When There's No One to Blame

by

Jill Hargan

            The world spun crazily, and John Gage had to shut his eyes against the streaks of color that danced before them.  Even in the dizzying gyration, his mind tried to sort the images out.  Red - red was the engine, sitting safely on the ground far below - too far.  Green - the trees that surrounded the brown patch of dirt underneath him.  Blue - that was the sky as he swung up to meet it briefly then twirled away in another direction.  And gray - there was entirely too much gray - that was the concrete pillars of the bridge as they flashed by too closely.

            Johnny knew what all the colors were, but they wouldn't stay in one place long enough for him to get oriented.  The growing sense of nausea watching them caused was only one more problem to deal with, and he didn't need any more problems at the moment.  For now, his only concern was the boy in his arms and how he was going to hold on to him.

            Though it had only been a few moments, it seemed to the dizzy paramedic that they had been spinning here for an eternity.  Already the muscles in Johnny's arms felt like they were being torn apart.  The kid, Peter, had passed out after his seizure had taken them both off the bridge before Johnny had been able to get a belt on him and was now dead weight.   Between the hundred plus pounds pulling at his arms and the drag at his waist from his own life line, Johnny felt like he was literally being ripped in half.  Add to that, the fact he was twirling like some crazed puppet on a string and he knew he was in a world of trouble.

            Amazed that his brain was still able to function, Johnny distantly heard his own voice shouting to Roy, telling his partner to drop him, and he wondered how he'd managed to think straight enough to say anything at all.  Roy's answer wavered in and out as the pendulum Johnny dangled from moved him close up then far away.  It was hard to hear, but he thought Roy said something about not being able to bring them up.  He didn't catch the rest, but whatever Roy wanted to do, it beat swinging here.

            "Just do something!" Johnny shouted, hearing the panic in his words as he felt the boy slip a little further from his grasp.  "I can't hang onto 'im!"

            It was odd.  Despite his senses being scrambled, Johnny could hear Roy's grunting efforts as his partner manned the line and worked heroically at lowering the weight that was much too heavy for one person.  Amidst the kaleidoscope of sensory input, Johnny managed one more thought - whose strength would hold out the longest, his or Roy's?

            An instant later that question no longer mattered.  Momentum carried the paramedic and the boy once more toward the bridge, this time slamming Johnny's right shoulder into the concrete.

            Everything happened at once.  A searing pain shot down his arm, but before Johnny could even cry out, it was replaced by a tingling numbness from his shoulder to his fingers.  All at once, he felt a tearing agony in his left arm as Peter's entire weight abruptly shifted.  A strangled scream filled Johnny's throat as he struggled valiantly to keep his grip, then, suddenly he was free from the weight as he failed in that fight.

            And Peter fell.

            Johnny's mouth opened, but no words came out.  No cry of protest, no shriek of denial.  He watched in mute horror as the fourteen year old boy fell to his death.

            Everything was silent now.  Even the pain in the paramedic's battered body was a distant thing, as if his mind couldn't deal with it at this moment.  The impact with the bridge had checked his insane spinning, and now he merely swung slightly at the end of the rope, both arms dangling uselessly as Roy slowly lowered him down.  Johnny was still too far away to hear what was going on below him, but he could see it clearly.

            He could see the boy's body sprawled on the ground, the guys moving around him, but unable to do anything to help.  He could see Peter's friend being restrained by the policeman who had first responded to the call, and watched as Scotty finally led the teen to his squad car, out of sight of his dead friend.  He saw when Cap at last covered the boy with one of the yellow blankets out of the squad.  It was that bright patch that held Johnny's focus as he gradually grew closer to the ground.  He couldn't take his eyes off of it, though his ears were picking up sounds now, bits and pieces of things that really didn't register.

            ... a little more, Roy... that's it ... coroner's on his way ... called his parents ... need a stokes over here, Mike ... hang in there, John, almost down ... watch that arm, Chet ... s'okay now, John, we've got ya...

            He was down.  Johnny felt his feet touch the earth momentarily before he was swept off them again to be laid gently on the ground.  Someone took his helmet off his head, but he couldn't say who.  He knew it was one of the guys, but he couldn't stop looking at the yellow blanket long enough to see who was doing what to him.  He knew he hurt.  Even though they were trying to be gentle, they couldn't help jostling him some as they undid his belt and lowered him down, and he heard a groan escape his lips.  It, too, was a distant thing, as if someone else had made the sound.

            John?  John, ya with us, pal?

            It was Cap's voice.  Johnny knew that, but he didn't answer - he couldn't.  The blanket held him mesmerized.  It had changed.  Crimson red now contrasted against the bright yellow as blood seeped out from under the thin covering.

            Did he hit his head?

            That was Chet - his voice speaking his concern loud and clear.  Still Johnny couldn't respond.

            Didn't look like it from here, but he may have.  Marco, go tell Roy to make it snappy.

            Right, Cap.

            Running feet faded away.

            John?

            What's wrong with him, Cap?

            John... John, can you hear me?

            A hand moved in front of his eyes, momentarily blocking his view.  Johnny blinked as it drew near then felt relieved when it left his field of vision clear.

            He's reactive at least.  Mike, let Rampart know what's going on.

            Right, Cap.  Rampart, this is Rescue 51...

            Johnny tuned out Mike's voice, and Morton's filtered response.  He couldn't find the energy to care right now.

            He heard the footsteps returning at a run.

            Johnny?

            Even though it was Roy's controlled-panic voice, it was still somewhat comforting to hear his partner as he slid to a stop and knelt down.

            Johnny... talk to me, pal.  Tell me what's goin' on.

            He couldn't.  He didn't know why, but he couldn't find his voice.

            Roy continued talking to him, falling into his best soothing-paramedic tone as he began his assessment of Johnny's injuries.  Roy was gentle, causing slight pain only when he examined Johnny's arms and shoulders.  It wasn't until his partner parked himself at Johnny's head to talk to Rampart that Johnny was put out at all.  He couldn't see the yellow blanket now, and he frowned slightly.

            He wanted Roy to move, to get out of his way, but it would have required too much effort to ask.  He was fast falling into a strange lethargy.  The world around him was slowing down, and he was too tired to watch anymore.  With a long sigh, Johnny closed his eyes and shut out everything around him.

* * *

            Roy sat on the jump seat of the ambulance staring with concern at his unmoving partner.  The backboard and C-collar were precautionary since no one on the ground could tell for sure if Johnny had hit his head, but he wasn't presenting any signs of head trauma other than his lack of vocal response.  His eyes were still closed, but Roy was positive Johnny wasn't unconscious.

            The senior paramedic had done everything he'd been told; Brackett had suddenly been the one on the other end of the biophone.  Roy had spared one fleeting thought to wonder what had happened to Morton, but he didn't dwell on it.  It really didn't make a difference at this end.  There wasn't much Roy could do, except establish a precautionary IV and package Johnny for transport.  There hadn't been anything he could do for the kid.

            Leaning his head back against the jostling window, Roy sighed deeply and immediately regretted it.  A sharp pain lanced through his right rib cage.  He let his breath out cautiously, then waited a moment.  The pain subsided.

            Probably just bruised, he decided.  As the anchor for the life line, he'd been jerked into the pillar pretty hard - so hard that he'd had the wind knocked out of him, and it had been all he could do to hang onto the rope.  Roy's one thought had been to keep Johnny and the boy from both plunging to their deaths.  They hadn't been able to set up a good relay.  The girth of the pillars prevented more than a rudimentary mooring that, when put to the test, was not enough to keep the full weight off Roy.

            When it came down to it, Roy hadn't even seen most of what happened after the kid started his seizure.  His view had been blocked, and the weight on the rope had dragged at him so heavily that his only concern had been the slow, methodical playing out he'd been trying to control.  He'd heard Johnny call out to him, telling him to hurry.  The senior paramedic knew he would never be able to erase the sound of the fear in his partner's voice.  Johnny was in trouble and the only thing Roy could do to help was to keep the rope from slipping out of his hands.

            Automatically, Roy flexed his fingers.  They were stiff and sore, and a deep, red impression ran across them, but his gloves had protected them from worse damage.  And the block of concrete had protected him from the sight of Peter falling - a sight Johnny had seen only too clearly.

            Roy recalled vividly the feeling in the pit of his stomach the moment the weight on the rope lightened.  He knew immediately what had happened.  He hadn't needed to see it.  His heart sank as he suddenly had much more control of Johnny's life line.  There had been no sound from his partner, and all Roy could do was lower Johnny as quickly as possible down to the grisly scene that awaited them on the ground.

            Then Roy still had to make his way down, climbing carefully, cautiously finding each foot and hand hold - his mind screaming at him to hurry - Johnny would need him - Johnny shouldn't have to face the tragedy alone.  And then Marco was hollering - yelling for him to hustle, that Johnny was hurt.  Roy didn't even remember the rest of his descent.  All he knew was that he had to get down to the ground.

            The ambulance hit a pothole and bounced heavily, jarring Roy on the hard seat.  He grabbed his side and grimaced at the pain, but immediately forgot about it when he noticed Johnny's eyes were open.

            "Hey, there," Roy smiled down at his partner, glad to see him more aware.  "You gonna stay with me?"

            It took a moment for Johnny to make eye contact.  Unable to move his head, his gaze darted frantically around the interior of the ambulance, almost as if he were looking for something.  When he finally let his eyes meet Roy's, it was obvious he was on the verge of panic.

            Roy reached down and took hold of his friend's hand.  In spite of the injuries to his arms, Johnny's grip was strong.

            "It's okay, Johnny," Roy offered soothingly.  "You know the rules.  I had to strap you down.  You can probably tell your arms are injured, but I don't think there's any real problems with your neck or back."

            Johnny blinked once and seemed to relax a bit, but he didn't let go of Roy's hand.

            "Can ya talk to me, Junior?" Roy asked quietly.

            Johnny stared at him intently.  Roy couldn't read the emotion in the brown eyes, but the grip on his hand never loosened.

* * *

            The emergency room at Rampart General Hospital was normally a busy place, and some days bordered on barely organized chaos.  Dixie McCall, head nurse, prided herself on being able to handle even the worst situations with a calm professionalism, but there were times when it was hard not to react personally.  This was one of those times.

            Dixie was fond of all the paramedics who worked out of Rampart.  She knew injury was a risk of their job, but it always hit her hard when someone she cared about was brought in, especially these young men who risked their lives on a regular basis for a public who had wasted no time in taking the fledgling program for granted.  For the veteran nurse, even five years couldn't dim the admiration and respect she held for these underpaid, unappreciated public servants, who, in her eyes at least, were true heroes.

            Now, as she saw the bay doors swing open, and the gurney bearing John Gage wheeling down the hall, she felt that same knot in her stomach she got every time one of her "boys" was hurt.  She'd been filled in on what happened by Mike Morton, who was manning the base station.  Johnny's injuries were not life threatening, but Dixie knew the rescue had gone terribly wrong.  One look at Roy's face as he strode down the hall alongside his partner and Dixie knew this wasn't going to be an easy fix.

            She motioned them into Treatment three just as Kel appeared beside her.

            "Bring him on in, guys," Dr. Brackett ordered tersely as he walked in ahead of the attendants.

            Dixie held the door until everyone had entered.  Just as she went in and let the doors close she caught a glimpse of turnout coats and grim faces out in the hall, and she knew the engine crew had followed the squad in.

            She moved over to help with Johnny just as he was being transferred to the exam table.  The attendants did their job quickly then wheeled their gurney out the door.  Roy, however, never moved from his partner's side.  Dixie smiled inwardly at that as she quickly removed Johnny's shoes, sock and pants.  Roy seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to knowing when his presence was required and when Johnny would rather be alone.  Right now, apparently, Johnny needed his friend.

            She carefully monitored Johnny's vitals as Dr. Brackett did a thorough examination.  Kel was an excellent doctor, but sometimes let himself get so caught up in doing his job, that once in a while he had to be reminded to turn on his bedside manner.  Because of that, he'd earned himself a reputation of being brusque.  Watching him right now, however, Dixie saw no hint of that gruffness.  As Kel's hands did their work, he kept up a reassuring conversation with Johnny, pausing apologetically whenever his probing elicited a groan from the dark haired paramedic.

            "Everything looks good with your head and neck, John," Kel stated in a reassuring tone.  "But I'm going to order a skull and spinal series just to be on the safe side.  Then we can get you out of that collar.  I'm pretty certain you've got a proximal fracture of your right humerus.  The pictures will show us if your shoulder is involved at all."  He moved over to Johnny's left side.  "This one I'm not sure of.  Doesn't appear fractured, but you obviously wrenched it pretty good.  Might be some ligament damage.  We'll see what the film shows before we make any decisions on it."

            Other than his reactions to pain, Johnny hadn't made a sound during the entire time.  Finished with his initial exam, Kel glanced up, his face unreadable, but Dixie knew him well enough to recognize his concern.  She caught his eye and raised her eyebrows questioningly.  Kel merely shook his head, signaling that now wasn't the time to go into it.

            The treatment room doors opened as the X-ray technician wheeled the portable machine into the room.  Dr. Brackett moved over to speak to the man.  Dixie took that time to lay a reassuring hand on Johnny's forehead, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

            "We'll be in the hall," she told him with a warm smile.  She took hold of Roy's arm, meaning to lead him outside, but stopped when Johnny became agitated, his hands scrabbling at the table, the parts of his body not strapped down moving restlessly.

            Before she had time to question Johnny's behavior, Roy stepped in ahead of her.  He took his partner's hand in his.

            "It's okay," he told his friend.  "We're just gonna step out for a minute so they can take the pictures.  You wouldn't want us to glow in the dark now, would ya?"

            Roy's tone was light and seemed just what Johnny needed.  The younger man's dark eyes shone with a gratitude Dixie had no trouble reading.

            "Let's go, people," Kel announced, and herded them out of the room.

            It took another moment for Roy to let go of Johnny's hand, then they walked out into the hallway...

            ...and into a barrage of questions.

            After a few moments of confusion, Dr. Brackett finally held up his hands for quiet.  All four firemen settled into a grudging silence, their faces still troubled.

            "Okay, guys, I know you're worried," Kel began.  "Right now we're taking care of Johnny's physical injuries.  His right arm's probably fractured, his left... well, if he's torn the ligaments in his shoulder, he may require surgery to repair them.  Basically, he's looking at a few months recovery time."

            "But why isn't he talking?" Chet burst out at Brackett's first pause.  "I mean... that just ain't Gage."

            "What about that, Doc?" Captain Stanley asked.  "From where we were, it sure didn't look like he hit his head or anything."

            Kel shook his head.  "I don't think he did either.  There was no sign of any kind of head trauma."

            "Then why..."

            The doctor held up his hand again to forestall the question.  "I don't have any answers for you yet.  You're just going to have to be patient.  Once John's X-rays are done, and we can make him more comfortable, I'm going to have Joe Early come in and do a neurological check on him."

            "But you don't think he'll find anything," Roy at last spoke up, his tone even, but his face pensive.

            Kel shook his head slowly.  "No, I don't think so.  I think Johnny's inability to speak is stemming more from a psychological cause than a physical one."

            "Are you saying Gage is crazy?" Chet blurted out again, his eyes wide.  He ignored the glares he got from his shift mates.  Dixie knew that even though Chet may not have expressed himself very delicately, his concern was genuine.

            Kel's mouth twitched slightly as he considered how to answer.  "I didn't say that," he finally replied.  "Look fellas, I'm not an expert in this field, but I do know people react very differently to traumatic situations.  From all you've told me, what happened out in the field today was pretty horrific."  Five heads nodded in silent agreement.  "I feel strongly that Johnny is just responding to that... shutting down for a while so he can process the experience."

            "So what do we do?" Roy asked quietly.

             Kel gave them all a slight smile meant to reassure.  "We take it one day at a time.  Once we get him settled in a room, I'm going to give him something to help him sleep.  Who knows, maybe in the morning he'll be his old self again."

            "What if he's not?" Chet challenged, still not willing to be pacified.

            "Then we play it by ear... give John a few days.  If he's not better after that... well, then maybe we'll need to bring in someone else."

            "You mean a psychiatrist?" Stoker spoke up from the back of the group.

            Kel gave a grudging nod.  "Possibly.  But, let's not jump the gun, guys.  Johnny may just surprise us and be up and bouncing off the walls tomorrow."

            Dixie watched as each man digested Kel's words.  They didn't look completely satisfied, but at least they were somewhat appeased.  Captain Stanley shook the doctor's hand, had a few words for Roy, then led his men outside.  They were still on duty, but Dixie knew they would be back when they were off, keeping a vigil for their friend.  She turned to Roy.

            "What about you?  You free to hang around?"

            "For now."  Roy smiled and held up the HT.  "Cap's gonna call me if he can get someone to finish the shift for both me and Johnny.  If not... well, I'd still have to wait for a new partner anyway.  I might as well do it here."

            Just then the door opened and the technician wheeled the machine out.

            "I need those films STAT," Dr. Brackett ordered tersely.  The man nodded and hurried off.

* * *

            Johnny lay on the exam table, staring up at the stark white ceiling.  Things had come into a little better focus.  He knew he was at Rampart and that everyone seemed very concerned about him, but he hadn't gone very far past that.  Thankfully, the C-collar and backboard were gone.  He hated the feeling of being so completely restrained.  He could move his head and neck more freely, though once he'd suffered through the orthopedist's visit, and having his right arm, from shoulder to wrist, encased in plaster and bound to his torso, he wasn't a whole lot better off.  At least they'd left his other arm alone for now, though he knew he was probably in for some surgery.  Both of them still hurt like hell, and Johnny wished they would at least get him into a more comfortable bed.

            Then Dr. Early showed up.  Johnny tried his best to cooperate as the kindly neurologist put him through his paces.  In the doc's slow, methodical way, he examined Johnny's eyes and ears.  He checked the reflexes in his legs and feet.  Johnny performed all the required tasks - moving this and that and looking up, down, and every which way.  He'd had several neuro checks before and he knew the drill.

            Finished with that part, the white haired doctor pulled up a stool and sat down at eye level with his patient.  He smiled and patted the paramedic's hand reassuringly.

            "I just want to ask you some questions, Johnny," he said, then chuckled.  "You should know them by now."  His eyes were caring and concerned as he started at the top of the list.

            "Can you tell me your name?"

            John Gage.

            But the words hadn't come out.  He felt stupid laying there gaping like a fish, so he shut his mouth.  Dr. Early frowned slightly and repeated the question.  Again, Johnny tried to answer, but it was as if his voice wasn't there.

            What's happening?  What's wrong with me?

            He tried again, the panic he felt threatened to overpower him.

            I know my name.  Doc, I wanna answer, but I can't.  What's happening?

            His agitation must have been apparent, for Dr. Early patted his leg lightly.

            "It's okay, Johnny, don't worry.  It's okay."

            No it's not, Doc. Something's going on here.  Tell me what's wrong with me.

            But the older doctor had turned away and was unable to see the questions in Johnny's eyes.

            "I'll want to do an CAT scan," he said to Dr. Brackett.  "Just to rule out any possible neurological connections, but I'm fairly certain there won't be any."  He returned his attention to the injured paramedic.

            "Johnny, just try and relax.  We're going to figure everything out.  I'm going to ask you a few more questions, but you can just nod yes or no."  He offered another encouraging smile.

            Johnny swallowed, trying to fight the fear that had seized him, when he suddenly felt someone take his hand.  He glanced at his other side to see Roy standing there, silently offering his support.  Johnny gripped his partner's hand tightly and focused on what Dr. Early was saying.

            "Do you know your name?"

            Johnny nodded, and the neurologist smiled.

            "Good.  Did you hit your head at all in the accident?"

            Johnny shook his head emphatically.  He knew he hadn't hit his head.

            "That's good, too.  I guess that's all for now."  He walked away from the exam table and spoke quietly to Brackett.

            Johnny watched the two men confer and wished they were talking loud enough for him to hear.  He hated that they were talking about him, but not to him.  There were a lot of things he wanted to know, mostly what the hell had happened to his voice.  But Dr. Early left the room without another word.

            Johnny lay there feeling totally helpless.  His arms were killing him and he decided to stop trying to respond to questions.  It was too frightening to open his mouth and have nothing come out.  He had a sudden flash of recall - could hear Chet distinctly telling him his mouth wasn't connected to his brain, and didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

            They must have finally finished with him, for Dixie was suddenly there with a shot of Demerol, taking away the last of the pain and making him comfortably drowsy.  He didn't know how much longer it took, but at last he was lifted up off the table onto a gurney for the trip upstairs.

            "Okay, Johnny," Dixie's voice floated into his groggy senses.  "We're going to get you settled in for the night."

            He felt himself moving and watched the faces go by until he saw Roy's.  Something half-forgotten suddenly pushed itself into his drugged awareness.  He grabbed at Dixie's hand, wincing at the movement in his left shoulder.  But it worked.  The gurney stopped.

            "What's wrong?"  Dixie's face bent closer.

            Johnny stared hard into her eyes, then let go of her hand and pointed at Roy.  His partner appeared confused at his gesture.

            "Roy's going along with you," Dixie assured him, mistakenly assuming he was worried Roy wouldn't be allowed to accompany him.

            Johnny shook his head.  It was hard to think with the drugs taking hold of him.

            "What's the hold up?"

            Brackett's voice sounded hollow to John's ears.

            "Johnny doesn't want to go yet," Roy explained, his voice sounding fuzzy too.  "He's trying to tell us something."

            It took a great deal of effort for Johnny to focus.  His body, lulled by the drugs, wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, but this was too important, and he fought to make them understand.  Knowing he wouldn't feel much pain right now, he managed to lift his left arm and lay his hand on his ribs.  He made a slight motion against them, then dragged his arm away and again pointed at Roy.

            It was quiet for a time, and he feared they still hadn't figured it out, when suddenly Dixie smiled knowingly and moved over to stand next to Roy.

            "So, Mr. DeSoto, you want to let the doctor examine your ribs?"

            Roy's eyebrows climbed high as Brackett came over to investigate.

            "Were you hurt, Roy?" he asked.  "We only thought..."

            Roy shook his head, his face red.  "It's nothing.  Just some bruises.  I was the anchor and when they went over..."  He shot Johnny a scrutinizing glance.  "I thought you had your eyes closed."

