Family Ties

By

Shannon Reeves

PART I

Summertime in California-something that can't really be described, it has to be experienced. For those that live it day in and day out, it's not really anything they talk about, they just thank their lucky stars they made it through another day of it. Then, there are those that are pushed to the extremes of the California summers, those that have no choice but to brave the heat, the glaring sun, the occassional oppressive humidity. They don't have the luxury of complaining of how bad it is from the comfort of their air conditioned living rooms, sipping iced teas and watching the weather and how it affects others on the 5 o'clock news. They are out there, living it and breathing it, the ones that work in the California summer. They are the unsung heroes, the postal workers, the meter readers, the electric company workers, the police, and of course, the men and women of the fire department. For them, any thoughts of how horrible the summer can be are pushed to the side in favor of doing their civic duties. At least, most of the time.

"I cannot believe how bad the summer is this year!" Chet complained for the umpteenth time, fanning himself on the sofa in the dayroom, looking forlorn under his sweat-soaked hair.

Johnny, always quick on the draw when it came to his short nemesis, fired back. "I thought leprechauns were used to the heat, Chet."

"Gage, if it weren't so hot, I'd-" he began.

"You'd what?" Hank Stanley barked as he entered the sweltering room, glad to be interrupting whatever was going on. "Why don't you give it a rest and go sit outside to cool off?"

"It's hotter outside than it is in here, Cap," Chet complained.

"Chet, would you like a little cheese with that whine?" Roy chuckled, thinking of his kids acting the same way.

"Oh, ha ha, Roy," Chet fired back, a little surprised that the attack was coming from him this time in addition to Gage, but too hot to really care. He hated being all overheated and sweaty. A fire was one thing, since he could leave that eventually. These occasional summer heat waves, like a day trip into Hell, were another.

"Gage, DeSoto, can I see you in my office?" Stanley queried, wiping the back of his neck with his handkerchief, also hating the summer effects. The three men sauntered into the small office, which luckily was slightly cooler, thanks in part to the fan sitting in the corner of the room. One of the perks of being captain. "Take a seat, fellas."

"What's up, Cap?" Johnny questioned, more than a little curious.

"Well, guys, it seems my nephew, my only nephew, Jeff, has joined the paramedic program," Hank began, his face hard to read. The partners couldn't tell if their superior was happy about it or not. "He has completed the classroom part, and now he gets to get out in the field."
"Hey, that's terrific, Cap," Roy stated, pleased for his boss's familial success. "I bet you are one proud uncle."

The look on Hank's face said otherwise. "My brother, Don, is captain of a small station in Nevada, and managed to pull a few strings. So, it seems Jeff will be interning here, with you two."

"We've had plenty of rookies in training with us, Cap," Gage pointed out, happy with their past recruits. "This shouldn't be any different. We won't give him any special treatment that will make him feel put on the spot."

"Let me put it this way," Stanley started, his eyes a little darkened. "My brother was in training with Chief McConnikee. They happen to have been very good friends for a long time. I have been asked to ensure Jeff's treatment is beyond top-notch, and that he graduates with high honors."

"Cap, are you saying the Chief is pressuring you to make sure your nephew graduates, no matter what happens?" Roy asked, his eyes widening.

"What I'm saying, is that Don and the Chief both feel that Jeff would make an excellent paramedic based on his grades so far, and that they believe his field experience should reflect that." Hank sat back in his chair, looking defeated.

"What would YOU like us to do?" Gage wanted to know, incredulous that his captain was being extorted like this.

"I would like you two to keep your eyes and ears open more than usual," Stanley retorted, his voice flat. "Don't overinflate his abilities, but take note of any good performance you may notice, if you know what I mean. He will be joining us for the first shift tomorrow night, so be ready."

"Cap, you know we would do anything for you," Roy reported, not that it was necessary. "We'll handle this the right way."

"I know you will, and I feel foolish for even having to bring it up, but I figured I'd better, since he is my nephew." The captain chuckled slightly. "You know, I haven't even seen him since he was twelve. I have no clue what he looks like now. It ought to be pretty interesting. Oh, and fellas? Thanks a lot. I mean that."

"Not to worry," Gage grinned back, rising into the cooled air provided by the fan. "Someday, we might need a favor, and when the time comes..."

"Then you won't be asking your captain," Hank barked good-naturedly, knowing his medic was joking.

~~~~~~~~~~

A-shift filed into the engine bay for roll-call, and afterwards, before the assignments were handed out, Captain Stanley left the men for a moment, then came out of his office with a stranger, wearing their uniform. "Men, I would like to introduce our new paramedic trainee, Jeff Baker. He will be riding with us for the next 8 weeks, so get to know him. And Kelly, make sure the Phantom keeps his distance, got it?"

"Aw, Cap, why do you have to assume that every trainee falls victim to the Phantom?" Kelly complained.

"Because, you twit, so far, every trainee HAS fallen victim to the Phantom!" Hank retorted. "Now, here are the assignments for this evening. Things have been pretty quiet for the last week, probably due to the heat, so let's hope it remains that way. Let's get to work."

The group broke formation, and after brief introductions were made, the rest of the crew began their assignments, while Roy and Johnny led Jeff to the squad to get him familiarized with it. "So, Jeff, I understand you are Captain Stanley's nephew."

The younger Stanley, tanned and with light brown hair, looked over at Roy. "Yes, sir, I am. I haven't seen my uncle in a long time, so I hope being family won't earn me any special treatment from anyone else. I intend to pull my own weight."

"No, you won't get any special treatment, son," Roy stated gently, "I was just curious about your last name."

"Oh, Baker," Jeff nodded. "That's my mother's maiden name. My parents are divorced. My uncle didn't tell you? Well, my dad is a fire captain in Copper Creek County, Nevada, and he thought it might be easier on me if I used my mom's last name instead of his, so I didn't get any preferential treatment at any of the local firehouses I volunteered at."

"So, you've already been a hose jockey?" Johnny joked.

"Yes, sir, been doing it since I was about 14. I guess it's just in my blood."

"Well, if you're going to get by here, there's a few things to remember," Roy began. "One, you don't have to address us as 'sir'. I'm Roy, and this is Johnny. We're going to be partners for the next 8 weeks, so it helps if everyone is comfortable with each other. Two, avoid the short Irishman over there, Chet Kelly. He, or should I say, his alter ego, the Phantom, has a penchant for practical jokes that borders on the insane. Three, we're all a team, so if you need anything, or feel like we're going too fast, just let us know. Everyone does things at their own speed, so don't ever feel you have to push yourself too hard to meet our expectations. You are the one working towards graduation, not us, so if we need to extend training, it can be done. We've done it before, and no one has ever looked down on a recruit who has asked for more time. It just means you want to be more prepared once you're out there. Got all that?"

"Got it." Jeff looked around at the engine bay, then back at his trainers. "Just one question. Where's the kitchen? I'm starving!"

"Aha!" Johnny piped up. "A trainee after my own heart. Just follow me, my boy, and you shall learn with the master."

~~~~~~~~~~

The first few nights went quickly and very well. As a new trainee, Jeff was there simply to observe and learn field technique. The heat wave was finally breaking, and the city was responding, so he had had a few opportunities to turn out and watch the men in action, ranging from heart attacks and bee stings to car accidents and burn victims. Since the crew was on a rotating schedule, they had worked for two days, had three days off, and now they were beginning their days on again. The beginning of this shift found Roy and Johnny sitting opposite their captain in his office again.

"Well, how are things going out there?" Hank prodded, his tone eager.

"I can honestly say, he seems to know his stuff, at least textbook-wise," Roy answered. "In each situation we've attended, we've questioned him on procedure, technique, and meds, and he has gotten everything right so far. Add that to the fact that he has been a volunteer firefighter since he was 14, and I'd say it looks like this is going to be smooth sailing."

Hank leaned back and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "You have no idea how happy that makes me. I haven't been able to sleep for the last few nights, wondering if this was a mistake. I mean, putting my nephew in here, having to pretend he's not family, and asking you guys to give him special treatment on top of that..."

"Actually, Cap," Johnny chimed in, "he made it clear he didn't want any kind of special treatment at all, and after talking with him the last few nights, I kind of get the feeling he already knew his dad and the chief had made some kind of deal here, and he doesn't want it."

"He's right, Cap," Roy continued. "Jeff said he wants this on his own merit, not because his father pulled a few strings with ranking fire officials, and if he graduates with honors, it's knowing he worked hard to do so, and any mistakes he makes, he wants to take full responsibility for. He's a pretty bright kid with a good head on his shoulders. I think he'll go far if his father and the chief stay out of the way."

