by Irene, Pat, Samesib, Twinkie, Katy, Sheryl, Alice, Cin, Kathy, KC, Sherry, BobiPati, Backdraft, MJ, Robin, Gail, Alice F., Meris, and Jaime.
CHAPTER TWO

          Meanwhile, Roy, feeling suffocated by the silence in the lounge, decided to call Joanne.  At least he’d have someone to agonize with.  He stepped out of the lounge, glancing up and down the hall, hoping to see Dixie or Dr. Brackett, but felt relieved when he saw neither.  No news is good news, at least, that’s what he hoped anyway.

          He headed toward the pay phone at the far end of the hall, the door to treatment room three opened.  A nurse entered the room with a bag of ice, and Roy caught a glimpse of two familiar faces as the door began to close.  Any distraction would be appreciated at this point, so he pushed the door open, and entered the room.  Marco was in a heated discussion with Chet about bowling scores.

          The Irishman was sitting on the gurney with one leg on the table, the other swinging impatiently back and forth beside the table.  He grimaced, closing his eyes; inhaling noisily through his teeth, as the nurse placed the ice bag on his bare knee.  When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see Roy approaching the gurney.

          "Roy," Chet exclaimed.  "Who called you?”  He asked, glaring at Marco.  “It's only a sprained knee."  Roy graced his friend with a half-hearted smile and leaned wearily against the gurney.

          "Sorry about your knee Chet, but I was already here.  What happened?" he asked.

          "We were bowling..." began Marco, only to be interrupted by Chet.

          "Let me tell it," he began, but suddenly paused, "what do you mean you were already here?  Are Joanne and the kids okay?"  The two friends waited.

"Joanne and the kids are fine.  I was on my way to call Joanne, it's Johnny..."

"What happened this time?" asked Marco.

"Acute appendicitis," said Roy.  "We were at a movie when it hit him.”  He scratched the back of his neck.  "He's...not doing too well at the moment.  It ruptured before they could take it out, and he's got a serious infection.”  Roy looked at the floor.  "Dix said they weren't sure he'd survive the night."

"Oh, come on, Roy," scoffed Chet, "nobody dies from appendicitis anymore.  They'll give him antibiotics, and he'll be fine."

"Chet's right, Roy," added Marco.  "Besides, Johnny's a strong, healthy guy.  With the drugs they have nowadays, he'll be up and around in no time."

"That’s what we’re praying for,” Roy commented.  “Look, guys,” he began to walk towards the door,  “I’m going to call Joanne and then go see Johnny.  I’ll check back with you later.”  At that, he opened the door, and left the room.

          Betty sat in a chair opposite her superior.  "I didn't see the chart, Dix, the way Morton was hogging it.”  The young nurse was getting angry.  "I asked him if he was going to order something, but he ignored me.”  She put her hands on her hips.  “When I asked him about it again, he snapped the chart closed, and stormed out of the room.  He never told me that he'd written anything.  It’s common courtesy to let your fellow workers know what is going on.  If anything happens to Johnny," she said, her voice quaking, "it'll be as much his fault, as it is mine!"  Dix nodded.

          "I'm going to examine the chart, and talk to Doctor Morton.”  She patted Betty on the arm.  "We'll get to the bottom of this, don't worry."

          Roy had never felt so helpless; his partner may as well be 2,000 miles away, rather than two floors up.  Johnny was the closest thing he had to a brother and he paced as he worried.  Roy looked at the cup in his hand.  He was angry, but how could he be angry with Johnny?  Was it his fault his appendix ruptured?  Was the anger directed at Morton?  If he had been more thorough, maybe Johnny wouldn't be as sick.  He knew the first signs, why didn’t he make Johnny get medical help?  If Johnny died, it was his fault.  Thinking about it brought the anger to the surface.  The anger boiled over and he hurled the cup at the wall, shattering it into a million tiny fragments.  Dixie was trying to come into the room at that moment, and had to dodge the flying debris.  She peeked around the edge of the door to see if the coast was clear.  She saw a distraught man sitting in a chair with both hands covering his face.