            Johnny gave him a smile made lazy with the pain killers.

            "Come on, Roy," Brackett ordered.  "We'll get you checked out.  I guess we tend to forget there's always somebody on the other end of the rope."

            Johnny watched as the doctor opened the door.  Roy started to follow reluctantly, but he paused and turned to wag his finger at his partner.  "I'll get you for this," he warned with a smile.

            Johnny offered up a lopsided grin, satisfied that Roy would be taken care of.  He closed his eye and gave into the bliss of sleep.

* * *

            Roy sat on the side of the exam table, buttoning up his shirt.  The tape around his rib cage had eased the twinges of pain that had started getting worse once he'd admitted to everyone that he might have been injured.

            "Well, the good news is we can't see any fractures," Brackett informed him, from where he stood studying Roy's X-rays.  "Just some deep bruising.  Although I'm sure they hurt as much as if they were cracked."

            Roy shook his head and gingerly slid off the table.  "Not so much now," he stated.

            Brackett gave him a tight smile.  "I'll give you a prescription for an anti-inflammatory... and a pain killer, you might have a bit of trouble getting comfortable when you sleep.  You should probably take your next shift off, just to give them a chance to heal."

            "Guess I should let Cap know," Roy said quietly.  He chuckled wryly.  "He's gonna chew on me some though, for not telling him I was hurt."

            Brackett's smile grew a little wider.  "He's a captain.  Chewing on his men is his job."

            Roy laughed, then winced.  "I should know better than that," he admitted ruefully, holding his hand at his side.  After a moment, he grew more serious.  "So you think Johnny will sleep through the night?"

            Brackett nodded soberly.  "That's what I'm hoping.  I want him to get a good night's sleep.  Dr. Murphy will do the shoulder repair tomorrow if Johnny's up for it.  The sooner he gets those ligaments reattached, the faster they'll heal."

            Roy pondered that information; it wasn't really what he'd meant.  He knew his partner's physical injuries would heal given enough time.  He met Brackett's eyes and realized the doctor was well aware what he'd been asking about.

            "It's like I told the rest of the guys, Roy.  We just have to wait and see."

            "That's easy to say, Doc," Roy allowed, "But it's hard not to worry.  I keep wondering what Johnny's going through... what he's feeling and thinking.  I mean... at first he was kind of out of it, but later... in the ambulance, he... well he seemed kind of scared... like he didn't know what was happening to him.  I don't think he even realized he couldn't talk until Dr. Early started asking him questions."

            "He was in shock, Roy.  It's natural for him to experience some disorientation.  I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't really remember the accident right now.  What we have to hope for is that his mind will heal along with his body."

            Roy's mouth twisted thoughtfully.  "I sure hope you're right," he replied."  He made an effort to lift his mood.  "Well, I'll get back to the station and fill them in.  Then I'll go home and let Joanne know what's going on.  Call me if anything..."

            "Believe me, Roy, I will."

            Roy opened the door and started to leave, but he paused and turned back to the doctor.  Before he could even open his mouth, however, Brackett beat him to the punch.

            "He's up in Orthopedics, room 412.  But he's probably asleep."

            Roy smiled his thanks.  "I won't stay long," he promised.

* * *

            Johnny tried desperately to cling to the rope, but his sweat-soaked hands couldn't keep their grip.  He slid lower and lower, all the while swinging wildly over a surging sea of yellow.  He wasn't exactly sure what it was that spread out below him, but he knew with a firm certainty if he fell into it he would die.  He reached up, trying to get a better hold, but he slid several more feet towards the end of his lifeline.

            He tried to call to Roy, but he couldn't make any sound, even though he kept opening his mouth.  He knew if he could only call Roy's name, his partner would haul him to safety.  It was up to him to let Roy know he needed help, but he couldn't get the words to come out.

            His hands slipped a little more - a few feet closer to that billowing, yellow sea.  Even as frightened as he was, he couldn't take his eyes off of it.  Its churning motion held him mesmerized.  And then he ran out of rope and he was falling into the suffocating brightness of the yellow void.

            His mind screamed for help, but his voice was still silent.  He struggled to find a way out, but there was no where to go.  If he could only call out, cry for help, but nothing happened.

            And then suddenly everything began to turn from yellow to crimson, cutting a stark contrast in the ocean of brightness.  Johnny suddenly found he could run and he tried to flee from the onrush of the red tide.  But no matter how fast he went, he couldn't get away from it.  It came at him, faster and faster, until it finally loomed over him, threatening to engulf him completely.

            There was nothing he could do.  He threw himself down, covered his head and waited to be swallowed up.  Two words kept playing over and over in his head.

            I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

            And the red wave came crashing down on him.

            Johnny's eyes shot open, and he gasped in a great gulp of air.  He was drenched in sweat, and it took a moment to remember where he was, but he finally recognized the medical equipment in the room.

            Rampart... I'm at Rampart... it was just a dream.  Probably the drugs.

            He relaxed a little and lay there trying to calm his breathing, waiting for his chest to stop heaving.  He was thankful he hadn't been hurt badly enough to be in ICU where he'd have been hooked up to all kinds of monitors.  He knew by the way his heart was racing every nurse on the floor would've been in here to check on him.  At least he wouldn't have to share this nightmare with anyone.  Nobody had to know.

* * *

            Roy sat in his recliner nursing the last of his coffee and only half listening to the morning news.  His ribs were still pretty sore.  Dr. Brackett had been right, it had been difficult to get comfortable last night.  Around midnight he'd finally resorted to the pain pills, and he'd been able to get some sleep, but the kids woke him up in their mad rush to get ready for school and after that he'd just gotten up to stay.

            Now they were gone, and the house was fairly quiet.  Joanne was upstairs straightening up and gathering dirty clothes for the day's round of laundry.  Roy was left to his own thoughts, and they kept taking him down paths full of questions.

            He kept thinking about Johnny - and about a dead 14 year old boy - and what he might have done differently to keep the events of yesterday from happening.  Could they have done things any other way?  Should they have left the kid alone?  Waited for the snorkel?  Should he have told Johnny to back off when the boy became agitated?  But they had no way of knowing when he might seize.  How could they have justified it if they'd stood around doing nothing, and the boy had fallen.

            But he'd fallen anyway, and he'd taken Johnny with him - in more ways than the obvious one.

            Roy flexed his hands, studying the tender impressions still there.  Could he have possibly gotten the rope under control - stopped it from spinning?  He had no doubt that if Johnny hadn't hit the bridge, he would have managed to hang onto Peter until they reached the ground.

            He let out a sigh, wincing a bit at the movement.  He knew he could sit here and beat himself up over it all, but it wouldn't help anybody.  There wasn't anything he could do now for the boy, but Roy would do all he could for his partner.

            He and Joanne were going to Rampart in about an hour.  Brackett had called first thing this morning.  Johnny's speech hadn't returned, but his surgery was on.  Roy wanted to be there.  He couldn't rid his mind of the image of Johnny in the ambulance - frightened and confused, unable to reach out, with either word or touch.  Roy didn't want that to happen again.  If Johnny could derive any comfort from Roy's presence, then he wanted to be sure his friend knew he was there, before the surgery and after.

            And there was something else Roy's mind kept dredging up - the memory of his last words to Johnny before they left on the run to the bridge.  He had been mad at his partner.  Mad, incensed, indignant - all those words to describe how he felt about Johnny buying the house out from under him.  That house - that stupid, idiotic house.  Because of it, he'd told his partner, his best friend, that he might never get over being angry at him.

            It was hard to believe how the whole thing had started.  Roy had only mentioned in passing that he was thinking about buying a house.  After that it had seemed like everyone he knew had an opinion on the subject, whether pro or con.  Johnny had been the loudest of all his supporters, egging him on to at least go and take a look.

            So he had.  Without even consulting Joanne, Roy had let Johnny talk him into going with Chet's realtor friend and looking at a house.  And what a house!  It had everything his family could need, would give them plenty of room, a workshop, a huge back yard, and it was the right price.  But Roy was a cautious soul.  He never jumped into anything without careful consideration.  He told the realtor he'd think about it, in a safely neutral tone.  He didn't want to appear too eager and spoil the deal.

            He'd talked to Joanne about it that night, had taken his two days off to weigh all the possibilities and had at last decided it was the right move for his family.  Then, when he'd called the broker, he'd discovered the house had been bought.  His wonderful, perfect house had slipped through his fingers.

            He was mad.  Mad at the realtor for not holding it for him, mad at the new owner for daring to buy his house, and mad at himself for waiting too long, for being too damn careful and not taking a risk one time in his life.

            Roy didn't ordinarily vent his problems at work, but that morning he had.  He'd been telling Chet all about what had happened when Johnny walked in, all smiles and full of good news.  After that, everything had gone down hill, fast.

            Johnny's good mood had winked out like a shooting star as soon as he knew why Roy was upset, and Roy's normally chatterbox partner suddenly couldn't find anything to say.  It had all come out then, and Roy couldn't remember ever being so angry with the junior half of their partnership.

            Johnny stammered out some lame excuses about just going out there to check it out for Roy, but the older paramedic wasn't ready to listen, and he wasn't feeling very forgiving.  Even when Johnny had tried to lighten the mood and tell him he would get over the whole thing, Roy had stubbornly refused to give an inch.

            The tones had sounded, ending the conversation, but later, after they'd lost the boy and Johnny was hurt, the thought had flashed across Roy's mind - what if?  What if he'd lost his hold on the line and Johnny had fallen too?  What if those words had been the last Johnny ever heard from him?  Could he have lived with that?  Was a house he had to be persuaded and cajoled into even considering worth a lifetime of regrets?

            No.  He would make a point as soon as things settled down to put things right with Johnny.  He only hoped Johnny could find a way to make himself all right.

            The image on the news brought Roy out of his reverie.  There was a picture of Peter Baker, obviously a school photo.  It moved into the corner of the screen, letting the viewer see the bridge.  Roy got up and turned up the volume to hear what was being said.

            Fourteen year old Peter Baker fell to his death yesterday from the Johnson Canyon Bridge.  The freshman at Narbonne High School was being tied off by rescue personnel when he apparently experienced an epileptic seizure.  Paramedics tried to restrain him, but the boy lost his balance.  According to a spokesman from the County Fire Department, the paramedic on the bridge with him was injured during the rescue attempt and was unable to hold onto the boy.  Services are scheduled to be held...

            The reporter went on to expound on the rise of gasoline prices expected for the summer.  Roy switched off the set.  That was it.  A few minutes coverage.  A boy was dead, and Johnny was hurt, but for the rest of the world there were more important things to worry about.

* * *

            Johnny opened his eyes and blinked in the bright morning sun.  The first thing he did was to try his voice.  He struggled to form a word, a sound - nothing.  He cleared his throat and tried again, with no results.  He swallowed hard, not wanting to think about what would happen if he never talked again.  The doctors so far had avoided bringing it up, but Johnny knew they were all worried.

            He tried to think about what he would say if he could talk for just one more minute.  What would he say, and who would he say it to?

            That's easy.  I'd tell Roy he could have the house.

            He meant it too.  He was sorry for making Roy mad and never meant to go behind his partner's back. Johnny guessed that would take up more than a minute.  He sighed heavily.  Even if he  could talk, he didn't think he could explain to Roy why he had impulsively bought that dumb house.

            How could he tell Roy without sounding stupid that he'd gotten so excited about the place for Roy and his family - how he could envision Chris and Jenny out in the yard and on the swing set under the trees.  How, all the extra room made him think of Joanne not having to complain about not having places to put things.  Johnny could see Roy tinkering in the workshop.  So many things about the place just called out for his partner's family, but Roy had seemed so... so uninterested.

            And so, Johnny had gone out there by himself - meaning only to have one more look, but somehow had found himself a homeowner.  But it hadn't been for himself.  Somehow Johnny had convinced himself that he was buying it for Roy - for sometime in the future when Roy would see that he really needed it.

            Then he'd come to work - in a great mood, ready to spring the surprise - but Roy had been so upset - so angry - so unlike the Roy he knew.  And suddenly all Johnny's logic seemed so... so flawed.  And Chet had been there, too.  How could Johnny even try and explain his actions with Kelly standing there, ready to turn everything Johnny said upside down and sideways.

            And so Johnny had stuttered and stammered and tried to apologize, but Roy wasn't having any of it.  There had been few times in their partnership when Roy was actually out and out angry with him, but this was definitely one of them.  Then the tones sounded and then - well, then everything had happened and Johnny never had the chance to resolve things with his friend.

            He sighed again.  Life was always full of what if's.  He couldn't go back and change the past, but he decided as soon as he could, he would try and make things all right again with his partner.

            Johnny glanced out the window at the clear blue sky and resolved not to let it get him down.  Today had to be a better day.  For starters, his arms didn't hurt as much.  The right one really didn't bother him at all, except for not being able to move it.  His left was still a bit sore, but nothing like it had been yesterday after the surgery.

            Johnny was still strapped up pretty good.  They had some kind of harness wrapped about his left shoulder and arm, effectively pinning it to his side.  So, though he had free use of his hand, he couldn't reach for anything.  But still, he knew he was on the mend.

            The other thing that gave Johnny hope for a good day was that he was hungry.  Yesterday, between the pain and the residual nausea from the anesthesia, he hadn't eaten much at all.  The guys had come and visited him throughout the day, but he hadn't really felt like company.  Johnny knew it was hard on them to try and visit when they could only hold a one way conversation, so none of them had stayed long.  He didn't blame them.  They'd tried to act normal, but he could tell it was a strain, and it was almost a relief when they'd left.

            Roy and Joanne had stayed longer, but it was a school night and the kids needed to be picked up from the neighbors in time for baths and bed.  They'd finally gone home around seven.  Johnny had slept some after that, but another nightmare jolted him awake around 3 a.m.  It had taken a while to get back to sleep, but in the light of the new day, the fear of the dream faded.

            His stomach growled, and the paramedic hoped that they'd bring breakfast around soon.  The fact he was looking forward to hospital food said a lot about just how long it had been since he'd eaten.  He could hear the clatter of the cart out in the hall, and he kept hopeful eyes on the door.  Before long, he was rewarded, and a pretty young nurse he didn't know carried in his tray.

            She was obviously in a hurry.  She swept into the room, plunked the plastic tray down onto his rolling table, pushed it up to his bed, then was out the door before Johnny even had a chance to glimpse the name on her tag.

            He stared after her for a moment, then turned his attention to his breakfast.  The main dish was covered with a plastic dome, but he thought he smelled scrambled eggs.  He sniffed again.  Bacon maybe.  He had a dish of fruit covered with Saran Wrap, a cup of coffee with a spill proof lid and a sealed container of juice.  Sealed!  It just occurred to him that everything had some kind of lid or covering on it, and he had absolutely no idea how he was going to eat it.

            Johnny stared at it for a long moment, flexing his fingers, moving his left hand as much as he could, but the food stayed temptingly out of reach.  He leaned forward, but the twinge in his tender shoulder halted him before he got very far.  Johnny lay back on his pillows, out of breath from the exertion and totally frustrated.

            Damn!  How in the hell does she think I'm gonna eat any of this?

            And then he remembered the call button.  Roy had made sure it was within his grasp last night before he left for the last time.  Silently thanking his friend for his foresight, Johnny pressed the button that would bring help.

            It seemed to take longer than he thought it should, but finally the same nurse popped her head into his room.

            "Yes, Mr. Gage?"  She sounded a bit put out that he'd called.  "What do you need?"

            Johnny tilted his head in the direction of his breakfast.

            What does it look like?  I need a little help here.

            The girl heaved a sigh of annoyance and moved all the way inside.  "There's nothing wrong with the food, Mr. Gage."  Her voice was heavy with disapproval.  "This isn't exactly a hotel, ya know.  This is nutritious and what your doctor ordered for you."

            The paramedic gazed at her helplessly, not knowing how to make her understand.  At this point he had no beef with the quality of the food, just the accessibility - or lack thereof.

            Okay, let's try this again, he thought desperately.  See if she can clue in.

            He moved his hands as much as he could to get her to notice how restrained he was.  He jerked his head at the tray again, this time a little impatiently.

            The young woman simply did not understand.  Overwhelmed with her duties and too new at her job to know better, she simply took his problem for the long-standing complaint about hospital food.  Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she grabbed the tray off the table.

            "All right then," she informed him primly.  "I'll just note on your chart you didn't want to eat it.  You can take it up with your doctor."

            With that, she rushed out of the room, taking the food with her.

            Johnny watched in disbelief as his breakfast disappeared.

             Wait!  Don't' take that!  Come Back!

            But the words were only in his head.  His mouth was open, but no sound came out.  He threw his head back against the pillow and ground his teeth in total frustration.

             Damn, damn, damn.  What do I do now?

* * *

            Roy strode into the Emergency Department at Rampart General.  He was eager to see if Johnny was feeling better today, but he always made a point to come in this way to say hi to Dixie or Carol, whomever was on duty.  Plus, he wanted to see Brackett before he went up to orthopedics.

            Roy was alone.  Joanne had been with him most of the time he was here yesterday, but she had PTA obligations today that kept her away, though she sent some of her fresh cinnamon rolls along in apology for her absence.  They planned to bring the whole family in this evening, if Johnny was up to it.  They'd already sat the kids down and tried to explain in a way they could understand that their Uncle Johnny wouldn't be talking much for a while.  Surprisingly, neither Chris nor Jennifer seemed to think it strange.  Maybe because kids could admit their fears more readily than adults, they could more easily understand a physical reaction to something scary.  In any case, Roy was anxious to see if his friend had made any progress in that area.

            He didn't see Dixie, so he figured Carol must be on today.  Roy never could keep up with the nurses schedules.  Johnny always had them figured out, but then Johnny had a vested interest in knowing which nurse was on duty when and not just from this department.  Johnny always seemed to know the rotations on every floor.  The only thing Roy knew was that Dixie's shifts usually coincided with their own.

            He passed the admitting desk and quickened his pace when he noticed Dr. Brackett over by the elevators, talking to a couple of men.  They were easily identifiable as news people from the camera hoisted on the taller man's shoulder.  As Roy watched, Brackett made a dismissive gesture, and the men walked reluctantly away.  As the doctor turned toward the elevators, Roy trotted over to join him.

            "Hey, Doc," Roy greeted.  "What was that all about?" he asked curiously.

            Brackett scowled.  "Reporters," he grumbled.  "They wanted to interview Johnny.  A follow up to the Peter Baker story."

            Roy panicked at the thought of the press getting wind of Johnny's problems.  It must have showed on his face, for Brackett held up a calming hand.

            "Relax.  I didn't give them any particulars.  I just told them he wasn't up to it at this time."

            "Thanks, Doc," Roy said in relief.  "Cap said he was going to kind of gloss over... that problem on the report until we see what happens.  Anything new this morning?" he asked hopefully.

            Brackett's face took on a pensive look.  "Nothing good, I'm afraid."

            The doors opened and they both stepped inside.  Since they were alone, he continued his report.

            "Still no speech, and I just got a call from the charge nurse.  Apparently, your partner is refusing to eat."

            Roy's eyes widened in surprise.  "That doesn't sound like Johnny.  I mean, yeah, he complains about the food here, but unless he's unconscious, he usually manages to wolf down everything you guys serve him.  You think it's connected to his... well, to whatever's keeping him from talking?"

            Brackett shook his head.  "It's hard to say.  It might be depression setting in.  I'm on my way to see him now.  Hopefully we'll find out what's bothering him."

            Roy glanced at his watch.  It was nearly 1:00.  He'd purposely waited to visit to give Johnny a chance to sleep as much as he wanted.  He knew his partner hadn't felt good yesterday after the surgery and was hoping another night's sleep might make a difference.  Now Roy wondered if he should have come sooner.

            The elevator stopped and the doors opened.  Roy followed Brackett out onto the Orthopedics floor.  As they walked down the hall, Roy studied the doctor's face.  He looked like he still had something on his mind.  Roy took hold of his arm and stopped them both.

            "What is it, Doc?"

            Roy knew Kelly Brackett didn't go in much for waltzing around a subject.  He wouldn't waste any time on platitudes.

            "I'm worried," the older man stated honestly.  "I think it's time we called in a specialist."

            "You mean the shrink?"

            Brackett sighed.  "Yeah, the shrink."  He gave Roy a wry smile.  "Psychiatry isn't voodoo."

            "I know," Roy conceded, shrugging self-consciously.  "It's just hard to get past certain images."

            Now Brackett chuckled.  "The couch?"  He furrowed his brows and assumed a bad German accent.  "Vatch de vatch?"  He shook his head.  "It's a lot different today," he concluded in his normal voice.

            "I know," Roy acknowledged.  "And if you think that's what Johnny needs, I guess I'll go along with it.  You have somebody in mind?"

            He nodded.  "Unfortunately, my first choice is out of the country for the next month or so, but there's a new doctor on staff, Brad Wilts.  He comes very highly recommended.  I sent him Johnny's chart to review.  He's agreed to come down and meet with him a little later today."

            "And then what?" Roy pressed.  "Will he know how to get Johnny to start talking again?"

            Dr. Brackett put a hand on Roy's shoulder.  "Let's wait and see what he says."

            They started walking again and in a moment were at Johnny's room.  The door was open, and they stopped at the entrance.  Brackett reached up to rap his knuckles on the wood to announce their arrival, but he paused, his hand still in mid air.  Roy wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but the pitiful sight before him certainly wasn't it.

            Johnny was sitting on the bed, bent forward as far as he could go.  His arms were both bound to his side, but his left forearm was free to move somewhat, and right now it was trying desperately to reach for the lunch tray that sat tantalizingly just out of his reach.  As they watched, Johnny scooted down the bed, his face grimacing at the pain it caused, but even as his grasping fingers tried to clutch at the tray, the movement pushed the rolling table away just enough to take the food out of his reach again.  Johnny's face contorted in a mixture of pain and frustration, and he lay back on the bed in defeat.  Roy had seen enough.

            "Johnny!"  He rushed to the side of the bed, pulling the table up close as he came.