"I just wish they saw it that way," Hank chortled. "My brother was never one for staying out of the picture. He can be a bit brusque and demanding, probably why Sarah isn't with him anymore. Well, if Jeff says he wants to stand on his own two feet, then by all means, gentlemen, get out there and treat him like every other recruit you've trained. And good luck."

~~~~~~~~~~

The beginning of the next shift seemed slow, and though Jeff didn't wish any harm against person or property, he was anxious to get out in the field and get his hands dirty, figuratively speaking.

“Well, Jeff, are you ready to get some hand's on experience?” Roy questioned, knowing full well that the young man was more than ready.

“If you feel I am, then I am,” Jeff conceded, not wanting to sound cocky. His eagerness danced just below the surface of his calm exterior.

“I don't know, Roy,” Johnny slyly stated. “He's only been with us a couple of shifts, and he hasn't been out of the classroom for very long. Maybe we should just keep quizzing him for another few nights. What do you think?”

Roy seemed to be pondering over the question. “I think you're right, Junior. Maybe some more on-the-spot questioning is in order.”

The look of disappointment on Jeff's face was worth a million dollars to his trainers. He swallowed hard. “If-if you say so. I'll do whatever you feel is necessary.”

After a few moments of almost deafening silence, Johnny began laughing, followed closely by his senior partner. Jeff's face burned red when he realized he'd been had, but then decided it wasn't that bad of a joke. He started to feel like one of the group now that he had been pranked. As he was about to let them know how he felt about the little joke, the tones sounded.

“Station 51, Station 36, Engine 27, structure fire with injuries at the Regency Apartments, 4500 Weston Way, cross street Turner Road. 4-5-0-0 Weston, cross street Turner. Time out, 21:15.”

Grabbing their turnouts and helmets and running for their respective vehicles, the crew of Station 51 quickly assembled into a closely-meshed team, ready to do battle with the fiery beast.

The flames could be seen for blocks, and when the engine and squad pulled onto the scene, it was already chaotic. The building was fully engulfed on one side, and the other side was filled with smoke, and panic-stricken tenants holding onto the thin ledges for their lives. The structure was 15 stories high, and several people had already managed to jump from lower floors. Many were injured, ranging from smoke inhalation to broken bones.

The squad parked to the side, while Mike carefully manuevered the larger engine into the chaos. The men of A-shift jumped out and assembled with Captain Stanley at the command center. Chief McConnikee was directing the group.

“Hank, I'm going to need your engine crew to get hooked up to the hydrant over there, and man an inch-and-half on this part of the building here.” The Chief indicated on the blueprints where they would be needed the most. “I need Gage and DeSoto to get their supplies and triage with 36 over there. Baker, you go with them.”

Jeff nodded his head at the Chief, wanting to make him proud. He followed the senior team to the squad and helped carry the necessary supplies and equipment to the triage area, where they met up with their paramedics, Tony Griffey and Bill Stanton. 36's was already treating some of the injuries, and had sent two patients on to Rampart with smoke inhalation with the ambulance attendents. All of the medics had a feeling that the ER was going to be filled to capacity tonight, so they notified Rampart of the situation, and Joe Early, just coming onto his shift to cover for another doctor, called County General and alerted them to be ready.

~~~~~~~~~~

The fire, fully involved now, had already taken one life: a young woman, afraid the firefighters wouldn't reach her on the 12 th floor, had jumped without waiting for anything to be set up below. She was killed instantly. A valiant effort was made to resuscitate her, but it was no use, her injuries were simply too traumatic.

Jeff had seen tragedy before, being a volunteer firefighter, but it had never been so close to him before, and he felt a little ill. He was summoned out of his solemn reverence, however, when Gage shouted for his assistance. A resident in his late 50's had been brought out by a hoseman and carried to the triage area.

“Baker, get the O2 ready and stand by while I contact Rampart!” Gage ordered, his eyes stinging from the sweat dripping from his forehead. The fire was so intense it turned night into day, and as if in slow motion, Jeff could see the other paramedics working on other patients, including DeSoto, who was tending to a broken arm. He could barely hear over the sound of his heavy heartbeat whooshing in his ears as Johnny yelled into the biophone.

“Rampart, we have a male, approximately 57 years of age, appears to have smoke inhalation and second and third degree burns on his hands and forearms. Please hold for vitals." He looked over at his young rookie expectently, assuming that he had already started proper procedures. “Baker, what have you got?”

The trainee looked up stupidly, his mind going completely blank. “I-…”

“Snap out of it!” Johnny ordered. “You've got to stay focused, Jeff. I need you to be here and functioning. Think of your training. What do we do?”

Shaking his head to clear it of the cobwebs that appeared from nowhere, he cleared his throat. “We need to get pulse, respirations, check pupils and look for other injuries.”

“That's right,” Gage replied, feeling a little proud. “Let's get to it.”

Johnny watched carefully as his protégé performed as needed, then he relayed the information to the disembodied voice on the other end of the biophone.

“51, get an IV started with D5W, ringer's lactate drip, and 100 mg's of meperidine. Take burn precautions and transport immediately.”

Confident, now, in Baker's abilities, Johnny started opening the burn kits as Jeff took the vial from it's place in the drug box. His eyes burning from the smoke and his own sweat, he drew the plunger in the syringe back, pulling the clear liquid into the glass casing. Satisfied with his instructions, he injected to contents directly into the vein he had located as Johnny poured sterile solution on the victim's arms. As Jeff reached into the drug box for the ringer's, the burned man began gasping, and his skin turned a mottled blue color. Acting quickly, Gage dropped the burn kit and put on a stethoscope in one swift move. Listening to the heartbeat, his color changed as well. Seconds later, his eyes wide open, the patient stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped being alive.

Johnny immediately began CPR, calling out to Roy to assist him, as Jeff moved back out of the way. DeSoto moved in rapidly. “What happened?”

“I-don't-know…” Johnny grunted as he used all his strength to try to restart the heart under his hands. “We were…treating his burns…and he started…having difficulty breathing…”

“He tried to take several breaths, then he turned blue and collapsed,” Jeff volunteered, suddenly feeling very cold in the hot air.

“What were you doing before that?” DeSoto demanded as he fished the respirator out of the equipment box.

“I had just given him the meperidine the doctor told us to use, and I was getting ready to…” Roy and Johnny both became still as statues. Roy looked down at the empty glass bottle laying on the concrete.

“Is this what you used?” he asked carefully.

“Uh,yeah,” Jeff replied, his skin blanching.

"Jeff, this isn't meperidine," Roy stated, feeling all the blood drain from his own face, "it's morphine. You just gave him 100 mg's of ms!"

The partner's exchanged worried glances, then resumed their CPR. Jeff, distraught over his deadly actions, could only turn away and empty the contents of his stomach.

Holding the portable bag that was forcing air into the victim's lungs, Roy managed to grab the biophone. “Rampart, we have cardiac failure in our burn patient. Request we defibrillate.”

“51, go ahead, 300 watt seconds.” Dropping the ambubag, Roy pulled the equipment in close, and used the machine to shock the victim's heart into beating again. After several attempts, it was apparent it would do no good. Stunned, he grabbed the handset.

“Rampart, we are unable to get conversion,” Roy stated, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

“51, start victim on a lidocaine drip, continue with CPR and transport.” DeSoto acknowledged the order, and he and his long-time partner placed the patient into the nearest waiting ambulance. Roy chose to ride in with him, allowing Johnny to stay and assist on the scene. Jeff was pale as a ghost, and didn't argue when Johnny ordered him to wait in the squad.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ambulance arrived, and wordlessly Roy climbed out and helped move his patient into a treatment room. He could barely hear the questions asked of him; he had a buzzing sound in his ears that distracted him. He felt as if he could barely breathe. Finally, Kelly Brackett managed to get his attention.

“Roy?” he asked, frowning. “Are you injured?”

“Huh?” Roy replied as if in slow motion. “Uh, no, why?”

“You look a little rough around the edges,” Brackett noted. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, Doc, I just need to get back out there and help, that's all. It's a pretty bad call.” Roy hoped he was masking his behavior enough to get away without further questions. He knew he needed to tell Brackett what happened, but some part of him dropped a wall and would not let him. He backed out of the room and stumbled down the hall. He rode back to the fire with the ambulance crew, carrying his deadly secret with him.

The fire took 8 lives that day, most of them severe smoke inhalation, two burned beyond help, and one that leapt to her death. But for all the misery that existed that day, none of them compared to the burn victim that died of carelessness.

The men were kept busy, so they did not have a chance to discuss what happened. It wasn't until later, after all the victims had been accounted for, that it was even thought of. Following the ambulance crew in with the last patient, the team from Squad 51 bumped into Brackett.

“Uh, Doc, how is that first burn patient I brought in earlier?” Roy asked, hopeful for some good news.

Kel's brows furrowed. “I'm afraid he didn't make it. We tried our best, but even though the burns weren't that bad, I imagine with the smoke inhalation and the stress on his body from the burns, his heart simply couldn't take the strain. We'll know more after the autopsy. Now, if you'll excuse me…”

The pair watched the doctor hurry off to treat another patient, then tiredly dragged themselves to the nurse's station. They talked in hushed whispers as Carol left to get more supplies for the squad.

“Did you hear that?” Johnny began. “An autopsy.”