          "Feel better?”  She asked.  Roy spread his fingers to look at the head nurse.  He was terribly embarrassed by his outburst.  He let his hands slide down his cheeks to rest on his thighs.

          "I'm sorry Dix, I’ll clean it up."  He stood up, went over to the wall, bent down, and began picking up the larger pieces.  Dixie leaned over and placed a concerned hand on his wrist.

          "No, it’s okay, I’ll have Jim come up and do it.  That’s what he gets paid for."

          "Is there anything new on Johnny?"  The two stood up and moved over to the table.

          "Not yet.  I was just going to have a cup of coffee and keep you company for a bit...as long as you promise not to throw anything at me!" she smiled.  The paramedic forced a smile.

          "Thanks Dix, I promise."  Dixie looked into his eyes.

          "Let me guess..." she queried, "somehow this is all your fault.”  Roy glanced quickly at Dixie, then turned his head away, not wanting her to see that she was right.

          "How did you know?"

          "Roy, honestly!  Whenever one of you manages to get hurt, you both find a way to take the blame for the injury.  Remember when Johnny was bitten by the rattlesnake?"  Roy frowned at the memory.  She continued, "You were blaming yourself for not being there," Dixie gripped Roy's arm.  "Roy, unless you possess some power I don't know about, I don't think you wanted that snake to bite Johnny."  Roy chuckled.  Dixie smiled, hoping to allay his fears.  "Roy.  You are no more to blame about Johnny’s appendix than you are about the snake."  Roy sighed.

          "You’re right...as usual, Dix."

          "And don’t you forget it!”  Dixie sternly replied.  She patted his hand, "Roy, relax.  I'll go check on Johnny."  Roy nodded, while Dixie stood and left the room.

          Dixie met Dr. Brackett in the corridor.  "Any news about Johnny?"  He stuffed his hands in his lab coat pocket and sighed.

          “His condition is the same.  Where’s Roy?”

          "He's in the Doctor's Lounge," replied Dix.  She led Brackett to the lounge.

          "How's Johnny, Doc?" asked Roy.  The doctor sighed and poured himself a cup of coffee.

          "His blood pressure stabilized, but we had to give him a lot of fluid, and several units of blood.  As I told you earlier, we had to irrigate his abdomen with an antibiotic solution, and then give him antibiotics post op to fight the peritonitis that was caused when his appendix ruptured.”  He shook his head.  "Frankly, I'm surprised Johnny was able to go out to dinner, or even walk.  He must have been in a lot of pain even before this thing ruptured.  His peritoneum was pretty irritated and inflamed when we got in there."

          "You know Johnny," said Roy lamely.  "He doesn't complain,” he sighed.  "So, will he be okay?"

          "The next twenty-four hours will be critical.  If he stays stable, he should make a full recovery.  We're going to keep him in the ICU overnight, and keep him intubated.  You can go up to see him, if you'd like, but don't stay long.  I want him to rest as much as possible."  Roy sighed in relief.

          "Thanks, Doc.”  He hesitated, then spoke.  "Doc, did the antibiotic Johnny missed make this worse?”  Brackett shrugged and twitched his mouth.
"It certainly didn't help matters.  The inflammation was certainly worse, but we have to wait to see if any organisms grow in his blood cultures before we know for sure.”  He placed his hand on Roy’s arm.  "Don't worry, we're getting to the bottom of that."