            His partner opened his eyes in surprise and then his whole face took on a look of such relief that Roy suddenly wanted to find the idiot responsible for this and knock him through a wall.  Instead, he settled for lifting the cover off the lunch, meaning to help Johnny eat.  He soon discovered that what had once been a semi-tempting hot turkey sandwich was now cold - the bread stale, the gravy congealed.  He felt the unopened carton of milk - Johnny's drink of choice.  It was room temperature.  Obviously, Johnny had been trying to get at it for some time.

            Usually slow to anger, Roy could feel it churning inside him.  Trying hard to maintain control, he turned to his injured friend.  "Is this what happened at breakfast too?"

            Johnny had managed to situate himself back on the pillows.  He nodded slowly and, for a moment, Roy thought his friend might cry.  Instead, he merely closed his eyes again, this time, Roy knew, from the humiliation of not even being able to feed himself.  Roy turned to Brackett, but the doctor was already out the door.  Somebody's head was going to roll, but at the moment, Roy didn't care.  How dense could you be not to realize a man with two injured arms might need some help with his meal?

            Hoping that in Brackett's tirade somewhere would be the orders for a new lunch tray, Roy pulled out the paper sack with Joanne's rolls.  It still felt warm.  He shoved the table with the ruined lunch out of the way.

            "Here, Johnny," he offered, as he broke a small piece off and held it out.  "This will help tide you over."

            Johnny took the bite, not quite meeting Roy's eyes, but Roy could tell it was appreciated.  He fed his helpless friend the entire roll before he ventured to say anything.

            "It's not your fault, ya know," Roy said quietly, digging out the second bun.  "Somebody should have known."

            Johnny didn't react.  Roy decided there wasn't much else he could say right now, so he kept quiet and continued feeding his partner the rest of the second roll.  When he was done, Roy got up  and stepped into the bathroom to wash his gooey hands.  It occurred to him that Johnny was probably sticky as well.  He didn't know how he could wash his friend's face for him without embarrassing Johnny more than he already was.  He finally decided to just do it quickly, like it was no big deal.  He grabbed a wash rag, wet it and walked back to Johnny's bedside.

            "Looks like I made a mess here," he said lightly as he wiped the sugary residue off Johnny's lips and chin.

            Johnny didn't look happy, but he didn't turn away.  When Roy finished he set the rag down on the tray, out of Johnny's sight.  He glanced at his watch, wondering how long it would take to get something more substantial up here.

            Just then there was a sound at the door.  Roy turned and saw a young nurse coming in with a new tray.  As she grew closer, he could see her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying, but he couldn't dredge up much sympathy for her.  If she was going to make it in her job, she'd have to learn from this mistake.  She'd also have to develop a thick skin to handle irate doctors.

            She removed the old tray and set the new one down on the table, then seemed unsure whether to move it around to the other side, since Roy was in her way.

            "I'll take care of it," he told her, trying to keep his tone neutral.  He shifted and reached for the table, pulling it to sit across the bed.  He had no intention of making Johnny suffer through being fed by this woman.

            "I... I just wanted to apologize to Mr. Gage.  I didn't know... well, I only thought his one arm was hurt and I..."  She seemed to run out of steam, and she stood there, wringing her hands, uncertain whether to stay or go.

            Roy was about to dismiss her, but he suddenly noticed a smile had replaced her remorseful expression.  Surprised, he turned to see the matching one on his partner's face.  His left hand was giving her a thumbs up signal.

            "Thanks, Mr. Gage," she beamed.  "I'm glad you're not too mad at me.  I'll go now and let you eat."  She left without another word.

            Roy gave Johnny an incredulous look.  "You're way too nice," he informed his friend as he held out a forkful of mashed potatoes.  "She deserved to be fired for what she did."

            Johnny took the bite and gave his head a negative shake.  As Roy continued feeding his partner, he studied him in silence, wondering why he was surprised.  Johnny just wasn't the type to hold grudges or stay mad for long.  If he was, then Chet Kelly would have been a dead man years ago.  Roy could almost hear Johnny's voice telling him the poor girl had already been chewed out by Brackett, what good would it do for him to be mad at her too?  She knew she'd goofed up.  No point in rubbing it in.  Roy let a wistful smile play on his face, wishing he could hear Johnny explain it to him as only Johnny could.

            Just as they were finishing with lunch, Dr. Brackett returned.  His face showed no sign of the wrath he must have unleashed on the hapless nurse, but both paramedics had seen him in his full glory, and were glad they hadn't been on the receiving end of his temper.  As they shared an amused glance, Roy suddenly found himself agreeing with his partner about not heaping more grief on the young woman.

            Brackett noticed the empty plates and nodded in satisfaction.  "I see you got your lunch.  So Miss Browning was in here?"

            "Yeah, she was here," Roy answered.  "She felt pretty bad," he added, suddenly coming to her defense.

            "She should," Brackett grumbled.  "Apparently there was some mis-communication during the shift change.  It certainly won't happen again, Johnny," he promised.  He moved to the bedside and did a quick check on Johnny's arm.  "The incision looks good," he pronounced.  "Dr. Murphy will be in later to check you out.  You should only have to wear that harness for a few days."

            Johnny inclined his head towards the bulky plaster.  Brackett chuckled.

            "I'm afraid you're stuck with that a while longer.  In a few weeks you may be able to switch to a more modified cast... give you a little more use of your hand."

            Johnny nodded and lay back against the pillows.  He looked tired.  Roy glanced up at the doctor and saw he'd noticed it too.

            "I'm going to go now," Brackett said.  "Try and get some rest."  He paused a moment and his  jaw tightened slightly, a sign he was debating how to broach a subject.  "Johnny... " he began slowly.  "There's another doctor I've asked to stop by... just to talk to you.  Dr. Wilts..."

            Brackett paused and Roy stepped in.

            "He's a psychiatrist, Johnny," he said quietly.

            Johnny's eyebrows raised slightly.  His gaze moved from Roy to Dr. Brackett then back to Roy.  He nodded slowly, giving his consent.

            Brackett gave them both a slight smile.  "Good.  I've got to finish my rounds.  Get some rest, John," he repeated.  He gave a slight motion for Roy to step outside, then left the room.

            Roy stared after him for a moment, then turned when he felt a tap on his hand.  Johnny was pointing at the door.

            "You saw that, huh?"

            Johnny nodded, then smiled to let Roy know he was okay with it.

            "I better go talk to him... see what he wants.  You all right for now?"  After another nod from his partner, Roy followed Brackett out the door.

            He found the doctor at the nurses' station making notes in Johnny's chart.  He flipped it closed when Roy approached.

            "He's doing fine... physically," he began without preamble.  "Dr. Murphy will probably okay him to be released tomorrow or the next day.  He'll need to come by for some follow-ups and in a few days start physical therapy... at least on his left arm."

            Roy waited, knowing there was more the doc wanted to tell him.

            "Frankly, Roy, I'm a little concerned about him going home alone.  With both arms out of commission, and without the ability to communicate..."

            "I've got it covered, Doc," Roy broke in.  "Jo's already got the guest room set up for him.  He can stay with us as long as he needs to.  Johnny knows that.  He's got an open invitation."

            Doctor Brackett looked relieved.  "I'm glad to hear it.  I didn't want to assume, but Johnny's going to need a lot of help... especially at first, plus getting back and forth for physical therapy... and whatever schedule Dr. Wilts may set up."

            "Don't worry.  We'll just work around the kids' school schedules.  The year's almost done anyway. Plus, when I'm off, I can run him around."

            Brackett gave him a pat on shoulder.  "Johnny's got a good friend in you," he stated.

            "It goes both ways, Doc," Roy assured him.  "He's been there plenty of times for us."

            "Dr. Brackett?"

            A deep voice turned them both.  Roy found himself looking up at a tall, lean, well-dressed man in his early fifties.  He carried a file in his left hand.  His right he held extended.

            Dr. Brackett reached to shake the man's hand.  "Dr. Wilts.  It's nice to see you again."  He turned to introduce Roy.  "This is Roy DeSoto."

            Roy held out his hand.  It seemed to him that the doctor hesitated a moment before he returned the gesture, but he chalked it up to his imagination.

            "Nice to meet ya, Doc," he greeted warmly.

            "And you are involved in this case how...?"

            This time Roy was positive there was an arrogant tone in the man's voice, but Brackett stepped in before he could say anything.

            "Roy is Johnny's partner.  They're both paramedics and work out of our base here at Rampart.  It's in the file I sent."

            The new doctor allowed a slight smile to cross his features, but to Roy it seemed forced.

            "Oh yes, another paramedic."

            Roy felt his hackles rise at the definite slur he heard in the word paramedic.  It had been a long time since he'd encountered outright disapproval from a doctor, and it caught him off-guard.  Once again, though, Brackett acted before anything came of it.

            "What's your opinion of our patient?" he inquired, his tone carefully professional.

            The psychiatrist cast a look at Roy before he answered.  "You want to discuss it here?"  The implication was obvious.  He had no desire to talk shop in front of a layman.

            "Roy and his family will be deeply involved in Johnny's care and recuperation," Brackett stated evenly.  "He needs to know what's going on."

            The man shrugged and opened the file.  "I reviewed the circumstances involving his accident... the bungled rescue..."

            "Bungled?"  Roy's voice rose an octave in indignation.  "Bungled?" he repeated.  "Nobody  bungled anything."

            "Roy," Brackett lay a restraining hand on Roy's shoulder.  "I'm sure Dr. Wilts wasn't implying anyone did anything wrong."

            "I'm sorry if I chose the wrong word," the man offered coolly.  "I was just going over the facts as I was given them.  The boy did die, did he not?"

            Roy couldn't trust himself to speak, so he merely nodded curtly.

            "Well, that's all I meant.  The rescue ended badly, no matter who's to blame."

            Maybe it was because the day had started so badly, but Roy felt an intense dislike for this so-called specialist settle into his gut, and he clamped his jaw shut tightly to keep from telling the man what he could do with himself.  He wondered how the hell Brackett thought this jerk could help Johnny.

            "I believe Mr. Gage is suffering from hysterical muteness."  He turned to Roy and explained in a condescending voice.  "A psychological response to a traumatic experience."

            "No shit," Roy murmured under his breath, but Brackett shot him a look that told him he at least had heard him.

            "I'd like to see Mr. Gage," Dr. Wilts continued without pause, though he did give Roy a glance before he added, "Alone."

            "Certainly."  Brackett held out his hand to show his colleague the way.

            Wilts gave Roy one more look, then the two doctors walked down the hall.

            Roy let out a loud breath after they were gone.  He sure hoped that guy was a better doctor than he was a human being.

* * *

             Johnny lay in his bed, his arms supported on both sides by extra pillows.  He wasn't asleep, rather just drifting in and out of different states of awareness.  It was a comfortable feeling.

            After his exertion over lunch, his left arm had started aching some, so he'd been given a mild pain killer - nothing too heavy.  He didn't like the groggy feeling that so often came with the stronger medications.

            His nurse couldn't do enough for him.  He knew Roy didn't understand why he wasn't angry with her, but it was really very simple.  He'd let Brackett be the bad guy and now she thought of Johnny as a kind, forgiving soul, and she was going out of her way to be sure he had everything he needed.  He let a lazy smile play across his features.  He didn't know why married men had so much trouble understanding women.

            There was a tap at his door, and he opened his eyes to find a new visitor - a very well-dressed visitor.  It wasn't his ortho, Dr. Murphy, so he figured it must be the shrink Bracket had told him about.  He sighed.  This wasn't something he was looking forward to.  The man walked in, pulled up a chair and sat near the foot of the bed.

            "Mr. Gage, my name is Dr. Wilts.  Dr. Brackett said he told you I'd be dropping by."

            Johnny nodded and the man gave him a tight smile.  "Before we get started, I'd like to tell you a little about how I work with my patients.  Some of my colleagues are hand holders.  They pat your back and give you Kleenex and encourage you to cry on their shoulders."  He shook his head disparagingly.  "I don't believe that's very productive.  I want my patients to face their problems... own up to them.  The only way to overcome something that's troubling you is to get it out in the open.  Sound good to you?"

            He looked at Johnny expectantly, as if waiting for an answer.  After a moment, Johnny nodded again, not sure what else to do.  He wasn't certain he was going to enjoy sessions with this guy, but if Brackett had faith in him, what else could he do but go along.

            "That's just fine," Dr. Wilts continued, looking at the chart again.  "The first thing I need to know is how much you remember about what happened."  He fixed his gaze on Johnny again.  "Do  you remember the incident?"

            Johnny nodded slowly.  It was the first time anyone had come right out and asked him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to dwell on it.

            "Fine," the doctor murmured.  "That tells us you're not repressing the experience and makes my job much easier.  We both know you dropped the boy, and he died.  Simple, no excuses."

            Johnny frowned at the blunt words.  He knew he'd dropped Peter, but to actually hear someone say it out loud was disconcerting.  This guy made it sound like he'd done it on purpose and it was something he'd have to learn to get over - as if Peter could ever get over being dead.

            The doctor shifted in the hard, plastic chair and re-crossed his legs.  "This is our game plan.  Dr. Brackett tells me you'll be going home in the next day or two.  Once you are, call my office, and we'll set up a schedule of appointments.  I'd like to see you twice a week to start.  We can adjust it once we see where we are."

            He closed the file and stood.  "The main thing to remember here is that you will start talking when you want to badly enough, so it's important that you not rely on other forms of communication.  Don't give in to the temptation to write things down for people.  It's a bad habit to form.  Speaking has to be the only way you can communicate.  That is very important if we're to be successful.  Is that clear?"

            Once more Johnny managed to nod his head.

            The man headed for the door.  "It was nice talking with you, Mr. Gage.  Don't forget to give the office a call and get your appointments set up."  He paused a moment, then an almost smug look appeared on his face.  "How dense of me," he chuckled.  "Of course,  you can't call.  Maybe you can have that other fireman do it for you.  I didn't mean to embarrass you, but perhaps you should consider it incentive."  He gave Johnny a quick smile and left the room.

            Johnny watched him go, wondering at the sudden feeling of depression that washed over him.

* * *

              Rick Dunbar slammed his bedroom door closed and flopped face first onto his bed.  Being fourteen really sucked.  Old enough that you couldn't get away with stuff anymore, but not old enough to do anything important.  Right now, he would have given anything to be able to drive somewhere, anywhere, to get away from here.

            His mother wanted him to go to the funeral, but he'd refused.  They'd gotten into a big fight and his dad had finally ordered him to go get dressed.  Not having much choice, he'd stomped upstairs in forced obedience.

            He didn't understand them.  When Pete had been alive they could never say anything good about him.  His dad considered Pete retarded and Rick's mother was always afraid her son's friend would have a seizure in the middle of her living room.  Rick shook his head in disgust.  How could two educated people be so uninformed?  And now, to act like they cared.  It was all too much for Rick to take.

            He slammed his fist into his pillow.  Why didn't they understand?  Couldn't they see that Pete's funeral was the last place on the entire earth he wanted to be?

            He turned over and stared up at the ceiling.  He recalled the hurt on his mother's face when he'd told her he didn't want to go.  Wasn't Peter his best friend?  Didn't Rick want to honor his memory?  Wouldn't the Bakers be hurt if he didn't show up?

            Rick snorted his disgust.  Of course Pete was his friend.  He was the best buddy a guy could have asked for.  Rick had always been something of a loner.  He wasn't a jock, and while he got okay grades, he didn't fit in with the brainy crowd either.  Then Pete moved into the neighborhood.  Because of his epilepsy, he'd always been an outcast.  The two boys met at the comic book store and had been friends ever since.  With each other to pal around with, all the other things didn't matter so much.  That's why it hurt so bad and why he couldn't go to the funeral.  Did his mom think Mr. and Mrs. Baker would actually want the guy who killed their son to show his face at the church?

            Rick screwed his eyes shut tight.  It would never have happened if he hadn't dared Pete to make the climb.  Rick knew his friend was extra sensitive about appearing a coward.  Of course he would respond to a dare the way he did.

            Why did I do that?  Why was I so stupid?

            Rick turned and buried his head deep into his pillow, trying not to see again in his mind the sight of his friend sitting so scared up on the bridge - the fireman trying to get hold of him - both of them swinging from the rope and then Pete falling - falling like he was in slow motion.

            The rest of it was more confusing.  The policeman had kept him from seeing much after Peter first hit the ground.  He wouldn't let him go to his friend, no matter how much he struggled.  He finally pushed Rick into the back of the squad car where he couldn't see anything except the flurry of activity around the injured fireman.

            After that, it seemed like he'd been forgotten.  No one came to see him - to tell him Pete was dead.  He knew that anyway.  An ambulance came and went.  A big, black station wagon pulled in.  More police showed up, one of them had Pete's parents in the car.

            Rick's mind could still hear Mrs. Baker's screams at what they showed her.  He'd expected her at least to come over and yell at him - to blame him for her son's death.  But she didn't come.  No one did.

            Until, after what seemed like forever, he saw his dad's car pull up.  His father walked over to him slowly, like he was an old man.  He didn't say anything, just motioned for him to come along.  A police officer opened the door, and Rick got out of he car.  His dad never said a word to him the whole drive home.

            It had been like that in his house for the last three days - silent.  And Rick knew it was his fault.  The fight he'd had just now with his mom was the most either of his parents had said to him in all that time.  He figured they were ashamed - didn't know what to say to their son, the killer.  And now they were going to make him go to the funeral and see more people who hated him.

            Rick got up off the bed.  He couldn't go.  He just couldn't.  He wanted Pete to be able to have a nice funeral - to let his family have this time without seeing Rick's face there to remind them.  He moved to the window and slowly opened it.  With a quick glance to the door, he slipped out onto the roof .  It was very easy after that to make his way down the pepper tree and run quickly down the street.

            He wasn't sure where he was going at first.  Then he had a curious thought.  He remembered the fireman.  That guy had risked his own life to try and save Rick's best friend, and had been injured in the attempt.  Rick figured he owed the guy something, even if it was just his thanks.

            He searched his memories of that morning, trying to remember if anyone had mentioned where the fireman had been taken.  Rick had been in the squad car most of the time, but he did remember one of the other firemen talking on that orange radio thing to Rampart.

            Rick smiled.  He knew what Rampart was.  His grandmother had been there last year for an operation on her hip.  It wasn't very far from here.  He could hop the bus easy.

            In a little less than an hour, Rick found himself wandering into the emergency room at Rampart General.  He had no idea how you went about trying to find someone in a hospital, but he knew the fireman was brought here in an ambulance.  Chances were he came through this place first.

            It was a little overwhelming.  Most of the chairs were filled with people in varying degrees of misery.  White clad doctors and nurses swept past him without stopping.  He moved up against a wall out of the way and stood there for some time, wondering what to do next.

            "Are you waiting for someone?" a kind voice inquired.

            Rick turned to see a nurse, blond and just a bit older than his mother.  She was smiling at him.

            "Uh... I was just wondering..."  He paused, trying to find the words to say what he wanted.  "I'm looking for a fireman.  He got hurt the other day trying to help my friend and... well, I wanted to tell him thanks."

            The woman looked thoughtful.  "A fireman, huh?  Do you know his name?"

            Rick shook his head in disappointment.  "Nah.  I never heard what it was."  He suddenly brightened.  "But his truck had number 51 on it.  Does that help any?"

            Now the nurses's eyes grew troubled and Rick wondered if he'd done something wrong.  "Well, I know the young man you're talking about.  Unfortunately, you just missed him.  He checked out a few minutes ago."

            Rick's face fell.  "Oh," he murmured.  "I guess that means he's okay, though?" he asked hopefully.

            "He will be," the woman told him.  "In time, he will be."

            "Good," Rick said softly, wondering why the woman seemed sad.  He made no move to go.  He felt the nurse's hand on his shoulder and lifted his head.  She was smiling at him again.

            "Tell ya what, why don't you write him a note, and I'll make sure he gets it.  Will that be all right?"

            Rick thought it over.  It wasn't what he wanted, but it was better than nothing.  "Sure.  I can do that.  Uh... do you have any paper I could borrow?"

            In short order, he was seated at a small table in a lounge with paper and pen in hand.  He sat there for a few moments chewing on the pen cap, wondering what to say.  Then, he started writing.

 * * *

            Johnny sat in the passenger side of Roy's station wagon, staring morosely out the window at the passing scenery, and trying to figure out when he'd lost control of his life.

            It wasn't that he minded staying at Roy's house for a while.  Even though his first choice would have been to go home, he was realistic enough to know that wasn't very practical, at least until he could use his arms again.  What bothered him was that nobody even thought to ask his opinion.  Brackett, Early, Murphy, and even Roy stood around in his room discussing his release as if he wasn't even there.

            He wanted to scream, yell, stand on his head... anything to make them at least turn around and include him in the conversation.  Hell, he couldn't even throw anything at them.  Even his attentive young nurse had stood there and paid more attention to the doctors than to the patient she'd doted on for the last few days.

            And then they were done.  They had his future all wrapped up for him.  Only then did Roy seem to notice he wasn't very happy.  His partner had quizzed him for several minutes, but without being able to explain it to him, Johnny was left to sit and sulk while everyone busied themselves with his discharge.

            He watched with disinterest as Roy gathered up his uniform pants, shoes and socks.  He didn't see his shirt so he figured it got sacrificed in his initial exam, either by Roy or Brackett, he didn't remember.  Dixie came in with an envelope containing his more personal belongings - his badge and name tag, wallet, keys, loose change - whatever he'd had in his pockets when he'd been brought in.

            Then Roy helped him get dressed in the clothes he'd retrieved from Johnny's apartment.  He flushed scarlet while Roy held out a pair of boxers for him to step into, but his partner was quick and had them settled on his hips in no time.  The pants were no problem, except for the embarrassment of having someone else zip and button them.  The shirt had to just drape over his shoulders, making him glad it was nearly summer, and he didn't have to worry about being cold.

            With a final farewell to Dix and the doctors, Johnny found himself wheeled out the door and loaded into the DeSoto family car.  As they drove away from Rampart, Johnny watched with an empty feeling as the hospital disappeared from sight.

            During the drive, Roy did his best to keep up a one way dialogue, but about half way there he ran out of steam and the rest of the trip was silent.  It was only when they turned onto Roy's street that he spoke again.