“Johnny, you know it's standard procedure,” Roy countered, feeling more tired than he had in a long time.

“Yeah, but they do toxicology reports as part of that standard procedure,” Johnny pointed out. “They're going to find all that MS in his blood, and start asking questions. We have to go talk to Brackett right now.”

Roy stood silently, knowing his partner was right. But he also knew that by doing so, they were guaranteeing that their protégé would not only be kicked out of the paramedic program, but could also lose his job as a firefigter, and possibly face corporal punishment. It had been a mistake, one stupid mistake, that cost one man his life, and may cost another one his. He wrestled with his conscience, wishing he could start this day all over again. His eyes bloodshot, he finally looked up. “For now, let's just keep this between us.”

Johnny was apalled. His straight-laced, do-it-by-the-rules senior partner was asking him to be an accessory to manslaughter. But looking into those eyes, he knew it had been a painfully difficult decision to make, and he trusted Roy more than anyone else. Nodding slightly, not knowing what to say, he kept silent as Carol brought the supplies.

Jeff had driven the squad in as his trainers had ridden in separate ambulances, and his hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white as bone. He sat in introspective solitude until he was interrupted by the squad doors opening. He looked up warily.

“Johnny and I have talked,” Roy quietly stated, “and we have decided that for the time being, nothing is to be said about the mistake today. I'll figure something out. I'm the senior paramedic, and it's my responsibility, my call. And my call is, I'll let you know what happens. Understand?”

Baker opened his mouth to speak, but seeing the intense faces on either side of him, he thought better of it. He closed his mouth and moved to the center of the seat. Johnny called the squad back into service, and they drove, silent as a grave, back to the station.

~~~~~~~~~~

Roy tossed and turned in his bunk, consumed by the nightmare he was having for the third night in a row. The burn victim spoke to him, begging him to do the right thing, to allow him at least the chance for peace. He awoke with a start, sweat plastering his blond hair to his head like a cap. The tortured senior paramedic pushed himself out of bed and wandered into the men's room, where he splashed cold water on his face. He spied his reflection in the mirror, and he noted the dark circles he was beginning to develop. His conscience was eating away at him, but there was no turning back now.

DeSoto wandered into the day room, where he found his partner sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. He pulled up a seat next to him and folded his arms on the table.

"What are you doing up at this hour, Junior?" Roy asked, presuming to already know the answer.

Johnny looked over at him, his expression hard to read. Was it exhaustion, or something worse? "I haven't been sleeping very well, if you must know, and figured coming in here was better than listening to Chet snore like a chainsaw for the next four hours. And you?"

"Nightmare," was all Roy said. He didn't really want to discuss what was bothering him. Unfortunately for him, his partner did.

"Roy, did we do the right thing?" Johnny began, gripping the mug tightly. "I mean, we killed a man."

"We didn't kill anyone," Roy corrected, pretending to look at a mark on the table. "Jeff made a mistake, and we didn't report it."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Johnny blasted back. "I mean, seeing what he did, then not telling Brackett, that makes us just as guilty. In my mind, we killed him."

"Well, what would you have me do?" Roy seethed, his heart racing. "It was a snap decision. Jeff is a good kid, who has a great future, as long as he's given a chance. I-I just couldn't see throwing all that away. I guess he reminds me somewhat of you when you first joined. So much potential, and so eager to learn and help."

"Yeah?" Johnny retorted, rising suddenly from his chair. "Well, there is one big difference between us. I never killed anyone!"

Johnny threw his coffee cup against the wall behind the television. Stunned, Roy sat silently, watching as his partner made a hasty retreat through the back door. Within seconds, the rest of the crew came running into the dayroom in their turnouts. Captain Stanley stopped short, noting the condition of the day room and his senior paramedic. "Roy, what's going on?"

"I, uh, dropped my coffee," Roy lied, pushing himself out of the chair and nonchalantly picking up the broken ceramic pieces.

"All the way over there?" Hank asked, his eyebrows showing he didn't believe it.

"Yeah, but I'll get it cleaned up," Roy replied, his voice flat. "Why don't you guys go back to sleep?"

Still sleepy-eyed, the rest of the A-shift men ambled back to the dorm room. After the mess was cleaned up, Roy opened the back door and peeked outside. Johnny sat on the hood of his Rover, his back to his friend. Roy dared not disturb him, and forced himself to go back to bed. Sleep would elude him for the rest of the night, as short as that was, and when the wake-up tones sounded, Johnny quickly changed and bolted from the station without saying a word the second his replacement reported in.

"Roy, you want to come in here?" Hank said, not actually giving him a choice. Roy glanced up as Jeff rushed past him, eager to leave as well. Stanley motioned for the quiet paramedic to sit. "Want to tell me what's going on with you and your partner?"

"Not really, Cap," Roy confessed, suddenly feeling very tired.

"It wasn't a question," Hank declared, leaning forward with his elbows on his desk.

"It's nothing," Roy answered, his face stinging from the blush he knew covered it. He felt horrible lying to his captain, but he had ordered the other paramedics to do so, and he couldn't very well relent now. "Just a little disagreement, that's all. It'll be fine."

"Well, just see to it that it gets settled before next shift," Hank ordered. "I can't have my crew destroying the station. Whatever is going on, take care of it."

"Yes, sir," Roy conceded, getting up and letting himself out of the office. His drive home would have been quiet if it weren't for the voices in his head, battling each other to do the right thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny spent his time off from work in deep introspection, electing to camp out in the great outdoors. He was always able to think clearly under the stars, and usually found the answer to problems this way. However, this situation plagued him, and he was not able to resolve his temultuous feelings. He returned to work with a heavy heart.

The tension in the station was thick enough to swim in as Johnny got ready for duty without saying a word to his long-time partner and trainee. Breakfast was unusually silent as the rest of the crew waited to see what would happen. They had no idea what was going on. Finally, Hank couldn't stand it anymore, and demanded to see his paramedics in his office.

Shutting the door, he paced behind his desk for a few moments, then addressed the men. "I have been a Captain for several years, and a father to boot, so my intuition is usually dead on the money when something appears to be wrong. And I have to tell you, fellas, this last week just doesn't get any more wrong in the weird feelings department. So, I don't care which one of you does it, I want an answer to what's going on here."

At first, none of the three spoke. They stood in formation, looking everywhere but at each other and their superior officer. Hank stopped pacing, and placed his palms on his desk, allowing him to lean closer to the threesome. "What was that? I didn't hear anything."

Finally, the answer the captain had been waiting for was volunteered by DeSoto. Clearing his throat, he stepped forward a few inches. "Cap, something happened, something wrong, and I asked these two to not divulge what happened to anyone. I pulled rank on them, and have ordered them to keep quiet about it. Johnny didn't want to, but he followed those orders, and it's tearing him up. Jeff is feeling guilty but won't talk about it because I was trying to protect him."

Hank stood up straight, trying to absorb this strange confession. He couldn't believe his ears. Roy DeSoto pulling rank and ordering his men to cover up something? "Would you mind telling me exactly what this 'something wrong' is, so we can get it straightened up?"

Before Roy could answer, Jeff stepped forward. "Uncle Hank, he was covering for me. I...I got careless at the scene of that big apartment fire last week, and I made a fatal mistake. Roy was worried about my future in the paramedic program, so he decided that it was for the best to keep quiet. He was trying to save my career."

Stanley was having difficulty hearing all of this, and he sat down in his chair with an audible sigh. "Well, I want to hear it, but then again, I don't. However, I have to know exactly what the mistake was, so you might as well spill the rest of it."

Jeff and Roy laid out the entire story. When they finished, Hank stood, turned, and crossed his arms over the filing cabinet in the corner, lowering his head onto them. His voice was muffled as he addressed his friends and his nephew. "Does anyone at Rampart know about this?"

"No, Cap," Roy replied, a lump forming in his throat. "We kind of left quickly so we could get back and assist with the fire."

"And when were you planning on telling someone?" Hank hated that he sounded so brusque, but his emotions were hanging by a thread.

"I hadn't really thought that through," Roy confessed.

"Uncle Hank, it was my fault for his death, and I will go to the review board and tell them everything," Jeff offered. "I will take full responsibility for my actions."

"And what about the actions of your partners?" Hank barked, turning quickly. His face was red, his fists clenched. "All three of you chose to keep silent about this, regardless of who gave the order. If you go to the disciplinary board over this, it's not just your job that will be up for grabs, but Johnny and Roy will face severe action, too. Ah, jeez, how could you three do this to me?"

For long moments, no one spoke. Finally, Johnny joined the conversation. "Sir, if I may add, we knew what the repercussions would be if we didn't say anything, so I think all three of us are ready to face whatever action is necessary."

His face suddenly looking several years older, Hank again dropped heavily into his seat. "That's easy for you to say, Gage. We're not talking about your only nephew. Damnit, I really wish you would have come to me, Jeff. We could have talked about it, gone to Brackett, and the punishment would be much less severe. But now...Just what am I supposed to tell your father?"

At the mention of his father, Baker winced. "You can tell him whatever you like, sir. I refuse to live my life by his standards anymore. I made the mistake, and I will take the punishment, even if it means jail time. He just has to understand, I'm not a child anymore. I will go before the review board and beg them not to take action against Roy and Johnny. They were only trying to help me."

Hank stared at the trio, then nodded and picked up the phone. He called Dispatch and asked them to stand down the squad until further notice. Then, he dialed Rampart Hospital, and asked to speak with Kelly Brackett.

~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, all four men were seated at a table across from Brackett in the doctor's lounge. He had a file laid open in front of him, and he did not look happy. "I got the autopsy results, and it does, indeed, indicate that cause of death was cardiac infarction. The tox screen seems to substantiate it. It shows abnormally high levels of morphine sulfate. So it looks like the report backs up your story. I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I have to suspend all of you until an investigation can be completed."

Wordlessly, they each handed over their badges and paramedic identification cards. Kelly stood, collecting the badges and i.d.'s, then exited the room. No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Stanley wearily lifted himself from his hard plastic chair, and moved to the phone in the corner. He dialed several numbers, then reached his party. "Don? It's Hank. Listen, we need to talk..."

The men had all been suspended, so they were sent home, and Hank returned to the station. He brought the others up to speed, and let them know that the chief's office was sending in replacements. The three remaining crewman were stunned and baffled. They could not believe that something like this had happened. And it was especially hard to digest that Roy had ordered such a thing. They were full of questions that Hank had no answer to. All he could do was reassure them that Brackett would do the right thing for all of them.