          After his short visit with Johnny in ICU, and a quick call to Joanne, to update her on Johnny’s condition; Roy climbed behind the wheel of his car, heading for home.  He yawned as he sat at a nearby red light.  He lay his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.  His mind went blank, and his body relaxed.  An impatient horn blast startled him back to reality.  The light had turned green.  He yawned again.  He was so tired.  He fought to keep his eyes open.  So tired…

          Marie Shmidt was on her way home from a long shift.  She had stopped at the corner store and picked up a half gallon of milk.  When she pulled back onto the road, a sports car in front her was weaving across the lines.  At least he was stopping at the red light.  She reached over and turned on her radio.  Punching the keys, she couldn’t find anything good to listen to.  She turned the radio off, and looked up at the light.  What shade of green are you waiting for, buddy?  Some people, She thought.  I wonder where he got his license.  I want to get home, please.  She lay on the horn.  She saw the guy jump and pull away from the light.  ‘Bout time!  She followed behind him at a safe distance.  To bad, I have to take this road with all the drunks on it.  The weaving got worse and she watched in horror as he went through the guardrail at the side of the road.  She pulled over and looked over the edge.  She watched up and down the road, hoping that someone would come along and help.

          Roy slowly opened his eyes.  He was treated to a close up view of the steering wheel.  He felt something warm running down his face.  Cautiously, he lifted his head off the wheel. Severe pain shot up and down his neck, chest, and back.  His breathing became rapid as the reality of the situation became apparent to him.  The deeper the breaths, the more pain he felt through his lungs.  He had to remain calm.  Panicking would not help his situation.  He slowly moved his arms, and legs, to see if they worked.  He was greeted with excruciating pain.  That was good, wasn’t it?  At least there was something.  The pain was intense.  The darkness called to him, so he followed it blindly.

          It seemed everyone in LA County had some type of emergency more urgent and life threatening than Chet's sprained knee.  He’d finally been x-rayed, wrapped, and released.  After checking on Johnny, Marco and Chet started for home.

          "This has been some night.”  Marco commented, driving down the highway to Chet's place.  “I called Cap.  I told him about you and Johnny.”

          "Good.  Johnny will be fine," Chet sighed, wearily.  The two men saw a woman standing alone, along side the road by a broken guardrail.  “Think we should check to see if she needs help?”  Marco nodded, pulling behind the woman’s car.  He shut the car off and stepped out.  As he approached her, she turned.

 “Everything okay, ma’am?”  He asked.

 “A drunk went through the guardrail.  A guy stopped about ten minutes ago and said he’d call for help.”  Marco stepped over to the shattered guardrail and tried to see were the car was.  The smashed car’s lights lit the surrounding brush.  He could hear the sirens in the distance.

“The paramedics will be here any minute.  I’m going down to see if there is anything I can do until they get here.”  He stepped over the rail and proceeded carefully down the embankment.  Chet hobbled over to the woman and leaned on the railing.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.  I’m worried about the driver of that car.  He was weaving all over the road.  I hope he’s going to be okay.”

“What happened?”  Chet tried to make conversation.

“I was coming home from work and I got behind this nut-case that was weaving all over the road.  When I saw him go through the guardrail, I stopped and waved down help.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I work at Shady Hills retirement home.  I’m a…” she was interrupted from a shout from below.

“Chet, its Roy!”  Chet stood from his seated position and turned to look over the
 edge.  The darkness surrounding the vehicle made it difficult to make out where Marco was.  As his eyes adjusted, he barely saw Marco maneuvering around the back of the demolished car, and vaguely watched as Marco climbed in the passenger window, disappearing from view.

“Is he okay?”

“He looks pretty bad.  Has the fire department gotten here yet?”  Came the muffled reply.

“I see the lights, they should be here any second,” Chet replied.  He turned and watched as the engine and squad pulled up to the gapping hole in the guardrail.  He sighed with relief as he noticed the numbers on the side, 51.  Hookrader began shouting orders as he climbed out of the engine.  Dwyer & Smith jumped out of the squad.  They proceeded to get all of their equipment out and set it down beside the railing.  Chet limped over to the two paramedics.  Dwyer looked up.  Smith ran over to the squad, got the stokes, the backboard, and a rope.

“Chet?”

“Charlie, its Roy.  We just pulled up and haven’t been here very long.”  Smith lay the stokes down on the ground, put their equipment into it, and began tying it tightly into the frame, so they could carry it down to their patient.

“What’s Roy doing going over an embankment?”