            Johnny knew it wasn't easy for his partner to share deep emotion.  Roy kept things inside, went along day after day in his quiet way, keeping most of his feelings to himself.  But Johnny also knew his friend felt things strongly, even if he didn't always express himself.  Now, as Roy talked, Johnny pulled himself out of his self-pitying haze to listen.

            "Johnny," Roy began hesitantly.  "I know this is hard for you.  I can't pretend to really understand how you're feeling right now..."  Roy paused, drummed his fingers against the steering wheel nervously.  "I just want to make things as easy as possible for you.  Don't feel bad or embarrassed about asking for help... from any of us."

            Johnny glanced at Roy, wondering if his partner had any clue as to how much help that offer would entail - at least until his left arm was freed from the harness.  He couldn't eat, drink, dress himself... hell, he could hardly go to the bathroom without help.  He even had to walk carefully since he had no way to keep himself from falling if he was jostled or lost his balance.

            Roy pulled into his driveway and killed the engine.  He turned to face Johnny.

            "It'll be okay, Junior," he promised.  "We'll all get through it together."

            There was such assurance in Roy's voice that, for the first time all day, Johnny felt his spirits lift.  He even managed to smile, the only way he could think of to acknowledge Roy's offer of support.

            Roy got out and came around to open the passenger side.  As he helped Johnny get out of the car, the door to the house flew open and Chris and Jennifer rushed out to greet them.

            "Dad! Uncle Johnny!"

            There was a whirl of hugs and greetings, though it didn't take long for Johnny to realize both kids must have been warned ahead of time to be gentle with him.  Chris hesitated a moment before he settled for a brief arm around Johnny's waist.  Jenny hugged him just as carefully, but wasn't content with just that.  She studied him for a moment, paying particular attention to his arms.

            "Do they both hurt?" she finally asked him.

            Johnny glanced down at his immobilized arms, knowing right away what she wanted.  He wiggled the fingers on his casted arm.

            She understood him at once and took hold of three of his fingers, ready to lead him up the walkway.

            "Go easy, Jen," Roy cautioned as he grabbed Johnny's bag from the back seat.

            "I will, Daddy," Jennifer promised with eight year old solemnity.

            Johnny had to smile at the seriousness with which his favorite little girl undertook her charge.  She guided him slowly, then when they reached the steps, she stopped to be sure he was able to take them on his own.

            I can walk, Jenny Bean, he longed to tell her, the urge to tweak her nose overwhelming.  But he had to settle for squeezing her hand and when she glanced up, flashing her a grateful smile.

            "Mom has your room all ready," she told him knowingly.  "Dad went and got some of your clothes and stuff so it's all here for you... even your underwear."  She giggled a little at that and Johnny couldn't help but join her, surprising himself with the sound that came out of his throat.

            I can still laugh.  Then why can't I talk?

            Joanne chose that moment to join them.  She held the door open, and as he passed, she reached out to embrace him, ending with a playful tousle of his shaggy, dark hair.

            "I'm glad you're here, Johnny," she welcomed.  "Consider this home for as long as you need us."

            Johnny had to swallow the lump in his throat, wondering what he'd ever done to deserve such good friends.

            "Okay, okay," Roy called from behind the traffic jam at the door.  "Let's move this party inside," he laughed.

            The rest of the day went smoothly.  As Jennifer had told him, his things were already here.  He'd stayed in the small guest room a few times before so it didn't feel strange to him.  There were even extra pillows on the bed to help him sleep more comfortably.  It looked like Joanne had outdone herself to make sure he would be at ease.

            He spent most of the afternoon sitting on the deck.  He wanted to be sure and stay out of the way, but here he could watch the kids play in their dough boy pool or on the swing set he and Roy had spent Christmas Eve three years ago putting up.  And Roy and Joanne were in and out enough to visit with him without tripping over him.  He even managed to doze off a little, lulled to sleep by the June sun and the sound of children laughing.

            He jerked awake when Roy placed a hand on his shoulder.

            "Sorry, Johnny.  I didn't mean to startle you.  Jo's got dinner on the table."

            Johnny let out a shaky breath, not wanting to let Roy know he'd been in the middle of another nightmare.  He gave a nod and let Roy help him to his feet.  He followed his partner reluctantly into the dining room, not sure he wanted the kids to witness him having to be fed like a baby.  By the time they reached the table, he was practically dragging his feet.  Roy couldn't help but notice.

            "Don't worry," he said.  "The kids understand that you can't use your hands."

            They may understand, Johnny thought ruefully.  But that's a long way from watching it happen.  With nothing else to do, he sat down at the table.  Jenny took the chair next to him with Chris across and Roy and Joanne on each end.  Chris said a quick grace and then food began to be passed.

            Roy knew Johnny's likes and dislikes well enough that he didn't have to ask what he wanted on his plate.  The pork chops and cheesy potatoes looked delicious, though having Roy cut up his meat took a bit of the edge off his appetite.  He could see Chris trying hard not to watch what his dad was doing.  As Roy speared a piece of meat and held it out for him, Johnny ducked his head in chagrin.

            "Daddy," Jennifer piped up.  "Can I help Uncle Johnny?  I'm right next to him."

            "Jennifer," Joanne cautioned in a firm tone, but Johnny wasn't upset.

            He met Joanne's eyes and shook his head, telling her not to be mad.  He then turned to Jenny and grinned his approval.  Bless you, Jenny.  How could such a little girl be so wise?

            "You sure you're okay with that?" Roy asked, his voice dubious.

            Johnny nodded vigorously.  Somehow it would be easier this way than having Roy do it.  This could be a game, whereas with Roy, there was no getting around what was happening.  Roy handed Johnny's fork over to his daughter, and she set about feeding her favorite uncle with a delight that was hard to ignore.  Soon, what to Johnny had loomed a dreaded ordeal, turned into a lighthearted event.

* * *

            Joanne walked with Johnny down the sixth floor hallway that led to the office of Dr. Brad Wilts.  She could tell already that the man beside her wasn't happy with the prospect of seeing the psychiatrist.  But she really couldn't blame him.  No one liked to admit they had problems they couldn't handle, least of all men like Johnny and Roy, who spent most of their lives helping others.  Joanne was aware of how hard the last few days had been on Johnny.  Having to rely on others for nearly all his personal needs had taken its toll on him, even though that help came from dear friends.  Now he had to have his innermost thoughts and feelings dissected by a total stranger.

            Roy had told Joanne everything that had happened at the bridge with the Baker boy.  She'd seen what losing him had done to Roy, and she could only imagine what Johnny must be going through.  They saw so much tragedy in their jobs, it was a wonder more of them didn't experience these kinds of problems.  She only hoped this doctor held the key to unlock Johnny's silence.

            There were no patients on this floor, for it had been redone several years ago to hold offices for some of the doctors who held privileges at Rampart.  The old nurses station was now an information desk.  Joanne didn't think they'd meet anyone she knew here, though Johnny might be acquainted with some of the doctors.  She was totally surprised to suddenly hear someone call his name excitedly.  She was even more surprised when they turned to see a young, attractive nurse heading their way.

            "Johnny... Johnny Gage, were you going to just walk right on by without even saying hello?" the petite brunette scolded as she met up with them.

            Joanne could almost hear the groan that came from her husband's partner, and she could have sworn he sidled up closer to her, as if asking for her help.  But the young woman was oblivious to his body language.  She put on a little pout as she reached out to lay a hand on his chest.

            "I heard you were hurt."  She gave him a once over that was more than mere clinical interest.  "Poor baby."  She cast a look at Joanne, obviously waiting to be introduced.  When that didn't happen, she jumped right in.  "Who's your friend?"  Her voice was now not quite so perky and Joanne knew she was waiting to find out if she had reason to be jealous.  Obviously she was the girl Roy had called Johnny's "new nurse of the week."

            Joanne wracked her brains, trying to come up this girl's name.  Was it Janine... Janice...?  She knew she had never met her, though from what Roy reported, Johnny had wanted to end the relationship a few weeks ago.  It appeared that, true to their young friend's nature, he hadn't been able to communicate his intentions very well to the young woman in question.  Joanne knew guessing the wrong name would be worse than not knowing it at all, so she gave up and held out her hand cordially.

            "Hi.  I'm Joanne DeSoto."  Joanne had just enough mischief in her soul to wait a beat or two before she added, "I'm Roy's wife...you know, Johnny's partner?  And you are?"

            "Jeannie," she supplied, then her face brightened.  "Ohhhh, Sure... Johnny's talked about Roy..."

            The fact that she left Joanne's name off was no accident, Joanne was sure of that.  She decided she didn't like this girl very much.  She also wondered, not for the first time, why Johnny wasted his time with this kind, only to question why the relationships never lasted.

            "Gee, Johnny," Jeannie was continuing to fondle him, ignoring Joanne now that she was no threat.  "I have a few days off... why don't you come home with me... let me take care of you..."

            Joanne might have laughed if Johnny hadn't looked so miserable.  She took pity on him and stepped in.

            "Johnny's staying with us for a while," she informed her sweetly.

            "Well, Johnny's a big boy," the woman stated with a suggestive smile Joanne didn't even want to know about.  "He can decide for himself."  She turned her smile on Johnny, confident of the outcome.  "C'mon, Johnny," Jeannie prodded, a little less confident.  "Tell her you want to stay with me."

            Johnny stared at her helplessly, then over at Joanne in a silent plea.  Joanne couldn't let him suffer anymore.

            "Johnny's got a really bad case of laryngitis, so he can't talk right now," she explained.  She reached up and removed the woman's hand from him.  "The doctor says he needs complete rest and quiet.  Since he's already set up with us, it would be too much strain on him to move."  She cast an obvious glance at her watch.  "Gee, we're late for his doctor's appointment.  We have to run now.  It was really nice meeting you, Jeannie."

            Joanne smiled, waved her hand and led Johnny down the hall.  She only hoped the nurse was too indignant to realize whose office they were headed for.  She almost laughed at the look on the woman's face, until she looked at Johnny.  His head was down, and she could see he was highly embarrassed.  She wisely remained silent.

            They reached the door and she held it open for him.  He stood there a moment, the working of his jaw telling her just how keyed up he was.  She took hold of his right fingers and squeezed lightly.

            "I'll be right here when you're done," she reminded him, indicating the small waiting room.

            The slight smile he returned was such a faint echo of his usual exuberant grin that Joanne's heart ached for him.  Before she could say anything else, he extricated his fingers and walked into the office.

* * *

            "Good afternoon, Mr. Gage.  Won't you be seated?"

            Johnny glanced around for a comfortable place to sit, but found only the one straight-backed chair on the opposite side of Wilts' desk.  With no other choice, he carefully lowered himself down.  The doctor reseated himself in his own, cushy looking desk chair and started in at once.

            "Now, Mr. Gage, we have a lot of work ahead of us, and I believe in pitching right in.  No sense wasting a lot of time on small talk."

            Johnny blinked, wondering if the man was even aware of what he'd said.  Probably not, judging from the way he was acting.

            Wilts opened up Johnny's file, then pulled several pictures out from a manila envelope that was stuck inside.  He stared at the photos for a time, then set them aside.  He folded his hand together and placed them on his desk, then launched into a 15 minutes lecture on the many different causes of hysterical muteness.

            Johnny listened politely, though more than a little bored.  For a guy who doesn't want to waste time, you're sure doing a heck of a job.  He tried harder to pay attention when it seemed the doctor was at last coming to something that pertained to Johnny.

            "Now, assuming that your muteness is because of something you did or saw, then you, and you alone, will have to effect the cure.  I can only facilitate your recovery.  If you remember what I told you in your hospital room, you are the one who will determine when you talk again.  No one else.  You have to want to talk.  Talking has to be your number one priority.  I can't stress enough how important it is not to use any other means of communicating, especially writing.  That one is far too easy to give into, but I warn you... if you do, you may very well endanger your ability to fully recover.  Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

            Johnny nodded once, feeling very much like a truant in the principal's office.

            "Good.  As long as we're both working towards the same goal, we'll make progress."  He glanced at the file again.  "Now, we need to talk about the accident.  That is most likely what caused your problem... when you dropped the boy."

            Johnny flinched at his casual use of the word dropped.  He made it sound like they were discussing his grandmother's favorite vase.

            The doctor noticed his reaction and paused.  He studied Johnny intently.  "Is there a problem with that, Mr. Gage?  Isn't that how it happened?  You dropped him and he fell... " He paused and consulted his file again.  "Ah, yes, he fell some 200 feet to his death."  He leaned back in his chair.  "Do you accept the blame for this?"

            Johnny shifted uneasily.  So far the rescue and its tragic results occupied a small place in his mind - lurking there, but not pestering him to probe the memory too deeply.  He knew the facts - knew his part - that was as far as he'd ever gone.  The only thing that had brought the events to the front of his mind had been the short note Dixie had delivered to him yesterday.  It was from Pete's friend and Johnny had it memorized.

            To the fireman on the bridge,

I just want to say thanks for all you did to try and save Pete.  He was my best friend and I'm sorry you got hurt.  Pete was a good guy.  He deserved a better friend than me.  I thought you should know that.

            Sincerely,

            Rick

            It was a strange message.  Johnny had vague memories of the other boy at the scene, but he couldn't put a face to him.  It sounded like the kid was mixed up about a lot of things, but he supposed losing your best friend would do that to a person.  Wilts voice interrupted his musing.

            "I want you to think about it," Wilts was saying again.  "This is the key.  Until you face up to what you did... to the mistake you made that cost a young boy his life, we won't get anywhere.  You have to think about it... relive it until you know every little detail.  Think about it..."

            Johnny closed his eyes, trying to do what the doctor asked.

            Think about it... think about it... The mistake I made... the mistake I made...

            He could see it... it played out in his mind like watching a movie.  He was there, but he was detached... like he was watching it happen to someone else...

            Johnny was straddling the concrete bracing, scooting closer and closer to the frightened boy.  He could feel the wind blowing through his hair... he had the life belt in his hand... was so close now...  He could hear Peter's rapid breathing... hyperventilating with fear.  He could hear the boy's terrified voice...

            Stay away from me... you'll make me fall.

            He spoke, trying to calm the youngster.

            Peter, just take it easy.  I want you to stay calm.

            I can't let go.  You don't understand... I'm gonna fall.

            The boy was sobbing with fear now and still Johnny scooted closer, trying to get to him and secure him before he began to seize.

            It's gonna be all right.  It's gonna be fine.

            The soothing words came easily... smoothly.  He believed them.  Hadn't he done this kind of thing hundreds of times?  All he had to do was get the belt on the kid.  He moved closer and closer, could hear the slight rhythm to the boy's sobs now... was afraid of what that might mean.

            See, I'm gonna get ya down real easy.  I've got a belt here...

            That's when the boy lost it.  Johnny had no choice but to grab him with both arms and try and restrain him.  He tried again to calm him, but it was too late.  He did what he always did in a time of crisis - he turned to Roy for help.  He remembered calling out, like there was anything his partner could do to save him from this disaster.

            Roy, he's gone into a seizure!

            And then they'd gone over the side.  For an instant, Johnny thought they were both dead, but the jerk of his lifeline told him differently.  They had a chance... they might just make it...

            Johnny opened his eyes.  He could feel his heart racing.  His fingers were clenched tightly, and he tried to slow his rapid breathing.

            From across the desk, Dr. Wilts sat watching him, his face expressionless.  "I can see you remember it," he said evenly, "But do you accept it?  Do you accept what you did?"

            What did I do?  I did what I had to... didn't I?  Cap said to go get him... he was gonna seize before the snorkel could get there.  Should we have waited?  Did I move too fast?  I know he was scared... but I was sure I could get the belt on him.

            Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.  He glanced up to find Dr. Wilts beside him, a smile on his face.

            "You seem troubled.  That's good, actually."

            Johnny gave him a curious look and Wilts chuckled.

            "I know that may sound strange, but unless we bring up troubling issues, you won't be able to deal with them."  He patted Johnny's shoulder.  "But don't worry too much.  If you don't think you can handle it on your own, I can always prescribe something to help you cope.  Many of my patients find it beneficial."

            Johnny shook his head.  No drugs. I don't wanna be doped up.

            Wilts' smile faded a bit.  "Really, Mr. Gage, I think I have just a bit more medical knowledge than you do, even if you are a para-medic."

            Johnny just continued to shake his head. I don't need pills, Doc, I need to talk.  You think Valium's gonna make my voice work?

            Now Wilts was definitely not happy.  "We'll wait and see," he stated.  He stuck the script in Johnny's file and glanced at his watch.  "Time is up for today, Mr. Gage.  I think we've laid some groundwork.  You keep thinking about this until your next appointment."

            It was a dismissal.  Johnny got awkwardly to his feet, without any offer of help from the doctor.  He didn't care.  He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to worry about a lack of concern from someone else.  His mind was still working over what had happened in Wilts' office, his actions on the bridge, trying to figure out what he did wrong and why the boy fell.  As he walked out the door, he didn't even notice Joanne getting up from her chair.

* * *

            "Johnny!  Johnny, wait!"

            Joanne rushed after him, but as she stepped into the hall she could see he hadn't gone far.  He was leaning against a wall, scowling darkly.  He seemed okay for now, and she was concerned about  what had happened to upset him.  She knew he couldn't answer her, so she turned to the only person who could.

            She walked back into the psychiatrist's office and saw Dr. Wilts conferring with his secretary.  He glanced up as she approached, and she could see he didn't know who she was.

            "May I help you?" he inquired blandly.

            "I'm Joanne DeSoto," she introduced herself.  He still didn't seem able to place her, so she continued.  "My husband is Johnny... Mr. Gage's partner.  I brought him here today."

            The doctor's eyebrows lifted as he put the pieces together.  "Ah, yes... the fireman's wife."

            Joanne could almost feel the aspersion put into the word "fireman," but she squelched  her own reaction in order to find out what she needed.

            "I was just wondering... well, Johnny seems very upset, and I..."

            "Mrs. DeSoto," Dr. Wilts interrupted smoothly.  "Before you go any further, you need to understand first of all, I do not discuss a patient's care with non-family members."

            Joanne felt her anger rising in her throat.  "You need to understand, Doctor, that Roy and I are Johnny's family.  He has no one else nearby.  And I just wanted to know what's going on with him... so we know how to help him."

            Dr. Wilts' face took on an impatient look that further infuriated Joanne.  "The courts do not have a definition for being like a family member.  Furthermore, my treatment methods are far too complex for a fireman, or his wife, to understand."  He paused for a moment, then his face changed and he was suddenly smiling at her.  He reached into a file and pulled out a prescription.

            "Of course, if you really want to be helpful, you can get this filled.  Mr. Gage forgot to take it with him."

            Joanne took the paper and looked at it.  "Does Johnny really need medication?" she asked dubiously.

            Wilts' irritation returned.  "Mrs. DeSoto, are you going to question my medical judgment?  I think I am better qualified to judge what  Mr. Gage needs to work through his problems.  No one can help him... except myself, of course.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment."

            With that, he walked away, leaving Joanne to stare open-mouthed after him.  When she finally recovered enough to move, she darted a glance at the secretary.  The woman shrugged an oblique apology.  Too outraged to trust herself to say anything, she simply shoved the prescription into her purse and walked out the door.

            She stopped before she went very far.  She had to calm herself down before she joined Johnny.  Her mind recalled something Roy had said about the doctor's lack of tact, but now she realized he'd grossly understated it.  The man was horrid.  She didn't know what kind of psychiatrist he was, but, judging from Johnny's demeanor, she didn't have much faith in his ability in that regard either.  She wondered how they were going to get through the next few weeks.

            She took a deep, cleansing breath, hoping it worked better at calming her agitation than it ever did in taking away the pain of labor.  She repeated it, feeling a little more in control, then walked over to where Johnny still stood.

            She stopped when she reached his side.  He was staring down at the floor, his face dark and unreadable and hadn't seemed to notice her arrival.  She glanced back down the hall and wondered if each visit here would result in this much turmoil.  She certainly hoped not, or she'd be joining Johnny in his therapy sessions.

            The image of both of them on twin couches dispelled her mood and she reached out to touch Johnny's hand.  He finally lifted his head and let his eyes meet hers.  She dug down and found a warm smile to give him.

* * *

            Roy lay next to Joanne, his hand running absently up and down her arm.  The bruising in his ribs had finally healed completely, and he could lie on his side without any complaint.  The night was warm and a soft breeze breathed in through the open window.  He liked this time of night, when the house was quiet, the kids were safe and asleep in their rooms.  This was his and Jo's time - when they could talk about things that mattered, or things that didn't - when they could make love or just lie here together, content in each other's company.

            This past few weeks had been hectic.  Johnny had settled into the guest room, and his rounds of doctor visits and therapy sessions had kept them hopping.  Joanne had done most of the chauffeuring, but Roy's schedule had allowed him to take over a couple of times.

            It seemed strange to have Johnny here, but not to hear him.  Even though Roy thought the world of his partner, the younger man's mouth had a tendency to run away with him.  Johnny chattered when he was happy, ranted when he was angry and absolutely babbled when he was nervous or unsure of himself.  Roy had actually thanked the sore throat gods the few times Johnny had developed laryngitis.  A few hours respite was welcome.  Day after day of this enforced silence though was unnerving.

            Things seemed to be going along all right.  His family had adjusted their routine without a problem.  Chris and Jenny were ecstatic to have Uncle Johnny here on an extended basis and talked to him freely, without any hint of self-consciousness.  Jenny especially would sit and have lengthy, one-way conversations with her captive audience until Roy or Joanne would get after her to stop pestering him.  Johnny himself never seemed to mind.  In fact, he seemed more up when she was keeping him occupied.

            Most of the time, Johnny did his best to stay out of their way.  He'd sit outside on the deck watching the kids play or stay in his room watching the small TV they'd put in there for him.  At first, he hadn't been able to do much, but once he finally got the harness off, freeing at least one arm, his spirits raised some, allowing him to take care of himself more and even help Joanne out a bit around the house.  But though Roy didn't think there was anything to be concerned about, Joanne was worried.

