter and had long ago accepted those risks. Roy, as part of their unspoken agreement, made sure his life insurance was always up to date, always made sure that she and the children would be taken care of.

She had long assumed that between the two men, Johnny would be the one most likely to lose his life. He had always been the risk taker of the two, always willing to take that on so that Roy wouldn't have to.

The irony that Johnny was still here while Roy was gone was bitter, indeed.

She felt someone take her hand, and she looked up to see Johnny sitting on her coffee table, his brow wrinkled in concern. How often had Johnny done this over the last few days, taking her hand or wrapping her in a tight hug, doing his best to offer her some measure of comfort?

Joanne couldn't help wondering who was providing that comfort to Johnny. After all, while she had lost her husband and the father of her children, Johnny had lost his partner, his best friend, the closest thing he had to a brother.

She squeezed his hand and let it go, sniffling as she tried to give him a bit of a smile. "I'm okay. You should go home, get some sleep."

Johnny merely shrugged. "I haven't slept in three days. No sense starting now."

"Johnny…"

He shook his head, releasing her hand and rising from the coffee table. "I'll be fine. Besides, I still need to figure out what the hell I'm going to say for the eulogy. I'm gonna to end up winging it if I can't think of something."

"You'll find the words." Joanne assured him. "You always do."

"Hope so." Johnny answered, looking doubtful. "Otherwise this thing's gonna be memorable for all the wrong reasons."

Joanne couldn't help laughing at that as Johnny gave her a quick hug. "You want me to drop Roy's dress uniform off at the funeral home?" He offered. "It's on my way."

"You don't have to do that."

"That's not what I asked." Johnny managed a slight smile.

Joanne sighed. "Fine, if you insist."

Joanne went into their bedroom, where Roy's dress uniform hung on his valet chair, his dress shoes underneath. "Oh no."

"What?" Johnny looked puzzled.

"His shoes." Joanne picked them up. "I was going to polish them, and I forgot."

"Hand them here." Johnny held his hand out. "Where does…did he keep his polish?"

"In the seat of the valet chair."

Johnny opened the seat and found a cloth and a can of black shoe polish before sitting down and getting to work. "Gotta do this to my own shoes. Can't remember the last time I had to pull out the full dress uniform."

Joanne could only vaguely remember herself, but she remembered how handsome Roy had looked. There was something about seeing her husband dressed so sharply that made her heart beat a little quicker. That memory made this moment all the more painful.

She took in a breath and let it out slowly to keep herself from crying again. "Well, I appreciate you doing this. You don't have to."

Johnny appeared deep in concentration, his brow furrowing as he rubbed in the polish, then buffed Roy's shoes to a high shine. "I don't mind. Gives me something to do."

"Joanne?" Her mother's voice rang out.

Joanne took a deep breath and exhaled as Johnny's eyebrows shot straight up. "In here!" She called back.

Her mother rushed into the bedroom, Jenny close behind, and gathered her in a hug. "Now then, I don't want you to worry about a thing. I got the children appropriate clothing to wear, it just needs to be washed and ironed before the funeral. And the private burial is all arranged. I assume the men at the station are going to be pallbearers? They can leave as soon as they bring in his casket, since the burial will be family only."

There was something so off-putting about the way Joanne's mother spoke so casually about the funeral, as if it were nothing more than another social occasion. But Joanne supposed that if having such a hand in planning made her mother feel useful, that was fine with her. Joanne was already so tired and overwhelmed that she didn't want to make one more decision.

"Uncle Johnny, you're going to be there, aren't you?" Jenny's plaintive voice piped up behind Joanne.

Johnny paused, glancing from Joanne to Joanne's mother. "That's up to your mother."

"Mom, Uncle Johnny has to be there." Jenny insisted. "He is part of our family. You and Dad always say so."

"Jennifer, leave that to the grown-ups." Joanne's mother told her firmly. "Now, run along."

Johnny's facial expression said far more than his words ever could have as he rose from the chair and put away the polish and cloth, and Joanne felt compelled to speak up. "Johnny should be at the burial, along with the rest of the station crew."