“He was drunk,” the woman replied, watching the excitement that surrounded her.

“Not Roy,” Smith said, in Roy’s defense.  Chet turned towards her.

“I was at the hospital with him not an hour ago.  He wasn’t drunk then and he isn’t drunk now,”  Chet snapped.

“What did you do now, Chet?”  Dwyer grinned.

“Wasn’t me, it was Johnny.”

“Again?”

“Again.  Apparently his appendix ruptured while they were out to dinner tonight.”

“Johnny was 16’s run tonight?”  Smith asked, as he finished tying off the equipment.

“Sounds like it.”

“Cap, we’re ready.”  Dwyer yelled.  Hookrader nodded, looking over at his engineer, who had tied the rope onto the engine.  The younger man nodded and went over to the truck.  The two paramedics began their descent down the embankment.

“Jones, Kanski, take the equipment down.”

 “Whatcha got, Marco?”  Dwyer asked, leaning in the driver’s window.  He began his assessment by taking Roy’s pulse.

 “He looks really bad,” he stated.  “I think he’s cut an artery on his arm.  I’ve got it pinched, but I don’t know how much he lost before I got here.  I haven’t had a chance to check out his other injuries yet.  His legs are pinned under the wheel.  We’ll need the Jaws.”

The firefighters sat the stokes beside the car.  Smith began untying the equipment opening the trauma box, pulling out a pressure bandage.  Dwyer grabbed the c-collar and placed it around Roy’s neck.  Smith pulled up his HT and spoke into it as he rounded the back of the car.

 “Engine 51, this is Squad 51.  Cap we’re gonna need the Jaws down here.”

 “10-4 Squad 51.”  Kanski and Jones returned to the road to get the Jaws.  Smith leaned in the passenger window.

 “Here, Marco.  Put this on his arm,” he stated, handing Marco the bandage.  Marco nodded, grabbing the bandage with his free hand.  Marco placed the pressure bandage on Roy’s arm and then backed out of the way so that the paramedics could get in and do their magic.  He looked at the firefighters working to get his friend out, and thought they had enough help.  He began moving up the embankment.  He climbed over the broken railing and stood next to Chet.

 “You okay, Marco?”  Chet asked.

 “Why do you ask?”

 “You’re looking a little green around the gills, my friend.  You want to sit down?”  Marco absently shook his head no, as he watched the men working to get Roy out of the wrecked vehicle.  Chet looked down at Marco’s jeans and saw that they were covered with Roy’s blood.  “Was Roy okay?”

 “Um,” his concentration was broken and he looked at the other man.  “He looked really bad.”  It seemed like an eternity passed waiting for the men to bringing Roy up in the stokes.  They lifted him over the railing and carried him over to the gurney.  Chet was afraid to look as they lifted him out of the stokes to place him onto the gurney.  Marco was right, he did look bad.

 “I don’t understand how they do it.”  A woman’s voice said behind him.

 “Who do what?”  Chet turned and questioned her.

 “Drink and drive.”  Chet took a wobbly step towards her.  Marco saw the fury boiling in the Irishman’s eyes.  He placed a hand on Chet’s shoulder.  Chet got into her face.

 “My friend was not drinking and driving,” Chet said, through clenched teeth.

  “You could have fooled me.”

 “He has been up all night worrying about a sick friend, how can that be drinking?”

 “I don’t know, maybe he was distraught enough to stop at that bar down the street.  I don’t know this man from Adam.”

 “My friend doesn’t drink and drive,” Chet replied, stopping before he really got angry and say something he might regret later.  “Save your judgmental attitude for someone else.”  Marco gave a slight pull on his shoulder.  Chet limped over to Dwyer.  “What’s wrong with him, Charlie?”

 “He’s cut the major artery in his arm.  Good thing Marco got there when he did, a few minutes later, and Roy wouldn’t have had any blood left at all.  Both legs are broken and he is unconscious.  I think once they get him up to surgery to repair that artery, and his legs, I think he’ll be good as new.”  Dwyer slapped the back doors of the ambulance to signal that the patient was in.  “Don’t worry about him Chet.  He’s been around Johnny too much.  He’ll rebound.”  Charlie smiled at the worried firefighter as he headed for the squad.  “I have to get over to Rampart.  You going back?”