            She'd told him this evening that Johnny seemed down.  When he'd first arrived, though he didn't talk, he at least would laugh with the kids.  That had stopped.  His appetite was off, and he stayed to himself more.  Joanne was certain Johnny was having nightmares.  He didn't look like he was sleeping well, and two nights ago she'd gotten up with Jenny and could hear him moaning in his sleep.  She also felt he was worse after his sessions with Dr. Wilts.  Jo didn't care for the man at all.  Roy agreed with her there, but he'd had a long talk with Dr. Brackett, who'd assured him again of the man's credentials.

            Roy took his wife's opinions seriously.  Jo was an incredible observer and usually picked up on people's behaviors much quicker than he did.  And because he'd gone back to work, she'd been around Johnny more than he had.  But though he trusted her judgment, he wasn't sure what to do about it.

            "Can't sleep, huh?" came Joanne's drowsy voice.  She reached up and lay a hand over his.

            Roy sighed.  "Just thinking too much, I guess."

            She propped herself up on one elbow so she could see his face.  "I'm sorry, sweetheart.  I shouldn't have dumped so much on you this late at night."

            He gave her a smile and reached up to tuck a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear.  "It's not your fault.  I'm glad you told me.  I'm just trying to figure out what the next step is."

            "Well, if it was any doctor but the high and mighty Dr. Wilts, I'd say we should have a talk with him... let him know what we think."

            Roy chuckled in sympathy.  He'd only had the one encounter with the psychiatrist, but it had left a bad taste in his mouth.  Joanne had had more interaction with him, and he didn't envy her that.

            "Don't laugh, Roy," she scolded.  "The man's impossible!"  Her pretty face scowled darkly.  "I know some doctors are naturally better at people skills... but you'd think a psychiatrist would be one of them.  Isn't that their job... working with people?"

            Roy shrugged.  He couldn't argue, since he agreed with her.  All he could do was fall back on what he'd been told.  "Brackett keeps telling me Wilts gets results.  That's what matters in the long run... not whether we like the guy, but if he can help Johnny."

            Joanne lay back on her pillow, still not convinced.  "Johnny doesn't like him either."

            Now it was Roy's turn to prop himself up.  "How do you know that?" he asked curiously.

            Joanne was quiet a moment.  "I don't know how to pin it down exactly," she finally said thoughtfully.  "He just gets... tense, I guess.  He's not like that when we're just going in to see Hal for PT... and that hurts him... a lot.  It's like he can handle the pain, no problem, but just the thought of seeing Wilts... it's like he pulls inside himself and won't let anybody in."

            Roy knew she was probably right, but he still felt they had to trust Brackett on this.  "Maybe he doesn't like it because Wilts is making him remember the accident.  It's probably upsetting for him.  I mean, that's the whole reason he's not talking, isn't it?"

            "I don't know, Roy," Joanne sighed.  "It's just frustrating not to be able to do anything to help him.  Do you think he might need those pills Wilts prescribed?"

            "No!"  Roy's reaction was automatic.  He knew he was being stubborn about this, but he felt as strongly about it as the day Joanne had first shown him the prescription Wilts had given her to fill.  He had nothing against the responsible use of drug therapy.  As a paramedic he had seen first hand the many therapeutic uses of medications.  But he'd also seen too much mis-use and abuse.  He didn't pretend to be a psychiatrist, but he was positive Johnny didn't need to be put on a drug regime.  He just didn't think they'd reached that point yet.

            He met Joanne's eyes and smiled sheepishly.

            "Sorry, Jo, I just don't think that's the way we need to go."  What he hadn't told Joanne was how strongly Johnny had reacted when Roy asked him about the prescription.  Although his partner couldn't tell him exactly what the problem was, Roy didn't have any trouble figuring out that Johnny didn't want to take the pills, and his behavior thus far hadn't given Roy cause to push the issue.

            He reached out, and Joanne came into his arms, pillowing her head on his chest.  One of the things he loved about her was her concern for those she loved and that had long ago encompassed his partner.  She liked all the guys on their shift, but Johnny she'd drawn into their family circle.

            "All we can do is hang in there with him," Roy soothed, as he held her close.  "We hafta have faith that Johnny can pull himself outta this."

            Joanne reached up and kissed him tenderly, then rolled over onto her side, pulling his arm with her.  He took the hint and spooned up against her, falling asleep with the fresh scent of her hair in his nostrils.

* * *

            It was a nightmare – he knew it, even as it unfolded.  He had them so often now that he recognized them as they were happening.  But that didn't take away the terror - make it any less frightening.  In fact, his awareness only made it worse, for he couldn't help but wonder if there would come a time he wouldn't wake up - that the dream would take over and become his reality.

            It wasn't always the same dream.  Each night it would change - sometimes a little, sometimes a lot.  Tonight, he was walking down a long, dark alley.  The wind whipped at his hair and clothes, making it hard to make any progress.

            He had to get to the end - to the glowing patch of yellow that waited for him there.  He could see it - so bright it almost glowed.  It pulled at him, drawing him on relentlessly.  He didn't want to see it, but he had no choice.  He had no will of his own.  His body moved of its own volition, struggling to take him to a place he had no desire to go.

            On and on he trudged.  His legs were like lead - each step growing harder and harder.  The wind screamed at him now, trying to hold him back, but he had to keep going.

            As he grew slowly closer to the end of the alley, the yellow began to take shape.  It was a blanket - like the ones they used in rescues.  It covered something - something he didn't want to see.  As he reached it at last, he stood and stared down at it.

            Suddenly, in the middle of the yellow, a patch of red appeared.  It grew slowly, spreading until it reached the edges of the blanket.  Johnny glanced down and could see the stream of red seeping out from under the blanket, reaching out towards his feet.

            He tried to step back, but he couldn't move.  He was frozen in place, forced to watch the crimson river as it crept closer and closer to him.  He didn't want it to touch him - knew if it touched him he would die.

            He tried with all his strength to lift his foot - to move it out of danger, but he had no power over his own body.  He began shaking his head, slowly at first, then more violently.  He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing would come - nothing at all.

            With one more colossal pull, his leg abruptly came free, sending him tumbling backwards...

            It took Johnny only a moment to realize he'd fallen out of bed.  He found himself tangled in his sheet.  His must have jarred his left shoulder somehow, for it ached a little and the back of his head was slightly sore from where he probably hit it on the edge of the desk.  He lay where he was, still trembling from the dream.

            It's over... it's over and you're still here.  You got through it again.

            "Johnny? You okay?"

            The hall light flicked on, and he could see Roy's silhouette in the doorway.  He squinted in the brightness of the light as his friend came into the room and squatted next to him.

            "It's all right, kids.  Go back to bed now."  Joanne's voice faded as she shooed Chris and Jenny back to their rooms.

            Damn, I woke up the whole house.  No wonder you hafta see a shrink, Gage, you can't even handle a stupid bad dream.

            He shifted, trying to free his legs of the sheet and sit upright.  He felt Roy's hands helping him.

            "C'mon, let's get you back to bed."

            A surge of anger shot through him at the parental tone in his partner's voice.  Roy hadn't done anything wrong, but Johnny suddenly felt smothered.  He jerked away from his friend's touch and managed to get himself perched on the edge of the bed.  He sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and as suddenly as it had come, his anger left him.  His shoulders sagged, and he slowly lifted his head, afraid to meet Roy's eyes.

            I'm sorry, Roy...  please know that I'm sorry. I can't do anything right anymore.  That damn house... Peter... Please don't be mad at me, Roy. 

            But Roy wasn't angry.  The only emotion Johnny could read on his partner's face was concern.  Roy got up from the floor and joined him on the edge of the bed.  He didn't say anything for a long time.  His hands rested on his knees, palms up, and Johnny watched him curiously as he flexed his fingers open and shut several times.  When Roy spoke at last, it was in a very quiet voice.

            "I wanna help you, Johnny, but I don't know how.  Joanne says you've been having these nightmares.  Maybe if you could tell me..."  He shifted so that Johnny could see the intensity in his blue eyes.  "If you could just find a way to tell me."

            Johnny felt his throat constrict and was suddenly afraid he was going to cry.

            I wanna tell ya, Roy... God, I wanna tell you so bad.

            He hadn't realized before just how much he needed to tell Roy.  But he couldn't.  Dr. Wilts kept drumming into his head that he just had to want to talk badly enough, but Johnny wasn't sure he believed him.  If what he said were true, then he and Roy would be talking up a blue streak right now.

            Roy suddenly brightened.  He leaned over and snatched paper and pen off the desk.  "Can you write about the dreams?" he asked hopefully.  "I know it's your left hand and all, but maybe it would help if you..."

            Johnny shook his head several times, trying to get Roy to forget that idea.

            No, I can't.  I can't do that.

            "But why not?" Roy argued and held out the items for Johnny to take.  "It's a start."

            Johnny pushed Roy's hand away as if what it held would burn him and scooted up to the head of the bed.

            Don't, Roy.  If I write it down, I won't get better.  Don't make me do that.

            "Johnny..."  Roy stared at him, obviously baffled at his reaction.

            "It's Wilts," came Joanne's voice from the doorway.

            Johnny glanced up, grateful for her return.

            "What are you talking about?" Roy asked in confusion.

            "Wilts told me in no uncertain terms that Johnny wasn't supposed to write anything for us."  Her tone was flat and Johnny couldn't tell if she was mad.  Roy, however, was easy to read.  He was absolutely dumbfounded.

            "But that's.... but..." Roy stammered.  "That's ridiculous!" he finally blurted out.

            "That's Wilts," Joanne concluded.  Johnny got the definite feeling she'd just proven a point, but he wasn't sure quite what.

            "Why didn't you tell me?" Roy demanded, an edge to his voice that made Johnny cringe.

            God, now Roy's mad, and they're gonna fight.  Please don't fight because of me.

            "Because I didn't agree with him," Joanne explained, her tone even.

            He watched the looks they exchanged, then jumped when he felt Roy's hand on his knee.

            "I'm sorry," he said simply.  "I didn't mean to upset you.  I didn't know you weren't..."

            Johnny shook his head to stop his friend's apology.  This was the last thing he wanted to have happen.

            It's my fault... I'm sorry for messin' everything up.  Don't be mad at Jo.

            He grabbed Roy's hand, squeezed it tightly, then pointed to Joanne, hoping Roy understood what he wanted.

            Roy glanced at his wife, then back at Johnny, his face unsure.  "I don't know what..."

            Johnny blew out a snort. Geeze, Pally, are you dense?

            He shoved Roy's shoulder with just enough force that his friend stood up off the bed.  Johnny pointed at Joanne, who by this time was laughing softly.  She walked over and took Roy's hand.

            "Well, I don't need a translation," she said and reached up to kiss Roy's cheek.  "I'm sorry.  I don't want to fight."

             Roy's fair face blushed red as he returned her kiss.  "I'm sorry, too."  He turned back to Johnny.  "Everything okay now?" he asked with a smile.

            Johnny smiled slightly and made a shooing motion with his hand.  They took the hint and left his room.  He breathed out shakily and lay back against the pillow.  A glance at the clock told him it was 4:15.  He didn't think he'd be getting much more sleep tonight.

* * *

            Rick walked down the street, hands shoved into his pockets, with no particular destination in mind.  He'd cut class - again.  It was finals week, but Rick didn't care.  His dad had already told him he'd have to go to summer school, so why bother with this last week of school?  Not that Rick was concerned about summer school either.  He'd just cut those classes, too.

            The shops that lined the old street were barely hanging on, their customers lost to the new mall built several miles away.  None of the owners were going to lose out on a possible sale by turning in the shuffling teenager.  They merely kept a wary eye on him in case he had other things on his mind besides spending money.

            He'd wandered into a couple of places - the old comic book store, the dingy bakery with its display of donuts that had been stale for hours - but he wasn't really interested in buying anything.  When he passed by the pawn shop, however, he stopped and stared into the barred windows.  On one shelf Rick could see about a dozen knives and beyond that several hand guns.

            They piqued his interest for a time, but he soon dismissed the idea.  He doubted the man would ever sell a gun to somebody his age, and even if he did, that wasn't the way Rick wanted to do it.  He had to pay for what he did to Pete, but that wasn't the way.  He moved on, headed over to the park where he would hang out until it was time to go home.

            Once there, he found a table under the shade of a tree and plopped down.  He dug through his back pack and pulled out the candy bar he's stashed there.  He also found his algebra notebook.  Most of the paper in it was blank.  He hadn't felt much like taking notes.

            He took a big bite out of the Snickers and then had an idea.  He reached back into his pack and found a pen.  He stared at the blank paper a moment.  This was probably dumb, but he felt sort of connected to that fireman.  He didn't know why.  Maybe because he'd been with Pete when he'd died.

            Dear Fireman,

            That's a dumb way to start a letter, he thought, shaking his head.  But the nurse had never told him the guy's name.

I don't know why I'm writing to you again.  I don't mean to bother you.  I just wanted to say thanks again for helping Pete.  The nurse at Rampart told me you were a paramedic and that you help people when they're hurt or sick.  That sounds like a great job.  I wish I could have helped Pete.  But I didn't.  I killed him.  He was my best friend and I made him climb that bridge.  That's not a very good friend, is it?

I've been trying to figure out how I can make that up to Pete.  I know he's dead, but I can't help feeling like I should do something to make it even.  I'm working on that.  Maybe I'll write to you again and let you know when I come up with something.

            Thanks for listening,

            Rick

            He folded it over, feeling a bit better for having written it.  Now the question was how to get it where it was supposed to go.  Rick didn't want to go back to the hospital.  That nurse might wonder why he was sending more letters to a man he didn't know.  No, he would have to get it to the fire station.  He was pretty sure the guy's friends would take his mail to him.

            Another thought occurred to Rick.  How was going to address this?  He couldn't very well just write The Fireman on the Bridge.  He wracked his brain for a minute, then suddenly remembered all the newspaper articles he's seen about Pete's death.  He wondered if somewhere in one them, he might find mention of the injured fireman's name.

            He hopped on the bus and headed for the library.  It took him over an hour to comb through all the back issues of the paper.  He wondered if his Freshman English teacher could ever have imagined all those lessons on doing research for term papers would be put to this kind of use.  His efforts were at last rewarded when he found an entire article about the dangers of rescue work.  There he found the name he was looking for.  He pulled out his letter and crossed off Dear Fireman.  Above it, he wrote very neatly, Dear Mr. Gage.

            With a feeling of accomplishment, Rick set off to the nearest post office.  There he spent the last of his allowance on a pack of envelopes and some stamps.  He had to ask the clerk to help him find the address for station 51, but he finally was able to send his letter.

            As he walked out of the small building, he felt a lot better.

 * * *

            Roy walked into the day room and greeted Mike and Marco who were already sitting at the table sipping their first rounds of coffee for the day.  He poured himself a mug and joined them.  It was about ten minutes until roll call and both rigs were still out with C shift anyway.  It could be a while before they had to go out on a run.

            Chet came in tucking in his shirt, his badge in his hand.

            "Hey, guys, you'll never guess where I found it this time."  He noticed Roy and switched gears.  "How's Gage doing?"

            It was the same at the start of every shift.  Chet was always the first to inquire about Johnny.  Those two had the oddest relationship.  If Johnny were here, they'd be at each other all day long about something stupid, but whenever Johnny was hurt or sick, Chet was first in line to worry about him.  Well, second in line, he had to admit.  Worrying about Johnny had become a fine art for Roy.

            "Pretty much the same."  He addressed everyone, knowing the rest of the guys were just as interested.  "He seems kinda depressed," he continued as Chet sat down beside him.  "He's been having some pretty rough nights... bad dreams, ya know."

            "I've had some of those myself," Marco admitted with a shake of his head.  "Watchin' that kid fall..."  He left the rest unsaid.  All three of them had witnessed the boy's gruesome death and hadn't been able to do a thing but stand there while it happened.

            "Is there any way we can help?" Mike asked after a moment of awkward silence.

            "Yeah, Roy," Marco echoed.  "We want to do something."

            Roy shrugged helplessly.  "I dunno.  I'm still trying to think of something I can do.  We're kinda out of our depth here."

            Chet was finished fiddling with his badge.  He shook his curly head.  "Man, it's just so weird.  I mean, Gage without a voice.  It's just not natural.  Maybe if the Phantom visited him..."

            "Chet!"  Roy's voice was loud and firm.  "Don't even think about it."

            The stocky firefighter's face took on a hurt look.  "Hey, the Phantom would never hit Gage while he's down.  There's no fun for him in that.  I just meant maybe he needs some diversion... something to cheer him up."

            "Cheer who up?" Cap asked as he strolled in to join his men, his hands filled with the mail that had arrived the day before.  He was followed by Rod Hoskins, Roy's temporary partner.

            "Johnny," Roy answered bleakly.  "He's not making much progress."

            Cap turned a chair around and straddled it.  "What's his doctor say?" he inquired.

            It took all Roy's control to keep from rolling his eyes.  "Not much," he answered in a neutral voice, but couldn't help adding, "He doesn't offer a whole lot of information."

            "Would Johnny like some company?" Marco asked.  "We've held off... trying to give him some space, but maybe we could come over..."

            "Hey," Chet interrupted excitedly.  "You got it, buddy.  We could have a barbecue, you know, burgers, dogs, the whole thing.  Johnny loves that kinda stuff."

            "We'd take care of everything, Roy," Mike offered.  "You and Joanne wouldn't have to put it all together."

            "Whaddya think, Roy?" Cap asked.  "That sound like something he could handle?"

            "I don't know," Roy hedged.  He didn't think Johnny would be comfortable with a big shindig, but the guys were so eager to help, he didn't want to shoot them down.  "I guess it can't hurt to ask him."

            "Why don't you check with his doctor?" Hoskins put in.  He wasn't a real part of this shift, but he knew Gage and was interested in the whole situation.

            "Good idea," Cap agreed.  "How 'bout it, Roy?  Ask the doc if he thinks it would help.  Let us know if it's a go."

            Roy found himself nodding, even though the last thing he wanted to do was to seek out Dr. Wilts and try and have a conversation with him.

            "Great," Cap stated, as if it was all settled and done.  He slapped his hands on the table.  "Since that's all settled, maybe I can interest you gentlemen in going to work today.  There's still plenty to do until C shift gets back."

            As they got up to start the day, Cap handed Roy an envelope.

            "This came for Johnny yesterday," he said.

            "Is it from a chick?" Chet asked, butting into their conversation.

            Cap gave him a disgusted look.  "Now how would I know that, Kelly?"

            "C'mon, man, you smell it," the Irishman explained as if they were both dense.

            Roy took a tentative sniff and shook his head.  "Nope.  Just a plain ol' letter," he informed Chet, smiling at the disappointment on Kelly's face.

            As Chet walked away, muttering to himself about Gage needing to get back in circulation, Roy studied the writing on the front of the envelope.  It looked like the way Chris wrote sometimes, a cross between handwriting and printing.

            Wondering who it might be from, Roy stuck it in his locker.  He'd take it home at the end of their shift.

* * *

            Roy leaned up against the nurses' station and chewed on his lower lip, trying to decide what to do.  He'd just brought in a couple from an MVA with minor injuries.  Hoskins had called in to say he'd be delayed picking him up.  That meant Roy had some time to kill - a perfect opportunity to go upstairs and see if Dr. Wilts could talk to him.  Still Roy hesitated, reluctant to confront Johnny's doctor.

             "It must be something big."

            "Huh?"  Roy turned to see Dixie smiling at him.  "Oh, hi, Dix.  What was it you asked me?"

            "I just said you must have something really big on your mind.  You're miles away."

            Roy scratched his chin distractedly.  "Oh, not really.  I'm just being a chicken, is all."

            Dixie looked surprised at his comment.  "Chicken?  You, Roy?  You must be mistaken."

            Roy shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled ruefully.  "No, this time I'm guilty as charged.  I need to talk to the great Dr. Wilts and I just haven't gotten up the courage to do it."

            "I take it you don't like our newest member of the psychiatric department."

            Roy shook his head.  "Not much," he admitted.

            Dixie gave him a look he couldn't read.  "I don't think you're alone in that regard," she said quietly.

            "Really?"  Roy leaned forward.  "Who else has he managed to tick off?"

            Dixie held up her hands, and Roy knew she wouldn't drop any names.  Gossip was a pet peeve with Rampart's head ER nurse and she'd told him all she was going to.  Instead she inclined her head toward Brackett's office.

            "Kel's free right now, if you feel like talking anything over with him before you brave the lion's den."

            Roy glanced over to the closed door and stared at it thoughtfully.  Then he smiled.

            "Thanks, Dix, that's a good idea."  He paused and lifted an eyebrow.  "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be complaining to Kelly Brackett about somebody's bedside manner."

            Dixie's laughter followed him down the corridor.  He rapped lightly on Brackett's door, heard the muted "come in", and entered hesitantly.  The doctor was working on a pile of patient files.

            "Hey, Doc, ya got a minute?"

            "Sure, Roy, sit down."  He finished what he was writing and set it aside.  "What can I do for you?"

            Now that Roy was here, he wasn't sure how to proceed.  He knew that doctors usually stood up for each other, took each other's side.  But he also knew Brackett was fair and open when it came to that.  He'd been there many times, backing the paramedics against the opinions of his colleagues.  Roy fidgeted with the HT in his hand, then finally decided to just come out and say it.

            "It's Wilts, Doc.  I need to talk to him about Johnny, but... well, let's just say I don't think he's fond of paramedics meddling in a patient's treatment."

            Brackett scowled and Roy thought maybe he'd overstepped himself.  But he needn't have worried.

            "He won't talk to you about Johnny's case?" he asked.

            "Hardly," Roy snorted.  "Not to me, not to Joanne.  He actually told Jo she wouldn't understand the complexities of his treatment plan."

            "I see," Brackett replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

            Roy leaned forward.  "Doc, I'm worried about Johnny.  He seems to be getting worse instead of better.  If that's Wilts' plan, then it's certainly working."

            "You know this kind of therapy can take time," Brackett offered.  "Johnny's problem isn't going to go away overnight."

            "I know that," Roy agreed.  "I just wish the guy would clue us in as to what to expect.  Like right now... the guys want to have a party, you know, get Johnny more involved in life.  I don't know if that's a good idea, but how can I go ask Wilts' opinion?"