Joanne's mother looked as if she was about to argue, but pressed her lips together instead. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do. Now, have you eaten? You need to keep your strength up."

Joanne honestly couldn't remember. She'd had some coffee this morning, she remembered that much. "No, I don't think I have."

"I'll manage to put something together." Her mother assured her, patting her on the shoulder and breezing out of the room.

After she left, Joanne let out a long sigh. "Johnny, I'm so sorry. I should have known she would just rush in and take over."

Johnny looked vaguely amused as he picked up Roy's uniform and shoes. "She is kind of a force of nature, isn't she? No wonder she drives…drove Roy so crazy."

They left the bedroom and Johnny dug out his keys. "Guess I'll get going."

"Oh, wait." Joanne crossed over to the dining room table to pick up the pad of paper Johnny had been writing on. "Don't forget this."

"Right." Johnny sighed, taking it and tucking it under his arm. "Still gotta think of something to say that won't embarrass you and the whole family."

"You will." Joanne assured him, even as she knew how hard public speaking was for him.

Johnny looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding and giving her a quick hug. "Now listen, you need anything, anything at all, call me. I'll be right over."

"I will." Joanne returned the hug. "Promise."

Johnny sighed quietly, still holding on to her. "It's gonna be okay. Maybe not right now, but someday."

Johnny's rough voice nearly brought Joanne to tears again. "I know. I know."

Johnny finally let her go with a huff. "Hug the kids for me. See you soon."

With that Johnny was out the door, fumbling around briefly until he got the Rover unlocked, setting down the shoes and the pad of paper. He seemed to take a long look at Roy's dress uniform, and Joanne could swear she saw Johnny's shoulders drop before he opened the door and hung it up inside.

He turned around and waved before climbing up in the Rover and backing out of the driveway, heading down the street.

Joanne wanted to believe that someday, it would all be okay. But someday certainly felt like a long time off from today.

# # #

Johnny popped in a tape and cranked up the volume to help keep him awake. These last few days had been exhausting, to say the least. He'd spent much of that time at Roy's and Joanne's, doing his best to field the steady stream of condolence calls and other calls regarding funeral arrangements, all while racking his own brain to come up with something to say for the eulogy.

He didn't want to do this. He shouldn't have to do this. Roy should still be here, still would be if Johnny had been able to grab him in time to stop him from crashing through that floor.

He'd replayed the scene hundreds of times. Had he gotten a hold of Roy and lost his grip on him, or had he missed him entirely? Johnny couldn't remember.

None of it made sense. Roy had still been alive when Johnny had found him. They should have been able to get him to Rampart alive. He would have been rushed into surgery, but he would have made it.

He should still be here. He should still be here.

Johnny's mind ran on that constant loop all the way to the funeral home. He'd only stretched the truth a little when he'd told Joanne it was on his way home. If it was one less thing Joanne had to handle, it was worth it.

God, Joanne. Having to face her made everything so much worse. Johnny was Roy's partner, he was supposed to look out for him, make sure he made it home to the wife and kids that needed him, and he had failed. It was a wonder Joanne wanted him around at all.

But she seemed to not only tolerate his presence, but welcome it. At times it was hard to tell who was leaning on who. Sometimes it was something as simple as Joanne setting a cup of coffee on the table while he was struggling to write the eulogy, other times it was Johnny distracting the kids while Joanne made arrangements.

Other times it was something as simple as polishing a pair of shoes.

Johnny pulled in to the parking lot of the funeral home, shutting off the Rover and grabbing Roy's dress uniform and shoes and going inside.

"Can I help you, sir?" A young man in a somber black suit greeted him.

"Uh, yeah." Johnny held up the dress uniform. "Dropping this off. DeSoto?"

The man nodded and took the uniform and shoes. "Yes, of course. My condolences."

Johnny nodded in response, returning to the Rover as quickly as he could. As soon as he climbed inside and closed the door, he rested his head and arms against the steering wheel, waiting for the emotions that he knew were about to come pouring out of him.