 “Yeah, Marco and I will go and contact Joanne.”  Hookrader stepped over to him.

 “I contacted Stanley.  He was going to go over to DeSoto’s house and tell his wife.”

 “Okay, thanks Cap.”  Chet limped as quickly as he could over to his car.  Marco climbed in and started it up.

          Someone was pounding on the door.  Joanne groaned, rolling over in bed to look at the clock.  2:00 A.M, who would be pounding on the door at this hour?  She frowned; this was not her night.  Roy had phoned earlier to let her know Johnny had taken a turn for the worse.  She had wanted to go to the hospital to be there for her husband, but Roy had insisted there was nothing she could do.  "We’ll come up and see him in the morning.  I’m heading home right now.  I love you, honey," he declared, through the phone.

“I love you too.”  They hung up the phone together.  The insistent pounding was getting louder.  Roy must have forgotten his key, she thought as she flipped the covers back, and turned on the light.  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbed her robe, shrugged it over her shoulders, and tied the sash as she descended the stairs to the front door.  She looked through the peephole and was surprised to see Captain Stanley standing there.  Oh no, Johnny, she unlocked the door, and opened it wide.

"Is it Johnny?” she asked, worry etched onto her features.

“No,” he replied.  Relief flooded her eyes and she smiled.

“Good.”  The smile faded.  She knew why Hank was here.  He didn’t have to say a word.  He took her hand, and a tear fell from her eye.  “Is he…?”  She didn’t want to bring herself to say ‘that word’.

 “No he’s not dead.  From what I understand, he’s in critical condition.  Hookrader called from the scene.  Apparently, he fell asleep at the wheel.  Sharon is on her way here to stay with the kids.  I’ll take you over to Rampart.  They hadn’t left the scene when Hookrader called and I don’t know when they’ll be getting to Rampart.  I can call over there while you get dressed if you like.”  Joanne nodded absently, turning towards the stairs.  Hank stepped into the house and closed the door.  Walking over to the phone, he called the hospital.  He went to the stairway and called up.  “Dixie says they’ll be there in 15.”  He waited for a reply, and when none came, he walked over to the couch.  Rubbing his hands together impatiently, he sat down.  He glanced around the room looking for a distraction, anything to keep his mind from thinking about this stupid night.  Both his paramedics were going to be gone for quite some time.  There came a soft rapping on the door.  He went to the door and looked through the peephole.  It was his wife, Sharon.  He opened it and kissed her cheek.  “Can you go check on Joanne.  She’s been up there a long time and I’m worried.”

 “Sure,” she stated, as she headed up the stairs.  Ten minutes later the two women appeared at the bottom of the stairs; Joanne’s face red and puffy from crying.  “She’s ready honey,” Sharon told Hank.  He nodded and stood up from the couch.  He took her arm and helped her out to the car; closing the car door after she had situated herself in the seat.  He stepped up to his wife and gave her a quick kiss.

 “If you need me you know where to find me.”  She nodded, kissing him back.

 “Tell Jo not to worry about the kids, they’ll be fine.”  She said to his back.  He nodded.

 “Okay, I’ll be back later this morning.”

 “Drive careful,” she admonished.

 “Always do,” he said, as he climbed into his car.  He closed the door and started up the vehicle.  Pulling into traffic, the silence in the car was deafening.  Joanne pulled the visor down and looked into the mirror on the backside.  Wiping her eyes, the tears began again as she looked over at her husband’s captain.

"I can't believe this night," sniffed Joanne.  "First, Johnny.  And now, Roy.”  The tears started to roll down her cheeks.