            Brackett was silent a moment, his pen tapping on his desk absently.  Finally, he picked up his phone.  Roy could hear the distant ringing on the other end until it was picked up.

            "Hello, Brad?  Kelly Brackett.  I was wondering if you could spare a few minutes for a conference.  No, on a current patient... John Gage.  Yes, that would be fine.  Thank you."

            He hung up the phone and gave Roy an encouraging smile.  "He's coming down.  Maybe we can get him to be a little more forthcoming."

            "That would be great, Doc, thanks."

            Roy sat back in the chair, his stomach doing flip flops.  This wasn't exactly how he'd wanted it.  He was sure when Wilts saw him here he would think he'd been whining to Brackett.  Which, was exactly what he'd done, but it hadn't seemed like whining a few moments before.  But he resolved to put on a brave face and ride it out.  If he got any information that would help Johnny, it would be worth the confrontation.

            A few minutes passed in silence, then Brackett cleared his throat.  Roy glanced up from the thumbnail he was picking at.

            "Let me talk to him, Roy," the doctor requested.  "I know you're upset, and I'm coming to realize that Dr. Wilts doesn't react well to hostility."

            That was the second oblique reference he'd gotten to Wilts irritating someone.  At least he and Joanne weren't the only ones.  Roy held up his hands in mock surrender.  "I'll be on my best behavior, Doc," he promised.  "Just so I get a chance to ask some questions."

            A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and Dr. Brad Wilts walked in.  Roy had to give him credit.  He barely blinked when he saw Brackett had company.  He sat down in the chair he was offered.

            "How can I help you, Dr. Brackett?" he inquired.  That he didn't include Roy in his greeting was not lost on the paramedic, but he held his tongue.  "You said something about discussing Mr. Gage's case?"

            Brackett nodded, his face expressionless.  "Roy here is a little concerned about Johnny's state of mind.  He says he's depressed... having trouble sleeping... loss of appetite.  I must say, it concerns me as well.  Johnny's a good friend."

            Wilts' eyes widened a bit at that statement.  It was obvious to Roy that the psychiatrist felt a doctor as highly respected as Kelly Brackett could do better than lowly paramedics for friends.  But he recovered quickly.

            "Well, of course, let's discuss it."  He turned to fix Roy with a scrutinizing stare.  "Depressed, you say?  Is that your medical opinion?"

            Roy heard Brackett clear his throat, obviously warning him to keep his head, but he managed to control himself.  He faced Wilts with a calm expression.

            "No, Doctor," he stated.  "That's my opinion as a friend.  I've known Johnny a long time... I work with him 24 hours at a time.  I know when he's depressed."

            "Hmmm," was Wilts' answer.  He sat there stroking his chin.  "We have been focusing on the accident.  He's liable to be a little melancholy about what happened."

            Brackett leaned back in his chair, his face thoughtful.  "That sounds reasonable," he observed.  "As long as he's working through it."  He paused, then went on a little more intently.  "And, as long as you're staying on top of it."

            Wilts sat up straighter.  Roy could tell by his manner he'd been offended by the implication, but wasn't going to react to it in front of Roy.  The smile on his face looked plastered on and Roy had to fight to hide a smile of his own.

            "Certainly.  That's the whole point of his treatment.  Eventually, he will come to terms with what happened.  When he does that, his voice should return."

            Roy decided he would never have a better opportunity to question this man, and he plunged ahead.  "Look, Doc..."  He relished the distaste on the man's face at the derivative of his proper title.  "My wife and I... we want to help... but we don't know how far to push him... when to step in and when to back off."  Roy wasn't one for making speeches, but when it was important he could pitch with the best of them.  "We need to know the best way to reinforce what you're doing in therapy."

            Wilts studied him for a moment, then spoke in an even tone.  "Did you have anything specific in mind?"

            Roy nodded.  "Actually yes.  Johnny's been keeping pretty much to himself.  The guys at work want to have a get together at my place... kind of push him into a social situation.  I'm not sure if that's such a good idea, with the way he's been..."

            "But that's a wonderful idea," the doctor beamed.  "And it's in the exact vein as his course of treatment.  He needs to make the effort to regain his normal life.  Nobody can do that for him.  As his friends, you can prod him in that direction.  I say, yes, go ahead with this party.  It will do him good.  Tell your co-workers not to avoid talking to him directly.  He needs to be reminded that life will go on without him, unless he makes the attempt to rejoin it."  Wilts had warmed to his subject and was talking enthusiastically.

            Roy wasn't sure he agreed with his assessment of what Johnny needed, but he supposed he should go along with it.  As much as he disliked the man, he was a noted psychiatrist, and he seemed to be very concerned about Johnny's recovery.  Maybe he was right.  Maybe he and Jo were treating Johnny with kid gloves.  In any case, he didn't suppose a barbecue with the guys could do much damage.

            "If that's all settled then, I need to be going," Wilts concluded.  He shook Brackett's hand and then actually shook Roy's as well.  "Feel free to call me with any questions," was his parting comment.

            Roy sat in silence for a long moment, pondering what he'd been told.  Brackett finally broke into his thoughts.

            "Did that help at all?" he asked.

            "Yeah... some... I guess.  He sounds pretty sure of what he's doing."

            "Hmmm...."  It was Brackett's turn to look thoughtful.  When he finally spoke, Roy could sense a certain reluctance in the older man's voice.  "Roy... psychiatry is not an exact science.  What works for some patients may not for others."

            Roy regarded Brackett curiously.  He'd learned to place a great deal of value on this man's opinion.  "So, what are you saying, Doc?  Is he wrong?"

            Brackett sighed and shook his head.  "I don't know, Roy.  I suppose what I'm trying to tell you is that sometimes it doesn't hurt to follow your instincts.  You know Johnny better than just about anybody else.  There may be some situations you know better how to handle than any doctor ever could."

            Roy ran a hand through his dark blond hair, then chuckled.  "Gee, Doc... now I'm back to where I started from."

            Brackett smiled.  "Sorry about that.  I didn't mean to make it any worse for you.  As for your get-together... Wilts says have it, so go ahead.  If you see Johnny's having a hard time, you can always ask the guys to go home."

            Roy brightened at that.  "I guess you're right.  They'd all understand."  Roy got to his feet.  "I'll let you get back to your work.  Hoskins is probably combing the halls looking for me anyway."  He moved to the door.  "Thanks a lot, Doc.  You were a big help."

            "Any time, Roy."

* * *

            The day had started out overcast, but, typical of the coastal "June Gloom" that started in May and could last until mid July, the sun broke out around noon.  By the time everyone arrived around 2 o'clock, it had turned into a beautiful, warm Southern California day.  School had ended last week, so the kids were wound up and ready for some fun.  Since A shift was scheduled to work on the 4^th this year, Chet had decided to dub this their Independence Day bash and do it up all red, white and blue.  He figured that way, Johnny wouldn't feel like the center of attention.  Roy had to admit it was a pretty good idea.

            Mike and Beth Stoker had three boys who were around the same age as Chris and Jenny and they all played well together, although Jennifer sometimes grew exasperated with all the "boy" games and would wander over to talk to the grownups.  Cap's teen-aged daughters had chosen to go to the beach with their friends rather than spend the day with "little kids," as they so bluntly put it.  He and his wife, Emily, were alone this time.

            Marco and Chet had both come stag.  Normally, they each would have brought a date to one of these gatherings, but Roy knew they'd figured it would be better for Johnny this time to only have to see people he already knew well.  Roy thought it was pretty damn considerate of two guys he would never have put on the top ten most sensitive guy list.  They'd scored points with Joanne as well, by showing up early and taking over all the cooking chores.

            The party was in full swing now and everyone seemed to be having a good time.  Everyone but the guest of honor.  Roy sighed and looked at the upstairs window.  He could see Johnny standing there, staring down at the gathering, but he'd yet to join them.  So far everyone but Chet had, at some point during the day, sought Roy out and inquired about their friend, wondering if this was too much.  Cap had even gone so far as to suggest they wrap it up and call it a day, but Roy could only tell them he hoped Johnny would come down eventually.  It made it difficult to let go and have fun, knowing Johnny was miserable upstairs.

            Roy sat down in a deck chair and took a long pull of his beer.  When he'd first told Johnny about the barbecue, he hadn't gotten much reaction out of his partner.  He'd merely shrugged his one good shoulder, leaving Roy to guess whether or not to go ahead with it.  He took another swallow of beer and decided he'd made the wrong choice.

            "Hey, Roy, Marco's got the burgers about ready."  Chet took the seat next to Roy and grabbed a Coke from the ice chest.  He took a long drink, then shifted to glance up at the window, and Roy instantly knew what he was going to say next.  "So... you think he'll come down?"

            Roy sighed and shook his head.  "I wish I knew, Chet.  The doc said we should push him, but what am I supposed to do... go up there and carry him down?"

            "It's an idea," Chet replied, then held out his hand to let Roy know he was joking.  "Hey, man, don't take it so personal.  At least he doesn't mind being around you.  The rest of us are starting to get a complex."

            "Chet, you know that's not the problem..."

            "I know, I know," Chet broke into Roy's intended defense of Johnny's behavior.  "Relax, Roy.  We understand Johnny's having a hard time."

            "I think he's embarrassed," Roy tried to explain.  "That doctor of his keeps telling him he could talk if he wanted to and I think he feels like he's letting everyone down somehow."

            "Geeze, shrinks," Chet groused as he swigged down the rest of his Coke.  "What does he know about Gage anyway?"

            Roy remained diplomatically silent.  The last thing he wanted to do was get Chet all riled up by telling him stories about Wilts.

            "Hey," Marco called out, waving a spatula.  "These burgers are ready, come and get 'em."

            The next few minutes was chaos as everyone set about digging into dinner.  Roy found himself running interference with the boys, keeping them out of the cupcakes Joanne had just brought out and for a while at least, he pushed his worry about Johnny to the back of his mind.

            It wasn't until he caught sight of Jenny struggling to open the screen while balancing an overloaded plate in one hand and a can of soda in the other that all the concern rushed forward again.  He knew exactly where his daughter was headed.  She had always been Johnny's shadow, and since he'd arrived this time, she hadn't been more than a few feet from his side.

            Roy watched her for a moment, waging a silent war between two voices in his head.  One told him to let her go, she wasn't hurting anything.  The other voice - Wilts' voice - was shouting at him that this would defeat the whole purpose of the party - that Johnny had to start making the effort.  Finally reaching a decision he walked over and placed a restraining hand on Jennifer's shoulder.

            She looked up at him, her blue eyes questioning.  "Whatsa matter, Daddy?"

            "Is that for Uncle Johnny?"

            "Yep," she nodded vigorously.  "He's prob'ly pretty hungry by now.  He didn't eat very much of his breakfast."

            Roy felt a sudden surge of emotion over his daughter's compassion for his partner.  Leave it to Jenny to notice that Johnny hadn't eaten.  Of course, Joanne probably noticed as well.  That was, after all, where Jenny had inherited it from.  He knew he'd probably have to keep an eye out for his wife sneaking food upstairs.

            "Jenny, honey, you know we talked about how Johnny's doctor wants him to try harder to be with other people."

            Jenny nodded dutifully and Roy smiled.  She obviously saw no problem in what she was doing.  Roy felt like a heel when he carefully took the plate from her hand.

            "Daddy," Jenny protested indignantly.

            "Jennifer," Roy answered firmly.  "No food upstairs, you understand?  Johnny knows where dinner is.  He can come down here and eat with us if he's hungry."

            Jenny's face went from disbelief to outrage in a matter of moments.  She planted both hands on her hips and scowled.  "Daddy, that's sooo mean!" she declared before she whirled and marched across the yard to plop down on the swing.  Roy watched her, dismally aware he probably wouldn't be spoken to for the rest of the day.

* * *

            Johnny turned away from the window, disgusted with his own cowardice.  He knew Roy especially would be disappointed in him, but there was no way he could make his partner understand his reasons for staying away from the party.  Hell, it wasn't like he could explain them to anybody.

            He knew the guys were only trying to help him, but it was just so damn awkward.  They would try and talk to him, eventually run out of things to say and the conversation would gradually end up passing over him.  It would be easier for them to ignore him than to constantly try and include him and just imagining that happening hurt badly.  It was why he had avoided any impromptu visits they'd made over the last week or so.  He didn't think he could handle it, and he didn't want anyone to feel bad because of him.

            Johnny figured Wilts would be mad at him too.  The doctor had pounced on this party idea with so much enthusiasm that Johnny had thought he might actually put in an appearance.  He hadn't, of course.  The thought of his lint-free, well-dressed shrink rubbing elbows with a bunch of fireman caused a slight smile to momentarily lift one corner of Johnny's mouth.  Then it was gone and he sighed heavily, leaning his head against the wall.

            Johnny moved over and sat down on his bed.  He caught sight of the paper on his desk and reached for it.  Roy had brought it home from the station.  Reading it over again, Johnny sighed.

            This poor kid's as screwed up as you are, Gage.  Why doesn't somebody try and help him?

            Johnny couldn't believe this boy was writing to him.  He had some mistaken idea that Johnny had done something heroic, when nothing could be farther from the truth.  Johnny knew he was no hero.  A hero would have been able to hang onto Peter.  He tossed the paper back on the desk.

            The afternoon breeze wafted in, lifting the curtains and bringing with it the tantalizing aroma of grilling hamburgers.  Johnny's stomach grumbled it protest, taking his mind off the letter.  Maybe he could just go down and get a burger and then come back up.  Maybe he could do that.

            He walked over to the door and out into the hall.  He'd come this far several times, only to turn back.  Now he stood once more at the top of the stairs - wavering - struggling to take that first step.

            C'mon, man, what could it hurt to go down there and at least eat?  Nobody would expect you to talk while you were eating.

            And then he stopped short.  How many times had they all complained about that very thing?  The short, choppy laugh that tried to escape his throat came out closer to a sob, and he sank down on the stair, his head drooped dejectedly onto his one good arm.

            "Hey, John?"

            He slowly raised his head to see Chet standing at the bottom of the stairs, his hands full with food and drink.  Whatever hesitation Johnny thought he saw vanished so quickly, he wasn't even sure it had been there.  Chet just climbed up and settled down a couple of steps below Johnny.  He handed him a paper plate filled to overflowing and a tall glass of milk.  Johnny took them gratefully.

            "Ya know, if ya wait around for one of those bozos to tell ya dinner's ready, you're gonna miss out," he stated, shaking his curly head in apparent disgust of their friends.  "Way I see it, Gage, a guy's gotta eat... upstairs, downstairs... who the hell cares anyway."

            Johnny dug into his dinner, listening to Chet rattle on about things that didn't really matter.  He stopped only once, when he chomped down on a particularly crunchy bit of burger.  Not giving a fig for manners at the moment, he dug it out of his mouth and wiped it on his plate.  He glanced up and saw Chet was grimacing.

            "Somebody's really gotta teach Marco how to barbecue," he announced.  "I don't think the word medium translates into Spanish very well.  Somehow it always comes out crispy critter."

            It was such a familiar harangue - that Johnny actually laughed.  It was a long standing argument between Kelly and Lopez - who was the better cook.  For the first time in a long time he felt like he was doing something normal.  He sank his teeth back into the burger, not caring who cooked it.

* * *

            The decibel level had lowered dramatically in the back yard as everyone ate their fill.  The kids were sitting out on the lawn stuffing themselves and deciding how many cupcakes they were going to have room for.  The adults had opted for the shade of the deck and were sitting around talking and laughing about work and kids and a million other things.

            Roy sat next to Joanne, listening to Beth Stoker regale them with the latest exploits of the nosy old woman who'd just moved next door a few months ago.  Because of their work schedules, she'd seen Mike coming and going and decided Beth and he were clandestine lovers meeting while her husband was on a road trip.  Roy smiled at the thought of quiet, close-mouthed Stoker being a sly Casanova.

            Joanne chose that moment to ask him to bring out more chips.  Roy got up and went into the house, thinking he might go up and check on Johnny, but not sure if maybe he should leave it alone for now.  He found two more bags of chips on the counter and grabbed them up, when he stopped.  He could hear voices in the direction of the living room.

            He moved to the doorway so he could hear better.  There was definitely one voice – Chet's, and Roy suddenly recalled he hadn't seen Kelly in a while.  The Irishman was holding such an animated conversation that Roy's first thought was he was on the phone.  But as he listened, he realized that wasn't it at all.

             "I swear, Gage, you wouldn't have believed this chick.  She was like, blonde... totally hot, legs all the way up to her... well, you get the picture.  And she's looking at me, and I can tell she wants me... she wants me bad...  Hey, don't give me that look.  Tall chicks dig short men.  How many times do I have to tell you?  Just ask Marco...  no, wait... don't ask Marco..."

            Roy felt an absurd urge to giggle, but he held it back.  He poked his head around the corner and let his gaze follow the sound of Chet's voice.  He saw Kelly sitting on the stairs.  Johnny was slightly above him, shoving food into him mouth and grinning at whatever lie Chet was trying to get him to swallow along with his hamburger.

            Roy pulled back, not wanting them to see him.  He leaned his head against the wall for a moment, wanting to laugh out loud, but not wanting to ruin what was happening on his stairway.  He decided to just go back outside and let them be, but he figured  if he had anything to say about it, Chet Kelly had just earned his way into Heaven.

* * *

            Johnny slowly trudged down the hallway to Wilts' office.  He dreaded coming here.  He supposed he had from the beginning, but it seemed like his feet grew heavier with each trek down this hall.  At least he usually had Joanne for company to keep him going, but today, with the kids out of school, she'd dropped him off in the parking lot.  She had some errands to run and would be back to pick him up in an hour or so.  If he got done early, he was supposed to wait for her in the cafeteria.  He could tell she felt bad about not going with him, but there hadn't been any other way to get everything done today, and he felt bad enough already that he was such a burden on the DeSotos.

            Not that they had ever done anything to make him think that.  Just the opposite.  Both Roy and Joanne went out of their way to be sure he knew staying with them and helping him out wasn't a problem.  But he knew.  They had such busy lives, between work, the kids, baseball, Scouts, ballet lessons - and adding all Johnny's doctor and physical therapy visits into the mix only made their lives that much more hectic.  Plus, he felt bad that those rare times when Roy was home and the kids happened to be gone, there was good ol' Johnny hanging around to spoil any alone time the couple had.

            He swung his left arm around, testing his shoulder.  No twinges at all.  Hal had been very happy with his progress.  Of course, he'd been quick to point out that he wouldn't be 100% for a few more weeks at least.  And then there was his other arm.

            The big, bulky cast that had pinned his arm to his side was gone now, but he still had a soft cast on his upper arm and sported a sling.  He wouldn't be able to even start rehab on this one for another week.  Even so, he was much better off than he had been.  One arm worked completely, and he had at least limited use of his right hand.  He could take care of himself.  He thought perhaps he should move back to his own place.

            He knew he would get an argument, and not just from Roy and Joanne.  Brackett, Early, even Dixie would argue for him to stay at the DeSoto's.  Though none of them had come out and said it, he knew their concern was for his state of mind, not his physical limitations.  Hell, the only person liable to agree with him was Wilts.  He was the one pushing for Johnny to take responsibility for his actions.  If Johnny moved out, his shrink would laud it as a huge step in the right direction.

            There was only one problem.  How was he going to tell Roy he wanted to go home?  No matter how hard he'd tried, he still wasn't able to talk.  Wilts had told him over and over again that it was his own fault he wasn't speaking.

            He's probably right.  I'm screwed up and it's my own fault.  I drop a kid and he dies... now I can't even make myself talk.  Wilts says I could if I wanted to... maybe I just don't want to.  Maybe if I did I'd have to tell people I killed Peter... I killed Peter.  Damn, damn, damn... I killed Peter and I can't tell anybody...

            He suddenly realized he was standing in front of Wilts' door.  Bracing himself, he blew out his breath and walked in.

* * *

            Joanne pointed Chris in the direction of the books on tornadoes he needed for his weather merit badge and settled Jenny down in the mystery section, then glanced at her watch.  She and the kids had been to the cleaners and the sporting goods store to get Chris a new glove.  They still had thirty minutes before they needed to meet Johnny at Rampart.

            She'd hated leaving him alone, but there wasn't any way around it today.  Still, she felt bad.  She knew how much he hated these sessions with Wilts.  If it had been left up to her, she wouldn't make him go.  She had yet to see any evidence that the man was helping Johnny.  Just the opposite seemed to be true.  In fact, Johnny had seemed happier after spending those few minutes with Chet at the barbecue than after any amount of time with Wilts.

            Checking to be sure the kids were fine, she wandered down the nearest aisle.  She was in the children's section of the library, so there weren't a lot of titles that caught her attention.  She gazed at the books absently until she realized she'd ended up in the biographies.  She ran her finger down the row, absently noting the names - John Adams, Daniel Boone, Kit Carson - they ran alphabetically - Benjamin Franklin, Helen Keller, John Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr...

            Joanne paused - the beginning of an idea forming in her head.  With one more quick check on Chris and Jenny, she moved to the main card catalog to do a quick search for the subject she was interested in.

* * *

            "I don't think you're really trying, Mr. Gage.  Truthfully, I was hoping for more progress than you've made.  You're not taking the medication I prescribed, are you?"

            Johnny sat staring at his lap, silence his answer.  He couldn't meet Dr. Wilt's eyes.  He knew the doctor was right.  He hadn't gotten any better and it was all his own fault.

            "Since you refuse to take the steps I suggested, I can only assume that you haven't taken full responsibility yet for Peter Baker's death."

            Sure I have, Doc.  I know it was my fault.  You've told me that over and over and over.  I don't' need to take a pill to figure that out.

            Wilts sighed, his pencil tapping on his desk, the only sound for some time.  Finally he spoke again, this time in such a determined tone that Johnny glanced up.

            "You have to make a choice here, Mr. Gage.  You have to decide you want to get better.  I think the only way to do that is to relive the rescue.  I know you remember it... but do you really?  Do you see it in your mind the way it was?"

            Johnny shrugged, not certain what he was getting at.

            "All right, let's go over it from the start.  You get to the bridge and the boy is up there, by himself, but perfectly fine for the moment.  Am I right?"

            Johnny nodded.