~~~~~~~~~~

The following 48 hours were nerve wracking. For Johnny, it started with some solitude in his favorite place. He wandered amongst the trees, feeling the soft wind on his face, and wondering what his ancestors must think of him for allowing this to happen, for him to become a part of something so wrong. He begged the spirits for forgiveness, then sought it within his own heart for his partner.

Roy went home to Joanne, suprising her by being home from his shift so soon. He sat down and explained it all to her, the mistake, the decision he made, the punishment he must be prepared to accept. Joanne cried, then held her husband, telling him it would all work out, and if not, they would be fine.

Jeff had decided that the hardest part of all of this would be to talk to his father, so he went home, showered, and called him. Don had already spoken with Hank, so he knew the whole story by the time the call was placed. The elder fireman didn't yell, he didn't accuse, he didn't threaten. In fact, his voice never raised. Instead, he did something far more painful-he told Jeff how disappointed he was. Not just disappointed at making the fatal mistake in the first place, but also at participating in covering it up. He then stated his disappointment in himself, for allowing his only son to leave the comfort of his home to move out to Los Angeles, when he clearly wasn't ready to. Jeff's heart was broken. He had no idea his father felt that way, and it served to drive home the seriousness of the situation. His father had never really believed he could make, and he had just proved him right. What was he to do now?

~~~~~~~~~~

The call that all of them had been waiting for, but didn't want to get, came on a Friday morning. The air was crystal clear, the birds were singing, the sun gently rousing the city. One by one, they were notified by Captain Stanley to report to the station. Arriving separately, the three paramedics barely acknowledged each other as they assembled in the Captain's office. Not surprisingly, Kelly Brackett and Chief McConnikee were present. The three men of authority stood as the accused took their seats.

"Gentlemen, let me start by telling you that I am more than a little disappointed in this whole situation," Kel began, looking as if he, too, had been plagued with insomnia. "Not just because of Jeff's mistake. That's just the first part of it. No matter how good a trainee is, he should never be allowed to administer medications in the field until I, or the members of the board, sign off on it. The hardest part to understand is how the three of you could conspire to try and cover this up. I could ask you to explain your actions, but it wouldn't bring that man back, or make my superiors at Rampart any less angry than they already are.

"I have met with the Chief, and he has spoken on behalf of all three of you, to the board at Rampart. We have also been in contact with Jeff's father. You men have led us down a very dark and treacherous path, and not one we gladly walked down. However, a decision was necessary, and one was made and agreed upon by all parties. Chief?"

McConnikee stared at the men, aware they were all probably holding their breaths. "It saddens me to do it, but I have to comply with the decision made. Effective immediately, Jeff Baker is to be removed from the paramedic program, but will be given the option to remain a firefighter with Los Angeles County. He will be on probation, and therefor not eligible to apply for any promotions or advances for a minimum period of 24 months."

Jeff blinked rapidly, but stared straight ahead. He listened as Kel picked up the thread. "It would appear that Mr. Wallace did not have any family, so it doesn't seem that a lawsuit by anyone handling his estate is likely. Also, the commitee declined to get the authorities involved, so no criminal charges will be filed, although to be honest, that was the hardest choice to make. The only thing swaying this group of men was the long history you have as a firefighter, and your exemplary behavior up to this point. They feel you can be a valuable asset in the field, but you won't be allowed to practice any type of paramedic or rescue calls."

Brackett sighed deeply, his brows furrowed intensely. "As for you two. I really don't know what to say. We have worked together for a long time, and Roy, you were one of our first. It was with your help that the whole program came to it's fruition, so it's hard for me to understand where your head was at. I do believe that you only had your trainee's best interest at heart, but the ends don't always justify the means. That said, the final decision is that we can't afford to lose two of our best paramedics, so you'll keep your positions, however, both of you will go through a refresher course, as well as providing a public service by appearing in front of each new paramedic class, explaining the importance of what to do when an error is made in the field, for the next 6 months. On top of that, you'll be suspended, without pay, for the next two shifts."

"Men," Hank reiterated, "believe me, if there were any other way to get through this, it would be done. But given the circumstances, we all agree that this is the best possible outcome. I, myself, am deeply troubled by this whole thing. Especially the fact that none of you felt you could come to me and let me know what happened. Jeff, I thought you knew me better than that. I sincerely hope you won't let your talent go to waste and that you'll consider staying on. Believe me, the county would benefit from it. But if you decide to go home, I'd understand."

Jeff set his jaw, trying not to show how upset he was. "Thank you very much, uncle Hank. I don't believe I'll be going home for a while. I'll...give some thought as to my next step, but I appreciate the opportunity I'm being given, and I don't intend to waste it."

Kel straightened up, grabbing the paperwork off the desk, and coming around the side to stand directly in front of the small group of conspirators. "Well, let's hope that some good can come of this. Now, if you'll pardon me, I have patients waiting at the hospital."

~~~~~~~~~~

Roy and Johnny followed through with the order handed down to them, and they both gave serious thought to the actions of that day. They wanted to make sure no one else ever did what they, and Jeff, did. It took a few weeks, but eventually they stopped being the talk around the dinner table at stations around the county. Officially, their actions were not made public, but in a community as small as the medical one, word got around quicker than a forest fire.

Jeff packed his personal belongings at the station that fateful day, bid his farewell to his uncle, and left, not looking back. Hank hated the decision that was made, but understood it, and accepted it. He was just thankful that legal action was not brought against the young man. His nephew had worked so hard his entire life, not just wanting to help others, but to prove his worth to his father. In some ways, the two of them were so much alike that they were like the north poles of two magnets pointing at each other, fighting to be the one in control. Jeff called his father and informed him he was planning on moving back with his mother until he could sort things out, and was redressed again. Jeff hung up the phone, and decided that once and for all, he was going to show his father who could control the situation.

PART II

The tones sounded off in the dead of the night, waking the crew instantly. They listened for the call, realizing within seconds the entire station was being toned out. "Station 51, MVA with injuries at Scottsdale and East Pennsylvania, time out, 23:16."

The crew scrambled, yanking on their turnouts with skilled ease, and running for their vehicles. The intersection in question was less than five miles from the station, so they were able to reach it quickly. They arrived to find a crumpled blue sedan, the driver slumped, unconscious, against the door. The front of the car had managed to jump the curb and hit the corner of a small office building that sat close to the street. Smoke poured from under the hood.

The men jumped out of the rescue vehicles and ran to perform their duties. Hank barked orders as the others followed his direction. "Lopez, check for gas leaks and get that hood open. John, Roy, check on our driver. Kelly, do a sweep of the area to make sure there aren't any pedestrian victims. Stoker, prime the hoses and get me an inch-and-a-half over here."

As the experienced engine crew made sure the driver didn't hit anyone in the area, then popped the hood and sprayed the engine compartment to abate a small fire growing there, the paramedics managed to get the doors open enough to admit them. Johnny pulled off his helmet and grabbed his penlight. He swallowed hard when he saw their victim.

"Uh, Roy," he managed, "isn't this Dr. Anspach from Rampart?"

DeSoto looked at the unmoving man's face, trying to see past the blood covering most of it. He darted a look at his partner. "Yeah, that's him. Let's get started."

The pair worked quickly and efficiently, and within minutes they had him extricated from the ruined vehicle. It was difficult to treat him in the darkness, so Marco did his best to help by holding a large flashlight over the areas that the streetlights did not illuminate. Roy was shocked at what he found during his examination. "Johnny, you better come take a look at this."