“They’ll be okay, Joanne.”  Hank said in reassurance.  “They always are.  Don’t worry.”  She nodded her head and starred vacantly out of the front window.  Fifteen minutes later they pulled into the emergency room at Rampart General.  Joanne rushed in ahead of Captain Stanley looking for any one to tell her about her husband.  She looked into the waiting room and saw Marco and Chet sitting in the two closest chairs.  She went up to them hoping that they would know something.  Marco stood.

 “Joanne,” he said.  She saw the blood on his pants and inhaled sharply.  “We haven’t heard anything yet.”  Stanley stepped up behind her.

 “Were you with him, Marco?”  She asked.

 “Yes, I was.”

 “How was he?”

 “He had a really bad cut on his arm.”  He glanced down at his pants.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t have anything to change into.”

 “That’s okay, I’ve seen my share of blood.”

 “Dr. Brackett went in with him.  Dixie said he’d be out soon to tell us how he’s doing.”  Chet told her.

 “How are you doing, Chet?”  She asked putting her hand on his shoulder.

 “I’m doing okay.  I only sprained my knee.  Morton said I’ll be back doing knee crunches in no time at all.”

 “When did you ever do knee crunches?”  Stanley asked.

 “Aw, Cap.  You know I do knee crunches during our exercise time.”

 “Oh, so what you do is called knee crunches, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Dr. Brackett stepped up behind the little group, placing a hand on Joanne’s arm.  She turned to look at him.  The talking stopped as everyone waited for news on the disabled paramedic.

 “Joanne, Roy’s in surgery.”

 “What’s wrong with him?”

 “Both his legs are broken.  They’re going to set them in surgery.  The main artery in his right arm was cut and he lost a large amount of blood.  We had to give him two units of blood, but we’ve got that under control.  He’s unconscious right now, but that is temporary.  We took x-rays of his abdomen, and his organs look okay.  His liver and kidneys, spleen and intestines all look good.  I didn’t see any bleeding or any abnormalities so his recovery time should be short.”  Joanne visibly relaxed.

 “He’s up in surgery right now?”  She asked.

 “Yes they took him up about 10 minutes ago.”  Dr. Mike Morton stepped up to Brackett and waited.  Brackett acknowledged his arrival with a nod.  “Do you have any questions?”  Joanne shook her head no.  “Okay if you need me I’ll be in my office I need to speak with Dr. Morton.  You all know where the surgery waiting room is.”  They all nodded.  “I’ll be going up to join them in surgery as soon as I’m finished with Dr. Morton.”

 “Thank you Dr. Brackett,” Joanne said.  He headed for his office with Mike in tow.  Joanne walked towards the elevator with Roy’s station mates following her.

Brackett indicated to Mike to take a seat as he shut the door behind him.  He walked around his desk and sat in his high-backed leather chair.  Leaning back in the chair he laced his fingers over his chest, and began.

"I had a rather lengthy discussion with Betty.  It seems she has made some pretty serious accusations against you regarding your orders for Johnny's care."

"What did she say?”

“She said that you wouldn’t give her the orders and you wouldn’t let her see the chart.”

“She questioned me, Kel.  I don’t like being questioned.”

“It’s part of her job, Mike.  She has to know what’s going on so that she can proceed
with the care of your patient.”  An urgent page interrupted Kel.

“Dr. Brackett, you’re needed in surgery.  Dr. Brackett, you’re needed in surgery.”  He stood up and walked towards the door.

“We’ll finish this later, Mike.  You had better re-think your attitude towards our nurses.  They are there to assist you.”  Mike nodded in understanding.  The two men walked towards the elevator.

“Have you heard how Johnny is?”  Mike asked as they waited for the elevator.

"No improvement."

Joanne pinched herself...surely this was a dream and she would wake up.  She sat starring out the large windows in the waiting area.  The only things she saw were the occasional streetlight and total darkness.  Hank sat to her right, Marco and Chet sat to her left.

"What a night,” Hank said, breaking the stillness of the room.  He glanced over at Chet.

“I am going to go up and check on John," he said.