            "Then you find out he's epileptic, your captain sends you up to get him.  You try to grab him and you both fall.  Then you drop him, and he dies."

            Johnny scowled and pointed to his arm.

            "Of course you hurt your arm.  But still, you dropped the boy and he died.  He was fine left alone, but when you interfered he fell.  I want you to accept what happened because of what you did."

            He pulled out a set of photos from the file.  Johnny recalled he'd had these before, but had never done anything with them.  Now he stood and walked over to Johnny's side of the desk.  He stuck the first black and white 8x10's into Johnny's line of sight.

            They looked like scene photos, something from the coroner's office.  The first one was of a body covered by a blanket.  From the surrounding area, Johnny knew immediately who was under there and where these pictures were from.  He didn't want to see them.

            He turned away from the shot, but Dr. Wilts was persistent.  He moved to the other side and shoved another photo where Johnny could see it.  This one was a long shot that included the bridge.  The body lay at the bottom, very small in perspective.

            Another picture - the body, no blanket.  In one brief glimpse, Johnny could see Peter's broken body, lying in a pool of blood and other things he didn't want to identify.  His stomach lurched queasily, and he turned his head, shoving the picture away.

            I'm sorry, Pete, I'm so sorry.  I told ya I'd get ya down and I lied... I lied to ya...

            "You have to see it," Wilts insisted, trying to follow Johnny's eyes with the photo.  "You have to see what you did to this child.  You have to see the blood, the poor broken body."

            No, I can't see that!  I know what I did, but I can't see that.  Don't make me look at that!

            With a small, animal sound, Johnny jumped up out of his chair and pushed past the startled doctor.  He practically ran out the door and down the hall, not slowing until he reached the elevators.  He heard Wilts call after him once, but the doors closed, cutting off anything else and taking him away.

            He leaned against the wall of the car, trying to control the harsh sobs that tore out of his chest.

            God, what did I do?  Pete, I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you... I didn't mean it...

            He heard the elevator ding and knew it was stopping.  He drew in a ragged breath, ran his free arm across his nose and tried not to look at the person who joined him in the car.  After an eternity, they stopped at the 1^st floor and Johnny rushed out, ignoring the curious looks he got from the people waiting to get in.  He only hoped there wasn't anyone he knew in the group.

* * *

            Joanne pulled the station wagon into the parking lot at Rampart, checking her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.  She was late - traffic and road construction had conspired against her - and she hoped Johnny hadn't been too bored in the cafeteria waiting for her.

            She and the kids trooped inside.  Ordinarily they would have gone through Emergency, just to say hi to Dixie or the doctors, but she wanted to find Johnny as soon as she could.  If he felt like it, they could stop by the ER on their way out.

            It didn't take long to locate him.  It was past lunch, but too early for dinner and only a few stragglers sat in the hall.  Johnny was by himself, sitting at a corner table, a cup of coffee in front of him.  As they approached, Joanne could see he didn't look very happy.  She suddenly wished the kids weren't with her.

            "Uncle Johnny," Jenny called and rushed to his side.  She threw her arms around him, an embrace he returned with his good left arm.  If he held her a little longer than normal, only Joanne noticed.  Jenny finally pulled away and scooted up a chair next to him.  "Did the doctor make you talk yet?" she asked hopefully.

            "Jen, you dummy?" Chris hissed.  Both kids had been warned not to ask that very question.

            "Chris," Joanne scolded quietly.  "No name calling," she reminded him, then shot a frown at her daughter.

            Jennifer's face fell in contrition.  "I'm sorry.  I forgot."  She turned to the man next to her.  "I'm sorry, Uncle Johnny.  I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

            "Johnny, I..."

            Johnny interrupted her by holding up his hand and shaking his head.  Joanne knew the last thing he would want would be for his Jenny Bean to get in trouble.  She caught a glimpse of his eyes and could see they were red.

            My God, he's been crying.  What did that idiot do to him now?

            She decided this wasn't the right time to bring up her new idea.  She would wait for a day or two - play it by ear.

            "C'mon kids.  I'm sure Uncle Johnny is more than ready to go home."

            The look he gave her told her she didn't know the half of what she'd just said.

* * *

            The blanket covering the body glowed bright yellow against a drab, gray landscape.  The only other color was the spreading red stain up near the head.  He knew who was under the blanket... he knew, but someone was pushing his hand toward it.  He didn't want to go any nearer, but some unseen force had control of him and kept pushing him closer and closer... His hand was near the corner now... ready to grab the blanket and pull it back, revealing its grisly secret.

            Please don't make me... Please don't make me...

            Johnny bolted up in bed, scooting himself back into the corner as far as he could get.  He wasn't completely sure if he was awake or not.  All he wanted was to get as far away from the yellow blanket as he could.  His pressed himself against the wall, panting heavily, his stomach churning.

            "Johnny?"

            It was Roy.  Johnny recognized the voice and realized he was awake.  He squinted at the doorway.  There were no lights, but Roy seemed to be alone.  He let out a shaky breath, thankful  he hadn't disturbed Joanne or the kids.  The next moment his stomach heaved, and Johnny bolted off the bed and into the hall.  He barely made it to the bathroom.

            He'd eaten little dinner that night, so there wasn't much that came up.  When he was spent, Johnny sat on the floor trembling, his head supported in his good hand.

            "Here, Junior."  Roy handed him a wet wash rag.

            Johnny took it gratefully, wiping his face and the back of his neck.

            "You gonna be okay?"

            Johnny nodded once.

            "You feel like going back to bed?"  Roy held out his hand and Johnny took it gratefully.

            Roy followed him back to the guest room and sat down on the edge of the bed after Johnny had climbed in.  He didn't say anything, but just having him there was calming.  Johnny's breathing soon slowed down, and he felt a lot better.  After a time, Roy finally spoke, his voice soothing.

            "I can stay here with you until you fall asleep again," he offered.

            A few weeks ago, Johnny would have laughed at the thought of Roy sitting by his bed, keeping the bogeyman away, but at this moment it was the most wonderful idea he could imagine.  He lay down, not even minding that Roy was the one who straightened out his sheet and blanket and arranged them over him.  He had a stray thought about how much mileage Chet would get out of Roy tucking him into bed, but he didn't care.  He closed his eyes, his hand reaching out until it made contact.  He felt Roy's hand close over his, and at last he felt he could let himself try and sleep.

* * *

            Roy sat by Johnny's side for quite some time, even after he could hear his partner's even breathing and knew he'd gone back to sleep.  He watched him for a moment, hoping this time sleep would be a comfort and not a torment.

            The moon had risen higher, casting a faint blue light into the room and across Johnny's face.  In the weeks since the incident on the bridge, with all of their running around, no one had thought to take Johnny to get a hair cut.  His normally untamed black hair was even longer than the usual push-the-regulations-to-the-limit length, and it made him appear younger than he was - vulnerable somehow - like a lost child who needed help to find his way home.

            Roy heaved a discouraged sigh.

            How can I help you, Junior?  How can any of us help you?

* * *

            Joanne finished putting away the lunch dishes and wiped her hands on the dishtowel.  She glanced at the clock.  Nearly 1:00.  They would have to leave in a few minutes to get Johnny to his appointment on time.

            She was determined to be there for him this time.  She'd arranged for the kids to each play at a friend's house this afternoon, so there would be no awkward questions.  This was hard enough for Johnny, she didn't want to make it any worse.

            She'd heard him the other night, but had let Roy go to him.  She'd realized after that first nightmare that it embarrassed him to have the whole family gawking.  Knowing Johnny as she did, she also knew he probably already felt like a burden on them.  It was better to let him think he hadn't awakened anyone else.

            She'd dropped off, but stirred again when Roy had finally come back to bed.  A glance at the clock had told her he'd been in with Johnny for over an hour.  She knew at once how upset he was. He sat on the edge of the bed, without laying down, and when she came up behind him, laying her hands on his arms, she could feel him trembling.

            He hadn't said a word, but had turned and taken her into his arms.  They lay together for quite some time before she felt his body quiet and knew he'd fallen asleep.  She studied his face in the dim light - this man she'd loved for most of her life.  He cared so deeply, and she knew that as long as Johnny was hurting, her Roy would feel that pain with him.

            There had been a time, years ago, when she might have been jealous of that bond between them, but no longer.  She had learned quickly that their friendship was not only good for Roy, but for her as well.  She worried less about the dangers of the job, knowing Johnny was there to watch out for her husband and make sure he came home to her at the end of each shift.  She only hoped that Johnny would be able to fight his way back, to regain his place at Roy's side.

            She headed upstairs and stopped when she reached the guest room door.  It was closed, but that had become the norm lately.  Johnny was closing himself off more and more.  She'd mentioned her concern to Roy this morning, but he grew agitated about it so she backed off.  She knew her husband felt as helpless as she did.  She had no intention of sending him to work more distracted than he already was.

            She knocked on the door lightly, then called.

            "Johnny?"  She waited a bit, feeling foolish because she always expected an answer.  She knocked again and called a little louder to announce herself.  "Johnny?  I'm coming in, if that's okay."

            She opened the door slowly.  She wanted to respect his privacy, but unless he came to the door, she had no way of knowing if he wanted her to come in or stay out.

            He was sitting on the bed cross-legged, his chin propped in his left hand, staring down at a book that sat opened in his lap.  She walked over to sit beside him and glanced at the book.  It was one of Roy's training manuals and Joanne realized with a start that this was the first time she'd even thought about Johnny missing being a paramedic.

            "You don't really think they'll make you take a test, do you?" she asked with a laugh, to lighten the mood.  "You've been out longer than this before."

            Johnny looked up at her, obviously trying to figure out how to make her understand.  He finally pointed to his arm and shook his head.  Then he pointed to his head and shrugged.

            Joanne got it in an instant.  He wasn't worried about his physical problems.  He was concerned they would think he was crazy, or worse, that he would never get completely well.

            "Oh, Johnny," she murmured, and reached out to touch his hand.  "It'll all work out, you'll see."

            He leaned his head against the wall and sighed.  She smiled and patted the back of his hand.

            "C'mon, now.  You need to get your shoes on.  It's time to go."

            Johnny didn't make any move.  He merely shut his eyes and shook his head.

            Joanne was silent for a moment, wondering if he really meant what she thought he did.

            "You don't want to go see Wilts today?" She asked quietly.

            Johnny gave his head one more negative shake.  She stood up and walked to the door.  Johnny opened his eyes and regarded her cautiously.  She knew he was wondering if she would try and make him go, but she had no intention of doing that.  He was a grown man and could make his own decisions.  Besides, she didn't blame him one bit for not wanting to continue seeing that quack.

            "All right, Johnny, it's your choice," she told him.  "But if I go along with you on this, you have to promise me you'll try something else."

            He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, then gave a slow, tentative nod.

            "I'll be right back," Joanne smiled.

            She hurried to her room and found the book she'd gotten from the library the other day.  When she came back, she held it close, so he couldn't see the title until she showed it to him.  She turned the small desk chair to face him, and sat down.

            "I had an idea, and I want you to keep an open mind, okay?"

            He leaned forward, trying to see what she was hiding, and she knew she had his interest.

            "I know Wilts told you not to use other forms of communication, but I think he's wrong, Johnny.  I think if you were able to express yourself you might not feel so much stress about not talking."

            Johnny was listening to her intently, so she took a deep breath and went on.

            "I know he told you not to write..."  She paused when Johnny began shaking his head and she silently cursed Wilts for harping on that subject so much.  "It's okay, Johnny, I'm not saying to try writing.  That's way too slow a process anyway."

            He calmed down so she continued.  "I had something else in mind... something faster, more convenient... more like regular conversation."

            She handed him the book and watched as he read the title, American Sign Language.  His eyes moved over the words several times and then he traced them with his fingers.  When he didn't look up at her, she feared she'd made a mistake.

            "Johnny?  If you don't want to try, I understand.  I know Dr. Wilts..."

            He looked up at once, stopping her in mid-sentence.  He appeared angry, but she didn't think it was at her.  After a time, his gaze fell back to the book, and he opened it slowly.  She took hope in that.

            "Of course, Roy and I would have to learn it too... so you have somebody to talk to.  And we may not become experts at it, but... you know... at least we could all talk to each other."

            A smile crept onto his features, timid at first, then growing bigger as he turned more and more pages.  Joanne's heart soared at his reaction, hoping against hope that she had done the right thing in offering this to him.

            He suddenly flipped to the back of the book, gazed at the page he'd turned to for a moment, then looked up at Joanne.  He glanced at the book one more time to be sure of himself, then he brought his fingertips to his mouth, moving them out in her direction.  She didn't need to look at the book to know he was saying "thank you."

            "You're welcome," she replied around a lump in her throat.  "Now I just have to tell Roy about this," she said with a nervous laugh.  Roy was very by-the-book and, most of the time, she loved him for it, but she wasn't completely sure he would condone going against a doctor's advice.

            Johnny's smile shifted into a wry half-grin, and she knew he understood exactly what she was talking about.

* * *

            "How could you do that, Joanne?  You know what Dr. Wilts says about making him use his voice."  Roy paced in front of the kitchen table where his wife sat watching him with a defiant glint in her eye.

            "I don't care what that man says," Joanne stated emphatically.  "And I told you, Johnny's not going back to see him anymore."

            "But, Jo..."  Roy struggled to find the words to convince her.  "He still needs help."

            "Not that kind of help!" Joanne shot back.  "All Wilts did was make him miserable."

            Roy sighed heavily and sat back down across from the woman he loved.  He reached out and took her hand.

            "I don't like the guy either, honey," he countered, trying to sound reasonable.  "But he's the psychiatrist... not us.  And Brackett recommended him."

            "I know what Brackett said," Joanne conceded, "And maybe he is a good doctor... for some people.  But not for Johnny."

            "Jo..."

            "Roy, it's not our decision," she stated evenly.  "Johnny made this choice.  I just happened to agree with him."  She smiled, trying to get him to see her point.

            He stared into her bright blue eyes.  She wasn't going to give an inch, he could tell.  He blew out a long breath and scrubbed a hand across his face.

            "I guess you're right," he finally gave in.  "It's Johnny's decision.  I just hope we're doing the right thing here."

            "Roy, if you'd only seen the look on his face."  Joanne got up from the table and took him by the hand, pulling him to his feet.  "Come here.  I want to show you something."

            She led him into the living room, stopping at the sliding glass door that led to the deck.  Beyond that, sitting on the grass, shaded by the large lemon tree, he saw Johnny sitting with Chris and Jenny on either side of him.  They had a book open in front of them, and all three were trying to practice the signs they were looking at.  That they were having a good time was apparent from the loud laughter that would periodically erupt when somebody did it wrong.  What was amazing to Roy was that Johnny was laughing along with them, his face happier than Roy could remember seeing it since the accident.

            He felt Joanne's arm slip around his waist.  "Look at him, Roy, and tell me that's not a good thing."

            Roy felt a smile play at his lips.  "You think he's gonna pick that up enough to use it?"

            "He's doing pretty good so far.  Jenny's the best though.  She's soaking it up like a sponge."  She gave a little laugh.  "I don't hold out much hope for Chris."

            Roy chuckled.  "Probably takes after the old man.  I don't think I'd be able to ever do that."

            "Oh, yes you will."  Joanne prodded him back to the kitchen, where she showed him a second copy of the book.  "You and I have our homework, too."

            "Jo... I don't think..."

            "Don't give me any guff, Roy DeSoto.  The whole point of this is so Johnny can communicate.  He's going to need someone to communicate with."

            She pushed on his shoulder until he sat back down at the table.  Scooting her chair next to him, she opened up the oversized book.

            "Okay, school's in session.  I guess we start at the beginning... with ABC."

* * *

            Roy walked out of treatment two, confident the nine year old girl who'd tangled with the neighbor's dog was in capable hands.  He spied Dwyer talking to Dixie and headed in that direction.  A cup of coffee would go down well right about now.

            "Hey, Dix," he greeted as he helped himself from the pot on the hot plate behind the nurses' station.

            "Roy," Dixie returned.  "Charlie here was telling me about the dog you two had to subdue.  Sounds kind of scary."

            "There was nothing 'kind of' about it," Roy corrected.  "I've never seen such a vicious looking dog.  What did the guy from animal control say it was?"

            "A pit bull," Dwyer supplied with an exaggerated shudder.  "A hundred pounds of teeth.  Good thing animal control got there when they did.  Our fire extinguisher was running out of juice."

            Dixie shook her head.  "It should be illegal to have such a dangerous animal for a pet."

            "Hey, you don't have to convince us," Dwyer laughed.

            Roy sipped his coffee and listened as Charlie continued to fill Dixie in on the more hair raising aspects of the run.  Charlie had pulled a double, filling in for Hoskins this shift - in effect a temporary, temporary partner.  Roy didn't mind.  He liked the garrulous paramedic.  He reminded him quite a bit of Johnny.  One of the things Dryer had in common with Johnny was his gift of gab.

            Brackett walked up to pull a chart, interrupting the saga of the dog.

            "Roy, Charlie, nice work with that little girl."

            "Thanks, Doc," Dryer replied.  "I was just telling Dix about it."

            "Yes," Dixie agreed, with a wink for Roy.  "All about it."

            Roy chuckled, but Brackett didn't react.  Instead, he lay a hand on Roy's shoulder and pulled him away to a discreet distance.

            "What's up?" Roy asked.

            "I was just curious if any reporters had been after you... at your house or on the phone."

            Roy shook his head.  "Reporters?  Why?"

            Brackett's mouth tightened.  "This one guy is determined to do a follow up with Johnny on the Baker boy's death.  You know... how he's dealing with it and all.  I've stalled him here, but I was afraid he might have found him at your place."

            Roy frowned.  "No.  I hope he never does."

            "Well, I'll do my best at this end," he promised.  "How's he doing anyway?  I haven't seen him around for a while.  He and Joanne usually stop by on their way to his appointments."

            Roy suddenly found the floor very interesting.  "Well, Doc..."  He shoved his hands into his pockets.  "To be honest... he's not seeing Wilts anymore."

            If Brackett was surprised, he did a good job of not showing it.  "I suppose that's his right.  Maybe he can find someone else who he'll mesh with better."

            "Yeah, maybe," Roy hedged, not at all sure he could convince either Johnny or Joanne of the need to start seeing another psychiatrist any time soon.

            Brackett seemed to understand.  He patted Roy's shoulder lightly.  "Johnny can't let this bad experience keep him from getting the real help he needs."  He paused when he heard his name on the P.A.  "They're playing my song.  Don't worry, Roy.  We'll get it figured out."  He disappeared into treatment room four.

            Roy stood there for a moment, then turned, meaning to get Dwyer and head for the squad, but the sound of his name halted him.

            "Mr. DeSoto?"

            Roy rolled his eyes. Damn it... That's all I need right now.  He slowly turned around and saw Dr. Brad Wilts approaching.  The psychiatrist held a piece of pink phone message paper in his hand and the scowl on his face told Roy he was not happy.

            "Mr. DeSoto, I'd like to know the meaning of this."  He held up the paper.

            Roy decided there would be no point in pretending he didn't know what Wilts was talking about.  He knew exactly what was bothering the man.  He put on a fake smile and tried to act professional.

            "I see you got our message," he observed.

            "What right do you have to pull Mr. Gage from my treatment program?" the doctor demanded in a barely controlled voice.

            "I don't have any right to do that," Roy answered calmly.  "Johnny made that decision.  I'm respecting his wishes."

            "You expect me to believe that Mr. Gage actually told you he wanted to quit his therapy sessions?"

            Roy's mouth tightened.  "He made his wishes known, yes."

            "And you just went along with that?"

            "Look, Doctor... I'm Johnny's friend, not his guardian.  He's still perfectly able to make his own choices in life."

            "But don't you realize you've put his full recovery in serious jeopardy?"  Wilts face was red with indignation.

            "You're entitled to your opinion," Roy replied evenly.  He found the more out of control Wilts got, the calmer he was able to stay.  "I'm not sure I agree with you and I know Johnny doesn't."

            "You know?  You know?" the psychiatrist sputtered indignantly.  "What do you know?  You're a paramedic... a... a..."

            "I'm not even going to go into that with you," Roy broke in.  "It doesn't really matter what you think of paramedics... or fireman.  You asked me what I know... well, I'll tell you one thing I know... I know John Gage.  I've known him for five years.  You've known him for five weeks... five weeks.  And all you've managed to do in that time is make him depressed and miserable.  He's been happier this past week or so without a visit to your office than he's been in a long time and that goes much farther in my book than all your credentials and treatment programs."

            Wilts stood there staring at him wordlessly.  When he did speak again, it was in a low, fervent tone.  "You're wrong.  You're all coddling him... trying to make him feel good.  I know it sounds harsh, but Mr. Gage needs to face up to what he did or he will never regain his voice."

            Roy took a deep breath and somehow managed to keep his voice even.  "See, here's where we differ, Doc.  Johnny needs to face up to what happened... not to anything he did.  He didn't do anything other than try and help a frightened kid.  You want him to think he made some horrible mistake that cost a boy's life.  Well, you're wrong... you are so wrong.  You weren't there, and you don't know a damn thing about what happened."

            "But you were there," Wilts pointed out coolly.  "You were on the other end of the rope, were you not?"

            Roy's eyes narrowed angrily.  "Yeah, I was.  You making a point?"

            Wilts now had a smug smile on his face.  "Just observing that maybe you have your own reasons for not probing too deeply into the accident."

            Roy lost the thin shred of control he'd been holding onto.  Just as he moved toward the psychiatrist, he felt himself grabbed from behind.  Not knowing who had a hold of him, he struggled to be let go.

            "Roy!  Roy, knock it off!"

            It was Brackett, his voice hissing in Roy's ear, bringing sanity back.  Roy quit fighting and, after a few moments, Brackett released him, positioning himself between his paramedic and the other doctor.

            "I don't have to remind you gentlemen that this is certainly not the place for this kind of behavior."

            Roy was breathing heavily and he knew his face must be beet red.  He pushed his hair off his forehead.

            "Sorry 'bout that, Doc," he murmured to Brackett.

            Wilts didn't say a word.  He merely stood there in silence for several moments, then turned on his heel and stalked off toward the bank of elevators.  Brackett turned to Roy for an explanation.