Alarmed at the normally unflappable medic's unusual tone, Johnny rushed to his partner's side and looked at where Roy pointed. He, too, was completely unprepared for what was there. "Is that a bullet hole?"

Roy nodded, paling in the glare of the harsh artificial light. "Looks to be a .22 caliber, hit him dead on."

Solemnly, they worked on stabilizing the doctor, who was also one of the board members at Rampart that helped in the insurrection of the paramedic program. It was like treating the father of their jobs. As hard as they tried, they were not able to keep his vitals in the clear, and after delivering him to Rampart, they waited in the hallway, silent as a graveyard, as Dr Brackett and his triage team did their best. However, whoever had fired the shot at him had made sure it was fatal, and he was pronounced dead at 12:15 am. Tired and shaken, they returned to the station, and not surprised to find the rest of the crew still awake, gave them the news. No one got any sleep for the duration of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

The following day, it was all over the news about Dr. Victor Anspach being shot and killed after he had left his office for the night, driving home in the still quietness of the city. The police had been actively involved since the call from Doctor Brackett the night before. They were running forensic tests on the dead man's car, and putting a rush on the autopsy. Victor's death had everyone rattled, especially those in the medical community.

Johnny and Roy finished out their shifts, rarely speaking of what they had seen. Though they were upset, they felt they had nothing to worry about. That was, until the next shift.

Their day started off quietly as the entire crew reported for duty. Hank addressed the men. "As you all know, Dr. Anspach was shot and killed on our last shift. So far, the police have no leads, and no viable suspects. They think it might have been the result of a drive-by shooting, and have stepped up patrols in that area. We've been asked to keep an eye out for anything suspicious on our calls. Other than that, there's nothing else from them. So, let's be careful, and get to work."

A little while later, they were called out to a rubbish fire in a decrepit, seldom used alleyway, not unheard of in that area. As the engine crew deftly pulled the hoses and extinguished the flames, there was an explosion from a nearby dumpster, and the men were thrown quite a distance. Mike was next to the engine, so he was furthest from the explosion, and he scrambled to take care of his colleagues. He ran to each of them, making a quick assessment, then grabbed the HT that had fallen from Hank's pocket. "LA, this is Engineer Stoker of 51. There has been an explosion at our location, and we have three Code I's! Dispatch Squad 51, plus another squad and at least two ambulances!"

Sam's voice came back to reassure him. "10-4, Engine 51. Squad 51, respond to Engine 51's location for Code I. Station 36, please respond to the alley at the corner of Ashton and North Beckham Streets. Ambulances are being dispatched to assist."

By the time the squad for 51 had arrived, Hank was awake and alert. His helmet had prevented him from suffering further injury. He relayed to his engineer that he was okay, just shaken up a bit, and rose to see if he could help in any way. Roy and Johnny rushed to their fallen comrades, relieved to find that neither had any serious injuries, just cuts and bruises. They were very lucky that they had not been standing much closer to the dumpster, or it could have been disastrous. The whole situation made Hank very nervous, and he kept watch of the area as Chet and Marco were treated. He was thankful that the ambulances were not needed, and he contacted the Chief's office via radio to fill him in on the situation. Right away, an investigation was started, and that afternoon, while pacing the station floors, Captain Stanley received word that a pipe bomb of some sort had been placed in the dumpster, and had a crude timer affixed. It appeared that the rubbish fire was no accident, it was bait to draw the men of 51 to that alley.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't like it," Hank declared, his face pale. His first thought upon hearing of the planned explosion was to get his crew out of harm's way. But no one had any leads as to who may have done it, why, or if they would strike again. "I understand we're not much help if we're standing down, but we're also not much help if we're dead."

"I understand your frustration," Chief McConnikee stated, watching his anxious captain practically cut a hole in the floor, "but until we have more information, we can't stand you down. This could have been a one-time deal. It might be some psychopath targeting fire stations in general, not exclusively this one. What happens if another station gets attacked? I can't shut down every fire station in the county, Hank. All we can do is get back to business as usual."

Hank stopped, rubbing his aching forehead. "Yes, sir, I understand completely, and you're right. I'll just have my men watching out for anything unusual."

The Chief rose from his chair. "And I'll have the police department assign an officer to keep watch over the station for a few days, just in case something suspicious pops up. Don't worry, Hank, they'll find out who did this."

Captain Stanley escorted the Chief to his car, then returned to the station to drop heavily into a chair in the dayroom. "Well, men, it looks like the official ruling is, we're not standing down, but we'll have someone watching us for a few days, just to make sure nothing happens."

"You mean like the nothing that happened to Doctor Anspach?" Roy questioned quietly.

Hank glanced up at his senior paramedic. "The police don't think that's connected in any way with the pipe bomb. Those were two separate instances, not related in any way."

"Except for the fact that Dr. Anspach helped oversee the Paramedic Program for the County," Johnny chimed in. "C'mon, Cap, don't you think it's too much of a coincidence that the man we report to was shot, and then you get toned out to a bomb?"

"Actually, I do think it's just a coincidence," Stanley retorted, though he didn't want his crew to know that he had also had the same feeling. "The police think it was a random shooting, possibly gang related, and the pipe bomb could have been planted for any number of reasons. There isn't even any evidence to show that we were the targets. As far as we know, it could have been there to harm someone else, and our timing got us there right before it blew. So why don't we let the detectives detect, and we'll get back to our business of fighting fires?"

And like that, the subject was closed. However, unspoken or not, the entire crew of A-Shift felt uneasy.

~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of their shift went by uneventfully, or as uneventfully as it can be for firefighters. But nothing out of the ordinary occurred, and the men began to let down their defenses. They were all grateful when the shift ended, and they could all go home and get some much needed rest. Their free time went much too quickly, and though nothing had happened to the other men of Station 51, Captain Stanley's men still felt on edge when they returned. No one talked of it; however, the looks between the men said it all.

After a routine day of small fires and various squad calls, they were ready to go when the tones sounded around sundown. The familiar voice of Sam filled the station. "Station 51, one car MVA, 3700 block of Whitmore Blvd, cross street Holden Ave. Unknown injuries. 3700 block of Whitmore Blvd, cross street Holden Ave. Time out, 1914."

The men, well rehearsed by now, grabbed their turnouts and ran to their respective vehicles as Captain Stanley acknowledged the call. Then, with him in the passenger seat of the engine, they drove out into the dusk, wondering, as always, what would meet them there.

The scene was an all-too familiar one as they pulled up to the intersection. A car rested against a light pole, which was hit hard enough to make it lean halfway away from the vehicle. Steam rose from under the crumpled hood, and there was a crowd gathered nearby. Hank jumped from the engine and directed the men to check for broken power lines, fire in the car, and the condition of the victim. Then, he moved to the small group of watchers. "Did anyone see what happened?"

A middle aged man stepped forward. "I did. Saw the whole thing."

Hank pushed his helmet back and addressed the witness. "Could you tell me, sir, what you saw?"

"That car came barrelling down the road, honking his horn. It didn't look like he was slowing down a bit. This side had the red light, so there were a bunch of cars waiting their turn to go. That guy pulled off to the side of them, and drove straight into the pole. If he hadn't done that, he would have plowed into that line of cars there, or into the intersection, and probably taken out several people. I don't know why he was driving the way he was, without stopping, but by taking that pole himself, he maybe saved a lot of people. Funny thing was, though, when he drove past me, I could see right before he hit the darned thing, his brake lights were on, but he wasn't slowing down."

"Cap, you'd better get over here!" The panicked cry from the younger medic jarred Hank from the interview, and he bolted for the damaged car. He leaned over the windshield, since Johnny occupied the passenger seat, and Roy was in the driver's doorway. A look of bewilderment crossed his face as he peered through the broken glass.

"Is that--" he began.

"Yeah," Roy answered, knowing what his captain was asking. "It's Dr. Brackett."

~~~~~~~~~~

The ambulance arrived a few moments later, and Kel was carefully removed from the car. He had not woken once, so no one could ask him what happened. He had several broken ribs, a broken femur, and a severe head injury. He was very lucky to be alive, but with the damage he incurred, even his survival was questionable.

Johnny and Roy's voice were shaky as they called in to Rampart, speaking with Joe Early. Joe gasped when he found out who their patient was, since he had just seen his best friend a short time before. He listened intently as they went about caring for the doctor, and breathed a sigh of relief when they radioed they were now en route to the ER. Kel began to briefly come around in the ambulance, though not fully awake, and Roy had to lean over to hear him. He muttered, "No brakes, no brakes, out of the way, no brakes.." before succumbing to the darkness again. He did not wake up again.

The ER was waiting for their chief doctor when the ambulance pulled up, and treatment began immediately. Everyone was in shock, and seemed to move automatically as they treated Brackett. Dixie performed as usual, though with this patient, she did so with tears in her eyes. Roy helped get Kel settled into the treatment room, then moved out quickly, unable to keep his composure. He was met in the hall by his partner. Johnny's eyes held the question he dare not ask.

"I don't know, Junior," Roy said unevenly. "I just don't know."