It all seemed to come out at once, the rage and the hurt, the unfairness of it all. It should have been him that had been hit with that debris from the ceiling, the weight of it should have sent him crashing through the floor. If it had been Johnny, there would have been no one left behind, no one that important, anyway. Friends, his fellow crew members, his aunt that he hadn't spoken to in a while.

It would have been a fair trade, Johnny figured. His life for Roy's.

The flood of emotion seemed to rush out as quickly as it had rushed in, and Johnny sat back for a moment, taking in a few deep breaths before starting the Rover for the drive home.

But first, a quick stop. He pulled into the nearest gas station, picking up a six-pack from the cooler and taking it to the counter, picking a disposable lighter and setting it down alongside.

"Anything else?" The young woman asked him.

She was cute, and in any other circumstances Johnny would have struck up a conversation with her. Instead, he gestured toward the cigarette rack. "Pack of Marlboro Reds."

The young woman set the pack on the counter and rang him up. Johnny gave her the cash, sticking the cigarettes and lighter in his pocket before taking his change, leaving with a nod as he picked up the six-pack.

He opened the pack as soon as he got in the Rover, tapping one out and lighting up, drawing the smoke into his lungs. The taste in his mouth was bitter and his chest immediately tightened up, and he remembered exactly why he'd quit in the first place.

I'm telling you, those things are bad for you. Johnny could hear Roy scolding him now.

"Yeah Roy, I know." Johnny said out loud before taking another drag. This one wasn't nearly as painful, and he took a few minutes to finish it off, letting his mind wander again.

It kept coming back to the same old place, that somehow, some way, he could have prevented this. Of course, Chet had told him over and over that night that there was no way he could have, but what did he know? He was there, but he hadn't been there. Chet hadn't seen how close Johnny had been to grabbing Roy. If he had, he would have agreed that Johnny could have done more.

He finally made it home, trotting up the steps to his apartment and letting himself in, closing the door behind him and all but collapsing on the couch. No sooner had he done so than the phone rang, and Johnny reached over to answer. "Hello?"

"Jesus, finally." Chet sounded equal parts relieved and exasperated. "Been trying to get hold of you for two days. Where the hell have you been?"

"I've been helping Joanne out." Johnny answered. "And trying to write this damn eulogy."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Chet spoke again. "Don't go anywhere. I'm on my way."

He hung up before Johnny could respond, and Johnny placed the receiver back in the cradle. Johnny wasn't entirely sure he wanted Chet here, but maybe some company wouldn't be so bad.

Any port in a storm, so the saying went.

It wasn't long before there was an incessant banging on Johnny's door, and he opened the door to reveal Chet with a large pizza box in one hand and a six-pack in the other. "I come bearing sustenance."

"Come on in." Johnny answered with a sigh. "Just set it on the coffee table."

Chet did so, seemed to study Johnny carefully. "Man, you look like hell."

"Thank you, I feel like hell." Johnny snapped, the words suddenly starting to tumble out of him. "I haven't slept for shit since…well, you know. Keep replaying it over and over. Keep thinking I should have done something different."

Chet's expression turned more sympathetic as he dug into his pocket. "You know good and goddamn well there's nothing you could have done differently. It's a dangerous job. We know the risks, you more than anyone else."

Johnny sat back down on the couch, tapping out another cigarette and lighting up. "Should have been me."

"Stop it." Chet replied sharply, sitting down on the couch with a baggie and a pack of rolling papers. "Where's your tray?"

Johnny reached over to the drawer on the end table, opening it up and pulling out a tray and a small pipe, setting both items on the end table in front of Chet.

Chet picked up the pipe and examined it. "When was the last time you cleaned this thing out?"

"I don't." Johnny told him. "Get a better high that way."

Chet made a face and set it aside, shaking out some pot from the baggie and cleaning it up before sprinkling some into the rolling paper, twisting the ends and handing it to Johnny. "There, put down that nasty cigarette and have a little of what nature intended."

Johnny put out the cigarette in favor of lighting up the offered joint, taking in a long hit and holding it while passing it back to Chet.