"What in the world…?”  Joanne said, as she stood up.  The men were startled by her sudden change in position.  “Mike?”  Stanley stood up beside Joanne as Mike Stoker and his wife, Connie, stepped into the waiting room.  He held a bag of ice over his already swollen nose and blackened eyes.

"Nothing serious," Connie began, "Joanne, I hope you don't mind, we dropped the kids off at your house to stay with Sharon.  She told us about Roy, how is he?"

"Dr. Brackett says he's going to be fine.  He’s up in surgery right now,” Joanne answered, staring intently at Mike.  She thought he was beginning to look a lot like a raccoon.

“What happened?”

         "Poohba," muttered Mike.

         "Poohba?”  Joanne and Hank asked in unison.

         "Pool ball.”  Connie clarified, "If he had just gone bowling with Chet and Marco, this wouldn’t have happened," she continued.  “I made him a bet that I could get the eight ball in before he could.  I hit the eight ball wrong and it went flying into the middle of his nose.”  She pointed at the point of impact through the ice bag.  “I thought he’d broken it again.  The last time was a Poohba, too.”  She grinned evilly.

“Shuddup,” Mike nasally said.

"Well, sit down," Hank said, helping Mike into a chair.  “Have you seen the doctor yet?”

“Yes, no broken bones, just a lot of swelling.”  Connie instructed.  “Dr. Early told us to keep ice on it for a couple of hours, at least until the swelling goes down.”  Captain Stanley shook his head in bewilderment.  What am I gonna do with this team?  I guess I better call the chief, he thought to himself.  The entire department was not going to believe this...he'd lost his entire crew.  Appendicitis, bowling accident, car wreck, and now a 'poohba' attack, what a crew.  McConnike was not going to let him live this one down.

Roy was cold.  His legs, arm, and every muscle in his body ached terribly.  At least his ears were functioning, he could hear a lot of noise.  He tried to open his eyes but the lights were blinding so he retreated to his world of darkness.  The last thing he remembered was a stoplight and a loud horn.  He felt a stick in his arm.  The pain began to ease.  He felt euphoric and sleepy.  Must have been medication.  Maybe when I wake up things will make sense, was his last thought as he fell back into the drugged darkness.

Meanwhile in the Rampart cafeteria the night manager stormed into the kitchen.  His voice bellowing with rage.

           “Stephens, if that’s cigarette I’m smelling, you’re outta here!”  Stephens jumped in panic, nearly dropping the cigarette into the Jell-O that he was preparing for tomorrow.  He burned his thumb as he grabbed the offending stick, and looked around for a place to hide the proof of his transgression.  He flicked the cigarette into a nearby trash can.  He frantically waved his hands back and forth, trying desperately to dispel the haze of smoke encircling his head.  He could not afford to lose this job, and although he tried to heed the warnings he’d been given, he needed a cigarette.  He only meant to take a drag or two and then put it out, but once it was lit…  “Stephens,” his boss bellowed, stomping to an abrupt halt in front of him, “where is it?”

          “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Stephens stammered, trying to hide the fear he felt for the domineering man in front of him.  “I’m just making Jell-O, following orders…uh, sir.”  He reached for the spoon and began stirring; seriously wishing he had the guts to knock his bully upside the head.  His boss stood within inches of him, his hands on his hips making his arms look even beefier, sniffing the air and looking for the incriminating evidence.  It was there; he could smell it.  But Stephens had been quick this time in getting rid of it and he had no choice but to back down.  He crowded even closer, towering over the younger man, inhaling deeply.

          “You stink, Stephens.  You might have ditched it this time, but I’ll get you.  You know why?” he asked, anger seething from his pores.  “Because you have a habit that you’re to weak to fight…I’ll get you, and when I do…  you’ll be outta here, got it?”

          “Yes sir,” Stephens replied weakly, wishing for just an ounce of courage, so he could at least talk to the man without sounding scared witless.