~~~~~~~~~~

The paramedics returned to the station, and a half hour later, were rejoined by their crewmates. Hank's head seemed to hang low. The engine crew moved as one to the dayroom. Hank dropped into a chair like a rock, rubbing his eyes. To no one in particular, he began speaking.

"The police said they found a trail of brake fluid from Doctor Brackett's car. It looks like it started shortly after he left the hospital. They took the car to the police station to look into it further, but they believe, after looking at the accident scene, and talking with people that witnessed it, that the brakes failed on his car. By hitting the pole, he saved a lot of people from being injured or killed."

No one said anything. They were all too shaken up. Even Johnny and Roy kept to themselves their suspicions. It was more than just coincidence at this point. It would seem to them that someone was trying to kill certain members of Rampart, people involved in the paramedic program.

They were lucky they were not toned out during the night, though it did not matter, since none of them really slept. Shortly before official wake time, the phone rang, and Hank was close enough to answer. After a short conversation, he turned to his men, who were already up, milling around restlessly. "That was Dr. Early. He wanted to let us know that Dr. Brackett is in stable condition, though he is in a coma due to the head injury. It could be a while before he wakes up. He also said the police had looked at his car already, and it appears that someone cut the brake lines. It's now a homicide investigation for attempted murder."

Johnny rose quickly from his chair, knocking it back, surprising everyone in the room. "How many more times are we going to have to do this before those idiots realize someone is picking off the Rampart employees involved in the paramedic program?"

"Johnny, I know you're upset," Hank stated, "we're all upset. Kelly Brackett is more than a doctor and backer of the program, he's a good friend to all of us. But we just don't have any proof that there are connections to anything that's happened. It's two completely different incidents to two men at Rampart-"

"So far," Roy interjected. "Cap, even you have to see what's going on here. It's not just coincidence."

"So, you're junior detectives now?" Hank retorted, a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

"No, we're not," Roy replied, rising from his seat. "But look at what's happening. First, Dr. Anspach, shot on his way from Rampart. Then, you guys arrive at a dumpster fire right before a bomb goes off. A pipe bomb, with a timer. That means it was set to go off when you arrived. Then, also leaving Rampart, another supporter of the paramedic program has an accident due to cut brake lines. Dr. Brackett is extremely lucky to be alive. Now, when I add it all up, it certainly looks very suspicious."

"I admit, it does look suspicious," Hank conceded. "But, the police have to work with evidence, not just a feeling everyone has. We have to assume, until proven otherwise, that none of it is connected."

~~~~~~~~~~

It seemed the incidences were confined to one per shift, as the rest of this one again passed with nothing out of the ordinary happening. They received periodic phone updates on Brackett from the staff at Rampart, and every time the squad brought a patient into the ER, they stopped by ICU to check on him. His condition remained unchanged, though critical. Though the thought remained in the crew's minds that something was definitely amiss, they could not discuss it. However, when their shift ended, and they all went home, every one of them unconsciously lived as if there would be no more tomorrows.

The beginning of another day together also brought a somber and quiet tone. Voices were spoken in monotone, duties were attended to as if performed by machines, and even the Phantom chose to hang up his coat for a while. They felt an all-too discernible feeling of dread in the pits of their stomachs when the tones sounded shortly into their shift. The call of their dispatcher filled the hushed building, directing them to a house fire nearby.

The squad pulled up the long driveway to the considerable home, and Johnny groaned as he looked at the residence. Roy snapped a glance in that direction. "What? What is it?"

"We know this place," Johnny pointed out, his memory impeccable. "We came here for a celebration when they decided to go ahead with the Paramedic Program. It belongs to Dr. Ray Alexander."

Roy looked again at the building, and he knew instantly his partner was right. They had only been there once, but it was quite a party, and they had not forgotten how grateful they were to Dr. Alexander. He was one of the sitting board membes at Rampart General that voted to institute the program. And now he was the third person from Rampart to fall prey to a disaster.

Because of the size of the structure, Hank called for another engine to help, and as Marco and Chet began turning the hoses on the ever increasing flames, Johnny and Roy were sent to search for any victims. Though the fire had only started a few minutes earlier, it had advanced quite a bit, and the unusual burn patterns seemed as if the fire had started in several locations. The pair moved quickly, checking room after room, drawing on their recollections of the party to guide them. Finally, in the master bedroom on the second floor, they found what they were looking for. Doctor Alexander lay unmoving on his bed, fully dressed, looking as if he were sleeping. Johnny pulled off his mask, placed it over the physician, and hoisted him onto his shoulders. Roy served as their guide to exit safely, and together the team managed to break into the fresh air.

Johnny lowered the older man to the ground, glancing back at the slowly collapsing house, thankful to have made it out. He had a bad feeling, and it was getting worse. Coughing up smoke, he ripped off his gloves and turnout to help his partner. Roy was already setting up the biophone, and Johnny began to get vitals.

"Roy, there's no pulse, and he's not breathing," Johnny exlaimed, noting the unusual pallor of the doctor's skin. "And his skin is cool to the touch."

Double-checking, Roy got the same results. However, they had to attempt to rescusitate him. "Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read?"

Doctor Morton's voice called back seconds later. "Loud and clear, 51, go ahead."

"Rampart, we have a male, approximately 55, extricated from a burning structure. Victim has no pulse, is not breathing, and skin is cool and dry to the touch. There also appears to be some discoloration of the skin, and mild rigor. Also, be advised victim is Dr. Raymond Alexander."

Morton did not respond right away. "Did you say Raymond Alexander, as in the Rampart Board of Directors?"

"That's affirmative," Roy replied, realizing how futile it would be at this point to try and save him.

"Have you started life-saving measures?" Mike queried, knowing in his gut what the answer would be.

"Negative," Roy said quietly into the phone. "Victim appears to have been dead for some time."

Mike sighed deeply, realizing he had a decision to make. After a few moments of weighing options, he thumbed the switch to the mic. "51, do not attempt any. Call dispatch and have them send a coroner to your location. Advise them to bring...the victim...to Rampart."

Johnny and Roy stared at each other for a few moments, knowing what a difficult decision that had been made. They reported the whole thing to Hank, who radioed Dispatch for the coroner. The paramedics, not needed at the moment for medical purposes, were put back into action on the fire. It took two crews to get it under control, but nearly three hours later, only embers remained lit. Everyone moved with heavy hearts. Weary, now, from more than just fighting a fire, the men of 51 packed up and headed back to the station.

The rescue vehicles backed into the engine bay, and Hank hit the button to lower the bay door. Slowly, they made their way as a whole into the day room, knowing they had to take care of lunch, but none of them thinking of eating. They were surprised, one by one, as they entered, and found a visitor sitting on the sofa in the corner of the room. None were as surprised as their captain.

Hank jolted to a stop. “Jeff? What are you doing here?”

The young man remained seated, a strange grin pasted on his face. “Why, I came to see my favorite people in the world, Uncle Hank. Aren't you happy to see me?”

“Sure I am,” Hank professed, not quite sure of it as he said it, especially after seeing the eerie smile playing on his nephew's features. “Just a little concerned, that's all. I thought you were back at your mother's.”

Jeff unfolded slowly from the furniture, his hand wrapped around a small box. He kept the funny look on his face as if it were tatooed there, moving towards his former crewmates. “Now, why on earth would you be concerned about me? I'm doing fine. Just fine. Took some time off, went hiking, did some soul searching, and found the real me. So, I guess you could say, there's no reason to be concerned about me. However, there might be some reason to be concerned about yourselves.”

At first, no one spoke. The undertone to the statement was almost evil. It was as if just hearing that was enough to be a problem; no one really wanted to know what he meant by it. But Hank had an obligation to his men, even if that went against his own flesh and blood. “You want to let us know what you're talking about?”

“Turn around and look at the door,” Jeff directed, still grinning. The men on duty did as told, noticing the wires taped to the door frame, and the explosives attached to the wires. “Now, I want all of you to sit at the table. Don't try anything funny, just do as I say.”

Glancing at the box in Jeff's hand, they did as ordered, taking seats around the table. After they were settled, their captain tried again to reason with his family member.

“Jeff, you can't honestly tell me you intend to harm any of us here,” Hank stated, hoping to wake the youngster from whatever grip he was held in. “What has gotten into you?”

“I'll tell you what's gotten into me!” Baker yelled, his face turning red. “My life was ruined! I had a future, a life worth living, a career I loved! None of you, not a one, have ANY idea what I had to go through to get where I did. And it was taken away from me because of one stupid, lousy mistake.”

“That stupid mistake killed a man, or had you forgotten that part?” Hank bellowed, rising from his seat. “You aren't entirely blameless, so stop trying to make yourself out to be the victim. You need to take responsibility for what happened!”

“What do you think I've done?” Jeff screamed back, his eyes darkening. “I've lost everything! You can't tell me I haven't taken responsibility, because I'm the only one that has! Those two over there got away with murder!”

Johnny and Roy looked up sharply into the face of a madman, now realizing the full scope of his anger, and what he intended to do. He was there to kill them all.

Hank fired back. "You aren't the only one to work hard for the department. There isn't a single person in this room that hasn't faced death. We've all made sacrifices, some more than others, and we treat each other as equals. Every man here would give his life to save another. Roy and Johnny were willing to give up their careers that THEY'VE worked so hard for, because they believed in you, and believed that you had a future. They faced their punishment, and will always have this on their records, but the bottom line was that it was YOU, Jeff, that killed that man, not them, and the board did what they felt was the right thing."

"Ah, yes, that terrific board," Jeff mused, "reduced by three. Now, they're getting their punishment for destroying me."

There was an audible gasp in the room. Finally, one person dared to say what they were all thinking. Roy leveled a dark look at the troubled ex-firefighter. "Don't you mean two? Dr Brackett isn't a sitting member of the board of directors."

"This is true," Baker replied, the strange grin resurfacing. "But, Thomas James is. I'm sure he'll be found soon enough, sitting in his car. Or at least his remains will be."

Hank could stand it no longer. "This is insane! Being upset at washing out of the program is one thing, but you're murdering people! Oh, god, Jeff, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I know exactly what I have done, Uncle Hank," Jeff answered coolly. "Those that have harmed me are facing retribution. Now that the Rampart side has been taken care of, I'm here to finish it completely. You'll see, I would have made a great paramedic."

Chet jumped into the conversation. "If you're planning on shooting all of us, then why the fireworks?"

"Oh, but Chester," Jeff explained, "I'm not planning on shooting all of you. And the fireworks? Call it an insurance policy. See, I have the back door over there wired so if anyone opens it even an inch, it goes off. And since I have the remote for the ones around the other door, if someone decides they want to leave my demonstration, I can push one button, and we all go up in flames before you reach the engine bay. No one goes in or out."

"What demonstration?" Hank asked, fearful of the answer.

"The one showing you how well I can work under pressure." Before anyone had a chance to question him further, the trigger was pulled, and Johnny was blasted backwards from the table and onto the floor.

The rest of the crew rose as one, yelling in a near panic. Hank reached for his nephew. "Dear god, why?"

"I only need one other paramedic to assist," Jeff answered in an almost clinical way. "Roy is the senior paramedic and can evaluate my performance. I needed a victim to treat, and there he is. Two problems solved at once."

Captain Stanley stood open-mouthed, not sure what to say next. It was clear that his nephew had gone over the deep end, and he needed to stop it, but how? And what about Johnny? He needed to get to a hospital, but it was obvious Jeff was not going to allow that. He felt trapped, and for once, powerless.

"I want Mike, Marco and Chet in the dayroom, out of the way. Now. Or there will be plenty more victims for us to treat." Jeff waved the gun at the men, who complied wordlessly. They sat side by side on the sofa, craning their necks to see what was happening. "Uncle Hank, I have brought the supplies we'll need, you'll find them over by the sink. If you'll be kind enough to bring them over..."

"I'm not taking orders from you," Hank declared defiantly. He felt overwhelming guilt over the injury to his paramedic, not just because he was unable to stop it, but also because it was his own flesh and blood that did it.

He looked down as the weapon was leveled at him. "Please, Uncle Hank, don't make me do it. I don't want to, but I will."

After looking into the dark eyes, Hank knew he was telling the truth. So he collected the supplies and laid them on the floor next to Roy. "How is it?"

Roy had already ripped apart the uniform shirt and looked at the wound. It was bleeding profusely, so Roy felt Johnny was lucky he was unconscious. "It's not good, Cap. The bullet penetrated right below the bottom rib, and from the way he's breathing, I'm guessing it's punctured a lung. WIthout getting him to a hospital, there's no way for me to tell how much internal damage there is."

The station's captain looked up, his face full of controlled rage. "I hope you understand that there is a possibility the man you once called a friend could die."

"That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make," Jeff stated evilly. "I want everyone to stay out of the way. I push one button, the whole building goes up before you can blink. Now, Roy, I want you to rate my performance and give me an unbiased evaluation on how I treat the victim."

Roy was ready to explode. His jaw practically hitting the floor, he glared at his former trainee. "I can't believe you want to go through with this. This isn't a game, Jeff. Johnny could die, don't you get that?"

Pretending not to hear, the blond wearing the paramedic jacket he had stolen from the locker room began preparing to treat his 'victim'. "I'll get his vitals, and you can get the bandages. He's bleeding heavily, and his breathing is labored, indicating a tear to the lung."

"We've got to get Rampart on the biophone before we can do anything, you know that," Roy stated, feeling as if this were the worst dream he had ever had.

Jeff raised his head. "I thought I had made myself crystal clear. No one, and I mean no one, will be involved in this treatment besides us. We don't need those crackpots in the ER telling us what to do, we know it. We just need to do it."

"If we treat a victim without hospital assistance, they'll hang me out to dry." Roy knew that would not be the case considering the circumstances, but he hoped he could talk some sense into this lunatic before him.

"Do you honestly think I care?" Jeff's eyes looked blank, as if his soul was completely gone, and only a shell remained. It was beyond frightening. "Now, get to work."

Baker put on the stethoscope and began taking vitals as if he had been practicing. Little did anyone know that there were a few scattered victims here and there that he had been putting to use. The only ones that knew of these people were the police, and they had no idea what was going on, or who the mysterious man was that attacked them, the hitchhikers and campers, and then treated their wounds.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rang at the station, but the men were powerless to answer it. They could only look from the ringing contraption to the scene playing out before them, completely helpless. They did not know it was their Chief trying to call them.

After trying unsuccessfully to reach anyone at the station, McConnikee had dispatch try to get the crew on their vehicle radios or HT's. They had reported back to the station earlier, and had not been toned out again. They simply were not answering.

The Chief looked up at the detective standing in front of him and let him know there was no response. "We need to get ahold of Hank and let him know what we found out. We can't get him by radio, and no one is answering at the station. Maybe we should drive over there."

"I think it's a good idea," Detective Duvall agreed. "Captain Stanley would be most interested in hearing about his nephew. We have to find him before Baker does."