Chet took a hit and passed it back, holding it in briefly before exhaling. "You know what? We oughta call Marco."

"What? Why?"

"Why should we be alone in our misery?" Chet asked. "Hell, if we have to be miserable, we might as well be miserable together."

Johnny considered this as he took another hit, holding, exhaling. "I suppose."

"Oh, and we should call Mike, too."

"No, we shouldn't." Johnny argued. "He'll rat us out to Cap."

"He will not." Chet argued back. "Especially right now."

"Fine, sure." Johnny was starting to feel the effects and was less bothered by the idea of everyone suddenly showing up at his place. "Might want to tell one of them to bring more food."

"Yeah, yeah." Chet waved him off, making a couple of calls.

It wasn't long before Marco showed up, another pizza box in hand, followed by Mike, who looked vaguely uncomfortable about the whole situation.

"Sit, sit." Chet gestured expansively. "You guys want a hit?"

Marco took a seat on the floor and gestured for the joint, taking a hit before offering it to Mike. Much to Johnny's surprise, he accepted, taking in a hit and trying to hold it in, triggering a coughing fit that sent Chet into a fit of giggles.

"You can not hold your smoke." Chet told him once he had managed to collect himself.

"I didn't even know you did that stuff, Mike." Johnny chimed in.

"Been a while." Mike answered, clearing his throat. "What are we doing here, anyway?"

Chet clapped Johnny's shoulder. "Well, our little friend here isn't doing so hot."

"I'm a fucking wreck." Johnny blurted out. "And I'm supposed to do this goddamn eulogy. I don't wanna do this eulogy. I'm gonna make a mess of it. I don't even know what to say."

He was suddenly aware of three sets of eyes on him, and he dropped his head. "Sorry." He muttered.

Chet's hand rubbed across the back of his shoulders. "You've got nothing to be sorry about."

"Yeah." Marco agreed. "No one wants to do a eulogy, you know? It's hard."

"I just don't get how I ended up being the one to do it." Johnny huffed irritably.

"You're the one who knew him best." Mike pointed out. "How many hours did you spend in that squad with him?"

"Too many, if you were to ask him." Johnny answered.

Mike smiled a little at that. "I doubt he would have said that."

Johnny sighed, feeling more relaxed now, if not necessarily better. He pulled his pen out of his pocket, clicking it and letting it hover over the paper. "So, what do I write?"

"Keep it simple." Mike suggested. "You don't have to write out the whole thing. Just make some notes. You know, good memories, some funny stories, that kind of thing."

Johnny suddenly had an idea. "The spaghetti thing."

"No." Three voices chorused.

"Do not talk about the spaghetti thing." Chet told him. "Unless you want Joanne to beat your ass in front of everyone."

"Would make it a memorable service." Marco observed.

"Okay, so not the spaghetti thing." Johnny muttered, making a note.

More things started coming to him, little things, conversations they'd had in the squad, silly arguments they'd had, weird calls they'd gone out on. The others joined in with their own memories, and soon they were all cracking up in a way they hadn't in days.

Finally, Johnny tossed down the pen and flopped against the back of the couch. "Goddammit, I miss that guy."

Chet set his head on Johnny's shoulder. "Yeah babe, me too."

Marco and Mike both murmured agreement, and they all continued talking long into the night before both men decided to take their leave. Marco gave Johnny a brief hug, patting him on the back, but Mike surprised him again, pulling him into a longer hug.

"It's hard, losing friends." Mike told him quietly. "But I know you'll get up there and give him a proper tribute. You're going to do just fine."

Johnny swallowed hard, hugging Mike hard in response. "Thanks, Mike. You were a big help."

"You're going to be okay." Mike assured him. "It's just going to take time."

Johnny nodded, letting the other man leave before turning to Chet. "Couch is all yours."

"Thanks." Chet murmured.

Johnny found him a pillow and a blanket and cleaned up a little before turning out the lights and climbing into bed himself.

Today had been hard, and it was only going to get harder for a while. He hoped that Mike was right, and that at some point, this would get better. That felt like an awfully long time off, but he'd find a way to get through, somehow.