          “The cafeteria needs cleaning before the staff show up wanting breakfast…get to it.”  Stephens dropped the spoon; thankful he was allowed to make a quick exit.  Sniffing the air one last time, the angry man made a final inspection of the room, particularly the area surrounding the large pan of Jell-O.  No one makes a fool of me.  He followed Stephens into the dinning area of the cafeteria.  Unbeknownst to both men, the smoldering cigarette was waiting for the right moment to unleash ‘the beast’ known to all as fire.

 Up in the surgery waiting room the crew of 51 moped about, waiting for news about their colleague.  Cap had returned from visiting Johnny in ICU and he didn’t have any news to report.  Dr. Early walked up to the group with another dark haired man in a lab coat.

“Joanne, any news on Roy, yet?”  Joe asked.

“No,” she replied.  “I’m getting a little worried.”

“You don’t need to worry.  Kel is in with him.  He’ll do fine.”

“Hawkeye?” Everyone looked at Dixie, confused.  She stepped over to the taller man and wrapped her arms around his waist.  “Hawkeye Pierce, it’s been so long.”

“Dixie McCall, how have you been?”  He kissed the top of her head.  She looked up into his eyes.

“I’ve been doing fine.  I’m now in charge of the emergency department nurses.  HotLips really knows her stuff.”  They smiled remembering their time spent together.

 “So you’re using her approach to head nursing?”  She stepped back away from him.

“You bet, and it really works!  Who knew!”

 “I did, you have to remember I worked with her longer than you did.”

 “And knowing you closer,” she winked.

 “Now, Dix, that’s not fair,” he grinned at her.  Dixie smiled.

 “It may not be fair, but I know you.”

 “To well, it seems.”

"What brings you to Rampart?”

"I just moved out here," replied Hawkeye.  "That last winter in Maine was too cold for me.  I just signed on as one of your new attending surgeons.  Right now I'm following these guys around to get the lay of the land.”  He pointed at Joe Early.  Dr. Early looked confused.

           "Well, it's good to have you here," replied Dixie.  She smiled sweetly at Hawkeye.  She looked at Joe.  “Hawkeye here was one of the best surgeons the Army had."
"Aw, Dix," said Hawkeye, "You always did know what to tell a guy.”  She laughed.
"I wouldn't go that far.  Have you heard anything from the folks at the 4077th?"

Kevin Tighe leaned over, attempting to read the words as his friend typed.  "Randy... a crossover?  It's not a show by the same producers or network!  The brass won't buy this.”  Randolph Mantooth glared at his fellow co-star.

 "I just wanted to make a memorable episode.  It’s the first one I'm writing."

Kevin snorted.

"You submit that garbage and it'll be the last one you write."

Randy stopped typing, and gave Kevin a surprised look.

"Why?  What's wrong with it?"

"What's wrong with it?”

Kevin was amazed that he would ask that question.  "Randy, everything is wrong with it.  Come on, Roy would never fall asleep at the wheel.  Have him swerve to miss a dog or something, and you have everyone injured except the Captain…  I suppose he would be next.  Maybe he gets bitten by the dog that Roy swerved to miss.”  Randy looked guiltily at the keyboard.  “And now a fire in the hospital?  Don't you think it's…a bit much?”

 “What do you mean?”

“How about, unbelievable?"  Randy looked at his typed pages.

"I don't know…  I kinda liked it."

"Yeah, that's because you disappeared out of the story about 20 pages ago.”  Kevin exclaimed.  "Is this your way of getting a day off, or what?"  Randy's brow furrowed.

"You really think it's that bad?"

"Yes!" answered Kevin.  "Come on, Henry can do a better job writing an episode."
Randy sighed as he ripped the paper out of the typewriter.  He placed it on the bottom of the stack.  Then, he looked again at Kevin.

"Really bad?"

Kevin raised an eyebrow; no other answer was necessary.  He picked up the trashcan and held it out to the other man.  Randy sighed as he tossed the unfinished script in the trashcan.

            "Bye 'Dreams of the Towering Inferno!’”  He looked up at Kevin.  "Hey…  You think they’d let me direct?”