~~~~~~~~~~

The ringing eventually stopped, and Hank knew that it was only a matter of time before they were toned out to a call. If they did not respond, then someone would come looking for them. It was both a blessing and a curse, since Jeff had made it perfectly clear that no one was going to come in, and it sure didn't seem as if any of them were ever going to get out. On top of that, he had to stand idly by and watch as one of his men lay injured, possibly dying, and realized that without proper medical treatment, death was inevitable.

"His b/p is 90 over 50, respirations shallow and uneven, heart rate is 85 and weak. DeSoto?" Jeff worked as if he were treating a patient in the field, not a former crewmate he had just shot, and his unwavering demeanor scared everyone in the room. The small detonator he held earlier was now in his shirt pocket, easily reached. He would only need to reach up and strike it through the thin fabric, and the explosives would do their job.

Roy had to force himself to tear his eyes away from the little remote just inches from him and to concentrate on his partner. "No exit wound for the bullet, he's diaphoretic, and he presents with a collapsed lung. Jeff, we have to get him to a hospital, now. If we don't, he's going to die."

"Everyone has to die someday, Roy," Jeff countered, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. "Just how we all go depends on how we live."

The room fell silent at the remark, as they all realized the enormity, and the directness, of the statement. He was a madman and philosopher at the same time, and it was very unnerving. The silence was broken a few moments later as Johnny began to stir.

"Oh...man-" the injured medic uttered, reaching for the spot that hurt the most. Roy grabbed his moving hand, causing Johnny to open his eyes fully. "What-?"

"Just lay still, Junior," Roy cautioned, his eyes locked with their captives. "You're going to be alright."

"I don't feel like it," Gage complained, his breath ragged. "What...happened?"

It was then he turned his attention away from his partner to the other man kneeling next to him, and he suddenly remembered. "He...he shot...me...why?"

"I needed to prove what a capable paramedic I am, Gage," Baker explained. "And I volunteered you to assist us. Don't try anything funny, or this whole place goes up like a roman candle."

"Yeah, we got that part," Roy stated sarcastically. "Just what is he going to try? You blasted a hole in him. If you have any kind of feelings at all, you'll let us get him some professional help. I can only do so much out here."

"YOU can only do so much?" Jeff fired back. "Did you forget there is another paramedic here to help? I know what I'm doing, DeSoto. I am fully trained, and capable of treating the victim."

"No, you're not," Roy said softly, trying not to irritate him further. "You were good, Jeff, very good. But the key word here is 'were'. You're not now, nor are you going to be, a paramedic. You have to understand that."

Before Baker could respond, their patient interrupted. "Roy...I...can't breathe...help-"

"Johnny?" The worry in Roy's voice was unabated. He looked down on his friend, and saw the ashen color of his face, knowing that there wasn't much time left. Gage began coughing, blood foaming at the side of his mouth as he did so. When the spell had passed, the younger medic collapsed into unconsciousness on the cold floor.

Roy looked up, his eyes pleading. "He needs to be intubated. Did you bring-"

"Um, no," Jeff replied, his cool exterior starting to crack slightly. "I didn't think-"

"Exactly!" Hank shouted. "You didn't think! I'm not going to stand by and watch one of my men die. I'm going to get what Roy needs from the squad."

Stanley started for the door, and was stopped as he reached it when the familiar voice called out to him. "Move one more step, Uncle Hank, and the whole crew dies. You had better decide!"

At that moment, Hank saw movement in the bay, and watched as his Chief, a plainclothes detective, and two armed uniformed officers filed in quietly. Luckily, they had not made it into an area where they could be easily seen, unless you happened to be exactly where Hank was now. He was the only one that knew they were there, and he stood as still as stone, waiting.

The men coming into the station had heard the last statement made by the young captor, and had wisely decided not to move any closer. Detective Duvall, realizing the station's captain stood before him, he mouthed wordlessly, making no sound. *Baker?*

Hank nodded almost imperceptively, but it was enough to get his message across. The detective quietly asked another one-word question. *Explosives?*

Using only his eyes, he made a sweep around the door frame, indicating where they were. He was fortunate that no one behind him knew what was happening, but he knew he could not keep up the facade for long. One last time, Duvall spoke without making any noise. *Distract him.*

It was a simple command, but it would be the hardest of his life to follow. Blinking slowly to acknowledge the order, and to steel himself, he took a deep breath, then turned. "Jeff, all you're life, you've helped people. You grew up eating smoke, and using a hose before you were big enough to even hang it. Why would you want to do this?"

"Because, Uncle Hank, these men took away the one thing I truly loved," Jeff explained. "True, I grew up a smoke-eater, but that's what my father wanted, not me. I did it to make him proud, except no matter what I did, he wasn't. I risked my life more times than I can count, but it was never enough for him. Then, when I found out about the paramedic program, it seemed like a dream come true. I knew it was what I was destined for. That was what I wanted. That is who I was, not some hose jockey. And it was all taken away from me. I tried so hard, and wanted it so bad, and to be told that no matter how good I was, it was never going to happen, well, it was too much to bear. I don't understand how these two get off scot-free, and I have to be punished for the rest of my life, to be told I can't help people because of a mistake. I want them to be punished, Hank, for their mistake, too."

Jeff didn't realize that as he spoke, his uncle was walking away from the bay door to divert his attention. "Jeff, we've been over this already. You know that Johnny and Roy were punished, and every man and woman with the LA Fire Department knows it, too. They have to face that for the rest of their lives. It's time you accepted that, and moved on with your life."

"It's too late for that," Jeff declared, sadness registering on his young features for the first time. "I've already said my good-byes. There's nothing for me to move on to."

"What are you talking about?" Hank queried, standing between his nephew and the door to the parking lot. Suddenly, there was pandemonium as the detective and armed officers rushed into the room, guns drawn, shouting orders. The scene seemed to play out in slow motion as Jeff whipped his head around at the intrusion, instinctively reaching for the remote detonator in his shirt. Hank lunged forward, grabbing the rising arm, knocking Jeff off balance and back onto the floor. Roy leaned over his fallen partner, shielding Johnny's body with his, in case there was an explosion, and the men on the sofa hit the floor, their arms reflexively covering their heads.

Running forward, Duvall reached out and grabbed the remote as it slid out of it's resting place onto the linoleum. He quickly placed it out of reach on top of the refrigerator, his gun pointed at the figures locked in battle. "Don't move, Baker! You're under arrest!"

After struggling with his father's brother for a few moments, Jeff finally understood it was over for him, and he ceased his movements. He stayed silent as he was dragged up, handcuffed, and let out to a waiting police car. As the young man was led through the engine bay, Chief McConnikee decided it was safe to go in, and he hurried inside. He kept his exterior calm, though his emotions raged internally, as he surveyed the room. Roy frantically fought to save his partner's life, directing his fellow crewmen to get the equipment and supplies from the squad, and Hank sat on his knees, his head hung low, hands pressed to his face. Wordlessly, McConnikee leaned down, grasping Hank's arm, and lead him out of the bomb-ridden room. Hank followed, sorrow etched into his features, and he did not speak once as he was led into a squad car and driven to Rampart.

McConnikee looked around once more as the bomb squad and a team of paramedics from Squad 18 arrived together. He exited the bay area to the sound of DeSoto's panicked voice calling out, "Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read...?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours passed, and the Chief held the now-cold cup of coffee in his hands. He had had that same cup for over an hour, and had not taken a sip. He waited in the doctor's lounge at Rampart for news from someone, anyone, on what was going on. Finally, he looked up as Joe Early entered the room.

"How are you holding up, Chief?" the kindly doctor asked.

"I'd be doing better if I had something I could do to help," McConnikee mused. "But since there's nothing for me to do, I guess I'll just have to make do with finding out how everyone is."

"I have some good news, and some bad news," Early began. "The bad news is, Jeff is in lockdown in the psychiatric unit, under a suicide watch. He spoke with the doctor briefly, and from what they can gather, it appears he may have assaulted between 10 and 15 people in the last few months. Four of them did not survive, but he won't tell anyone where they can be found."

"We figured as much, but didn't know it was that many people," McConnikee replied, remembering what he had been told by the detective. "He sent a letter to his mother, telling her he had hurt some people, and some were injured beyond his capabilities, so they died. He told her he was sorry, and that he had no reason to go on living. He also said he had one last thing to take care of, and that it involved the men he thought he could trust. She called the authorities here, and that's why we went to the station."

"How did you know about the explosives?" Joe queried.

"Duvall thought it would be safer to go in the back door to get the men out, in case Baker decided to show up. We didn't know he was already there until we got to the door and found it wired all the way around with the stuff. He called for backup and was going to wait, until we heard the gunshot inside. He decided we needed to risk it, so we went in through the engine bay. That's when we saw Hank, and heard what was going on in there. The rest is history, as they say."

"Well, it's good thing you decided to go in when you did," Joe relayed. "It may have just saved Johnny's life. That's the good news. He underwent surgery, and came out pretty well. They re-inflated his lung, and though it's going to take some time, he'll heal completely. He should be back on duty in a couple of months."

"And Hank?" McConnikee pondered, remembering the look on the distraught captain's face.

Joe sighed before answering. "We have him heavily sedated right now. He was unresponsive when they brought him in, but then when Duvall started talking to him about his nephew, he got extremely agitated and began tearing up the treatment room. I think we'll have to keep him under observation for a few days. He needs some time to get through this, Chief. It was a traumatic enough experience, but knowing it was his own family that did this, well, let's just say he's going to need some help for a while. Physically, he's okay. But psychologically? It's hard to tell. Has anyone called his brother yet?"

"Detective Duvall did right after we got here." McConnikee set the cup on the table. "Don volunteered to come out here and talk with Hank, but the detective thought it would be for the best if they kept their distance for right now. And after what you've told me, I also think it's wise for him to stay away for now. The last thing Hank needs is to get more upset, as he and Don weren't exactly the best of friends for them being brothers, if you know what I mean."

"I understand," Joe said, getting to his feet. "I'll keep you posted, Chief. Why don't you go get some rest? It's been a pretty hard day for everyone."

McConnikee leaned back into the leather sofa. "I'll do that, Doc. Let me just check on everyone one more time before I go. Is DeSoto still with Gage?"

Early nodded, smiling. "I think we're going to need a crowbar to get him out of there. Order him to get some rest, too, would you chief? Marco, Mike and Chet are still in with Dr. Wilson. He just wants to make sure they are handling this okay. I think he's going to recommend they take some time off, too."

"I had kind of figured that," the Chief stated. "Thanks for all your help, Doctor Early."

"Get some rest, Chief," Joe joked as he exited the room. "I outrank you in that aspect."

Chief McConnikee followed Dr. Wilson's recommendations, and authorized Kelly, Lopez and Stoker to take a week of personal paid leave to get some much needed R & R. Hank was kept for observation for 48 hours, then released. He was ordered to take 3 weeks time off to deal with the situation. He spoke briefly by phone with his brother, Don, the day after he was released, and saw him once more when Don came to LA for his son's hearing. But the two never spoke again after that.

Johnny recovered from his injuries and received counseling for several weeks, but finally came to terms with what happened, and made a conscious decision that it was not going to define his life and who he was, and his life got back to normal.

Roy had nightmares for months, and spoke with Dr. Wilson for a few sessions, but realized he could not change what happened. However, he could be more diligent with his trainees to make sure nothing like that ever happened again.

Jeff was found to be incompetent for trial and was instead sent to a maximum security mental facility, where he lived until he died of pneumonia three years later. He refused medical treatment, instead insisting he could care for himself, since he was an excellent paramedic.