            "Do I even want to know what that was all about?" he asked.

            Roy shook his head.  He suddenly realized they weren't alone.  Dixie and Dwyer were standing a few feet behind them and a crowd of nurses, orderlies and patients were hovering a little further away.  Brackett followed his gaze and barked an order for everyone to get back to work.  In short order, the crowd had dispersed.  The show was over anyway.

            "I'm sorry, Doc," Roy repeated dejectedly.  It certainly wasn't in his nature to be the center of a scene like this.  He figured he was in for a reprimand at the very least.

            "I take it he didn't take kindly to losing Johnny as a patient?" was all Brackett said.

            Roy glanced up, taken slightly off guard by the doctor's lack of anger.

            "Uh... I guess that's an understatement," Roy managed to get out.

            Brackett remained thoughtfully silent for a long moment.  Roy wasn't sure if they were done or not, but then the doctor finally spoke.

            "I think you did the right thing, discontinuing Johnny's treatment.  I'm sorry I ever recommended him."

            "But I thought he was so highly regarded," Roy commented.

            Brackett's mouth tightened.  "On the surface, yes.  But after what you told me about Johnny and his being less than forthcoming with you and Joanne... I did a little digging."

            "He's not a quack?" Roy asked with alarm.

            "No... no, of course not," Brackett replied quickly.  "He's a highly educated, certified psychiatrist.  And he's had some very nice success stories..."

            "But?" Roy prompted, knowing there was more.

            "He's had some failures, too.  And several complaints were registered about him by his patient's families.  Somehow they never got brought up during the hiring process."

            "How did you find out about them?"

            "I went to talk to the administrator, let him know there were some problems.  Apparently, Johnny isn't the only patient who's quit his sessions."

            "Oh..."  Roy didn't know what else to say.  He did feel a little vindicated.  It was nice to know they'd made the right decision.

            "I'm just sorry I sent Johnny to him," Brackett went on.  "And I should have kept a better eye on what was happening."

            "Hey, Doc, it wasn't your fault," Roy hastened to assure.  "And it's not your job to keep tabs on other doctors."

            Brackett shook his head.  "Still, I'm sorry it turned out so badly.  But try to keep an open mind about trying again.  I still feel Johnny could use the help."

            "I will, Doc."  He heard the muted crackle of the HT and saw Dryer signal to him.  "I gotta go."

            Brackett clapped a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of support, then Roy followed Charlie out to the squad.

            All the way to their next response, Dwyer kept silent, but Roy could see him shooting glances his way.  Roy knew firehouse gossip could run wild and the last thing he wanted was stories about how he nearly decked a doctor at Rampart.  He decided he needed to address the issue.

            "Look, Charlie," he began.  "About what happened..."

            "Hey, I'm cool, Roy," Dwyer assured him.  "I know it had something to do with Johnny and the guy probably had it coming."

            Roy sighed and made a left turn a little sharper than he normally would.  "I just don't need the whole world knowing about it.  Okay?"

            "Sure," Dwyer promised.  "My lips are sealed."  He broke out into a mischievous grin.  "But it sure would make a hell of a story."

* * *

            Brad Wilts was fuming.  The whole Gage matter was turning into a fiasco.  He knew if the administrator got wind of one more patient canceling, he'd be in for some kind of dressing down or censure.  He didn't need that - not now.  It had taken all the finesse he was capable of to get this job, calling in a few favors, doing some discreet covering up.  Now it could all come apart - all because of some idiot fireman who couldn't hold onto a stupid kid.

            He sat down at his desk, tapping his pencil distractedly.  There wasn't much he could do, he supposed.  The damage was probably already done.  That ass, Brackett, was so firmly in the paramedics' corner that there would be no way he would stay out of it if it came to an inquiry of any kind.

            Surgeons!  What arrogant fools they were.  All they did was cut and paste.  They had no clue about the intricacies of the mind - how much more satisfying to put someone's damaged psyche back together.

            Or tear it apart.  Yes, he had that ability, too.  It was such a fine line to walk.  He had never purposefully led anyone down the wrong path, but the fact that he had that power was intoxicating at times.

            He stared at the many messages on his desk, still dwelling on the very real possibility that his career was down the toilet, when he focused on one paper in particular.  He picked it up and studied the name and number.

            This idiot newsman had been pestering his office for weeks, trying to get some information on John Gage.  Hospital policy, as well as legal ethics, had kept him from talking to the man.  Now, neither one of those reasons probably mattered.  Something inside of him nudged him with thoughts of getting them back.  He knew who "them" was - Brackett, DeSoto, Gage - all of them.

            He drummed his fingers nervously on his desk, then impulsively picked up the phone.

* * *

            "I'm so tired of you moping around all the time," Marge Dunbar told her son as she stuffed dirty clothes into the washing machine.  "Why can't you just get on with your life?"

            Rick leaned sullenly against the door to the garage.  His mother just didn't get it.  "How am I supposed to get on with my life, Mom," he asked sarcastically.  "I killed my best friend."

            Marge slammed the lid of the washer down and turned to face her son.  "I don't want to hear that anymore.  You didn't kill Peter Baker.  He fell off a bridge.  You weren't even near him."  She paused and took a deep breath.  "Rick, you're alive, you should be grateful.  Why can't you try and make new friends?"

            Rick stared at her in incomprehension.  Did she think it was that easy to just cast off one friend and make another?

            "Sure, Mom," Rick answered flippantly.  "Pete's dead, but that's okay, I'll get a new friend."

            His mother whirled angrily.  "That's enough," she told him flatly.  "I don't want to hear anything else about Peter.  He's dead and you're not.  That's it."

            Rick stared at her for a moment, then left the garage in disgust.  He headed up to his room, and sat down at his desk.  He'd done this often enough now that without even thinking about it, he pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.

            Dear Mr. Gage,

            Nobody wants to talk about Pete around here.  Is it okay if I tell you about him?

* * *

            Ken Waters sat in the psychiatrist's nicely furnished office and wondered again at his luck.  He'd been after several of the doctors here to let him do a follow up on the injured paramedic and he'd just about given up.  To actually get to interview the guy's shrink was a huge break, and what the guy was telling him was like striking gold.

            "So, Dr. Wilts, let me get this straight.  You're saying that Gage doesn't really have this..." he consulted his notes, "This hysterical muteness as you call it?"

            The psychiatrist leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together.  "That's not what I'm saying," he hedged.  "I said that it's difficult to tell for sure if someone really has it... that it would be easy to fake if a person wanted to."

            Ken scrutinized the doctor, trying to get what he was really trying to say underneath all the professional, ass-covering bullshit.  "So, maybe Gage is faking it.  Why would he do that?"

            "Well, let's just say... hypothetical, of course... you're a fireman who, whether through some mistake you made or not, let's a child fall to his death, what would you do?  It would be natural to try and divert attention, try and let people's natural tendency to offer you sympathy lead you into playing along.  That way you get out of any kind of consequences of your actions."

            The reporter watched the doctor's face while he talked and he swore the man's eyes were positively gleaming.  Whatever this guy Gage did to piss the psychiatrist off, it must have been pretty bad.  He had a sudden thought and he decided he better pin the doctor down as to his motives.

            "Dr. Wilts, aren't you afraid of being censured for talking to me like this?"

            The man took on an offended look.  "I feel bringing Mr. Gage's actions to light is worth risking some professional criticism.  The public at large has to be protected."

            "Uh-huh," was Ken's only comment.  He didn't know for sure if he'd just been handed a load of crap, but it was sure gonna make a great story, however it came out.

* * *

            Johnny didn't know why he'd let Roy talk him into going out to dinner with everyone.  He was sure he'd feel stupid and ill at ease, but after a few awkward moments at the very beginning, things were going fairly smoothly.  They were celebrating him finally getting the cast off his right arm, enabling him to start physical therapy.  It was his last big hurdle on the road to recovering physically.

            Besides Roy, Joanne and himself, Dixie and Brackett were here.  Hank and Emily Stanley and Chet rounded out the group.  Johnny figured Chet had been included to make him feel better about not having a date.  But Kelly was on his best behavior and the night was turning out better than Johnny had expected.

            They'd come to Connally's Bar and Grill, a favorite of the local firemen, and a higher class establishment than the name suggested.  The food was good - steak and seafood fare - and management had a reputation for not serving drinks to obviously drunk customers, thereby keeping the atmosphere enjoyable.  There was a small space for dancing and on the weekends they had a live band.

            Tonight was Friday and the place was crowded.  Because of the size of their party, they'd been seated near the rear exit, but that was actually better for conversation, since they were farther away from the music.  Not far from their table sat another group of firefighters and their wives.  They were casual acquaintances, for most men in the division worked together at one time or another, but Johnny only knew one of them very well.  Frank Parks had transferred to 8's the last year before the paramedic program started.  He was an okay guy, but tonight seemed to have arrived at Connally's already three sheets to the wind.  The laughter from that part of the room was occasionally loud and boisterous.  They seemed to be having fun with something in the newspaper, and passed a section back and forth between them.

            Johnny mostly ignored them.  He was enjoying his steak, happy he could cut it himself, and listening to his friends talk about work, the day - or night - they'd had, kids, cars, all the ordinary things that filled their lives.  They didn't exclude Johnny, nor did they go out of their way to include him, which is what he'd feared would happen and would only have called more attention to his silence.

            It was odd, but he seemed to be more aware in regards to who did the talking and how they said it.  Maybe it was true what people said about him - that he yapped far too much.  But he loved to talk, plain and simple.  Which only made him wonder more and more if Wilts had been wrong.  He wanted to talk - desperately at times.

            He was coming along with the sign language, thanks to Joanne, though he wasn't confident enough to use it here, in front of everyone.  He'd even asked Roy not to tell anybody yet - not until he had a better grasp on it.  He and Jenny could talk about quite a lot of things and Joanne had learned enough that he could usually get across what he needed.  He knew Roy hadn't had as much time to study and Chris was content to let his sister translate for him.  But, for the most part, life was a lot easier.

            He'd gotten several more letters from that Rick kid, too.  He'd talked a lot about his friend, something that was painful for Johnny to read, but he did it anyway.  Maybe it helped the kid to get his feelings out in the open.  The only thing Johnny wasn't at ease with was the guilt Rick seemed to feel over Pete's death.  But maybe that too was being worked out by writing.  He thought he might mention the letters to Roy if he got many more of them.  His partner was already curious about all Johnny's fan mail, as he termed the letters he was bringing home from the station.  So far Johnny had been able to brush it off as just an eager kid from the last fire prevention gig they'd done, but sooner or later, Roy would want to know more about them.

            Another guffaw came from the table across the way and Johnny glanced over to see Frank lifting his glass of beer in some kind of toast.  His friends followed suit and then Johnny could have sworn they turned their eyes in his direction.

            Startled, Johnny turned his attention back to his dinner, hoping he was just being paranoid.

            "They're getting a little rowdy over there," Joanne commented and Johnny realized he wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

            "Yeah, I'm surprised," Roy agreed.  "Rob should have cut them off by now."

            Chet shook his head, "Rob's not tending tonight.  It's somebody I don't know."

            "Hmmm," Hank muttered.  "That's not good."  He glanced over at the table.  "As long as they don't cause any disturbance..."

            "You know them?" Dixie asked.

            "They work out of 15," Hank supplied.  "Good guys, but a little... uh..."  He tipped his hand to his mouth.

            "I'd say more than a little," Brackett observed wryly.

            Johnny finished his meal while the conversation drifted in other directions.  He cast a few furtive glances over towards the other table, but he didn't see them looking at him again.  After a while he relaxed, telling himself he'd just imagined it.

            The waitress cleared their plates and took their orders for dessert.  The women declined, contenting themselves with a final cup of coffee.  While they waited for their pie and ice cream to arrive, Johnny made a discreet sign to Joanne and left the table to head for the bathroom.  No one followed him with offers to help, and he was glad again for the full use of his hands.

            He was washing up when the door banged open.  Glancing up, Johnny saw Frank Parks staggering into the men's room.  Johnny swallowed dryly and turned back to finish at the sink.  Maybe if he ignored the man, he'd go away.

            "Hey, Gage!" Frank greeted loudly.  He came up beside Johnny and clapped a heavy hand on Johnny's newly healed right shoulder.

            Johnny couldn't help the wince that came at the rough handling.  He'd worked his arm hard at PT today and it was sore.

            "Oh, is'at yer little boo-boo?" Frank asked in bad baby-talk.  "Or are ya fain' that, too?"

            Johnny wasn't sure what he meant.  He tried to move past the other man, but Frank shifted to block his path.

            "C'mon, Gage, you c'n talk ta me... I'm yer ol' pal.  You c'n tell me all 'bout yes little scheme."

            Johnny scowled and made a feint to go around the other side, but for a drunk man, Parks was still remarkably fast.  He put his arm up against the wall, making a barrier.  Johnny was blocked again.

            "I admit, it was purty smart.  I never took ya for bein' big in the brains department, Gage.  But fain' all that psycho stuff to git outta bein' blamed fer killin' that kid..."  He jabbed his finger at Johnny's head.  "Tha's smart stuff."

            Johnny's eyes widened.  Somebody actually thought he was pretending?  Who would do that?  Evidently the surprise on his face seemed real and Parks laughed.

            "I guess you din't know the game's up, huh?"  He pulled a wrinkled section of the newspaper from out of his back pocket and shoved it at Johnny.  "Ya may as well give it up, Gage.  Yes doctor spilled the beans."  He laughed again, then lurched into a stall to go about his business.

            Johnny could still hear giggles coming from behind the door as he studied the morning edition of the Daily Breeze.  Half-way down the page he saw a small picture of Peter Barnes.  The article that accompanied it was entitled: Paramedic Faking Injuries to Avoid Inquiry.

            He scanned it quickly, his mouth hanging open in stunned disbelief.  There were actual quotes from Wilts, all making it sound like Johnny had been pretending the whole thing to avoid any action taken in Peter's death.

            All at once his legs had no strength in them, and he dropped the paper to cling to the edge of the sink.  His arms were shaking and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach.  He wondered how many people he knew had read the article - how many of them now thought he was a liar and a fake and an incompetent jerk who let a young boy die and refused to take the blame.

            He couldn't go back to the table - he couldn't sit with his friends and pretend nothing was wrong.  Everything was wrong - everything had been wrong since the day at the bridge.  He couldn't make anything right - nothing would ever be right again.

            He had to leave.  He had to get away - go somewhere - anywhere.  He couldn't see their faces when they found out.

* * *

            Roy glanced toward the men's room again, then at his watch, wondering what was taking Johnny so long.  He knew his partner was better able to take care of himself now, but Roy couldn't help but worry some.  Johnny was still a long way from being back to normal.  When Frank Parks had staggered over in that direction, it set all Roy's alarms off, but he waited, not wanting to embarrass his friend needlessly.

            "You want to go check on him?"  Joanne's voice was low, meant only for him.

            Roy smiled at her perception and shook his head.  "I'll give him a few more minutes."

            He took a bite of the warm apple pie.  It was good and normally something Johnny wouldn't miss, but his piece was sitting untouched, the ice cream melting into a puddle over the side of the plate.  Roy wasn't the only one who noticed.

            "Hey," Hank spoke up suddenly.  "Where's Gage?  He's losing out on his pie."

            "In the john," Chet supplied, then chortled at his own pun.

            While everyone groaned at Chet's lame attempt at humor, Roy cast another look in the direction of the restrooms.  He didn't see Johnny, but he did see Frank Parks coming out with a stupid grin on his face.  Roy tracked him back to his table, where high fives were exchanged with his buddies.  Roy's inner voice started screaming at him that something wasn't right.  He rose from his chair.

            "I'm just gonna go check on Johnny," he murmured as an excuse, then made his way through the maze of tables.

            The men's room was empty.  The only thing unusual was the crumpled part of a newspaper on the floor.  There was no sign of Johnny.

            "Damn," Roy swore softly.  He stood for a moment, gazing around the deserted room.  There was no clue here to tell him where his partner had gone, but he thought he knew who might know something.

            As he approached the table, the men from 15's were grinning at him, like they'd been expecting him.

            "Hey, DeSoto," Tom Walker hailed amiably.  He held up his beer.  "Join us?"

            Roy shook his head, keeping his face neutral.  "I'm looking for Johnny.  You see him in the bathroom, Frank?"

            Parks laughed raucously.  "Whatsa matter?  Did his itty bitty feelings git hurt?"

            They all chortled and Roy ground his teeth together in an attempt to keep control over his rising temper.  He moved over to Parks and leaned one hand onto the table.  His other hand grabbed the inebriated fireman by the shirt collar.

            "What happened to Gage?" he demanded in a low tone.

            Frank laughed again.  "Nuthin'.  I jus' congratulated him on makin' the papers."

            The whole group laughed, even the women.  One of them handed Roy a wrinkled section of the newspaper and Roy recalled the what he'd seen in the bathroom.

            "See there," Parks jabbed at the print.  "It's all there."

            Roy took enough time to catch the gist of the article.  Without another word, he stormed over to his own group and slammed the paper down in front of Brackett.

            "Wilts," he hissed, his anger making it hard to form full sentences.  "I gotta go find Johnny."

            He turned to leave, but felt Joanne grab his hand.

            "Roy?"

            There were so many questions in her face.  He gestured to the article.  "Wilts says there that Johnny is faking the whole thing.  Says he killed Peter Baker and was trying to get out of any blame."

            Outraged protests erupted around their table.

            "That son of a..."  Chet stopped himself short, but slammed his fist on the table.

            "How can he do that?" Joanne asked.  "Isn't that unethical or something?"

            "Yes, it is," Dixie answered emphatically, her face dark with anger.

            "You need any help, Roy?" Hank asked.  "We can all spread out..."

            Roy shook his head.  "Thanks, but I don't want Johnny to feel surrounded.  If you could take Joanne home..."

            "Sure thing," he promised.  "You let us know what happens."

            Roy nodded and started to go, but Brackett grabbed his arm, stopping him.  So far the doctor had remained silent.  "I don't know if this will help," he began, and held up the paper.  "This article here pretty much ends his career... at least at Rampart."

            Roy sighed.  "You're right, Doc... I don't know how much it helps either."

            When Roy walked out into the dimly lit parking lot, he stopped for a moment and looked around.  The area of town they were in wasn't too busy.  There were a lot of places Johnny could have gone.  But he would have been on foot, and Roy didn't think too much time had passed since he'd encountered Parks in the bathroom.  Roy decided to walk around a bit before he started searching with his car.

            He headed south and walked for a few minutes.  There seemed to be nothing this way but other businesses, some closed for the evening.  Some instinct made him turn around and retrace his steps, going past the restaurant in the other direction.  He walked for about a mile, listening to cars whiz past and the sound of an occasional muted horn.  And then he stopped.  Up ahead was a lighted bus stop and sitting on the bench was a lone figure.

            He approached slowly, then sat down next to Johnny.  His partner didn't look at him, but Roy knew his presence was noted.  They sat together for a few moments, each staring out at traffic.  Then Johnny suddenly brought his hand to his forehead, moving it out in one of the few gestures Roy had learned.

            Why... he's asking why.

            It was the first time Johnny had used sign with him without Joanne or Jenny being around.  Roy knew he was sadly lacking with the language.  He only hoped he could figure out whatever Johnny wanted to tell him.

            "I don't know why he did that," he answered softly.  "He was mad, upset that you quit going to see him.  Who knows?  Brackett says he'll probably be fired over it though."

            Johnny just shrugged, and Roy knew that wasn't much consolation.  Not sure what else to say, Roy took in the sights around them, noticing for the first time what stop Johnny was at.

            "Hey, if you get on this bus, you'll be going in the wrong direction," he advised lightly.

            Johnny shook his head and signed again.  Roy wracked his brain to remember what it was.

            Damn, what's he trying to tell me?  What is that one... what is... Home!  I got it!

            "You wanna go home?"

            Johnny nodded.

            "But I just told you this is the wrong bus."

            Johnny shook his head and jabbed a finger at his chest.  Roy finally understood.

            "Oh... you wanna go home... to your place."

            Roy was quiet a moment, trying to choose his words carefully.  "Well, you're entitled to do that.  I guess maybe I shoulda asked you sooner if you wanted to go home, but we just got so used to having you around..."  Johnny rolled his eyes at that, so Roy tried a different tact.  "You don't have to take the bus.  I can drive you."

            Johnny didn't react and it grew quiet again between them.  Roy sat patiently, waiting for his partner to make the next move.  Johnny's hands finally began to move and Roy watched them intently, trying to pick up as much as he could.

            He recognized the word boy and then dead.  He knew at once Johnny was talking about Peter Baker.  There were some other signs he couldn't figure out.

            "I'm not getting all of it," he apologized, "But I know you're upset about the kid and about what Wilts told that reporter."

            Johnny made a few more signs.  He slapped his hand to his chest, then made a fist and hit it against the back of his other hand.  He repeated those gestures over and over, until Roy finally reached out and stilled his friend's hands.

            "Look, Johnny... I don't know the words, but I think I know what you're trying to say.  You think you killed that boy... but you're wrong.  I don't care what Wilts says... he's wrong.  There wasn't one thing you did on that rescue that was negligent, or careless or anything like that."  He let go, allowing Johnny the use of his hands again.

            Johnny's shoulders slumped.  He repeated his last two signs once more.

            My... something.  He must be saying my fault. How do I get through to him?

            He sat up straighter on the bench.  "You know, you must be remembering things different than I do."  Johnny shot him a curious look.  "I distinctly remember being up on that bridge with you."  Johnny started to shake his head, but Roy pressed on.  "I was on the other end of that rope, Junior.  You had a hold of Peter, but I had you both.  When you went over... God, that scared the shit outta me.  I wasn't sure I could hold you.  You know how jury-rigged our lines were."

            Johnny nodded slowly and Roy paused to collect his thoughts.  At least he had his partner's attention now.  Hopefully he could get his point across and into Johnny's thick head.

            "Johnny... We tried our best, but sometimes things just happen.  Sometimes it isn't anybody's fault."

            He fell silent.  What else was there to say?  Johnny either had to accept the truth or go on tormenting himself.

            After a time, Johnny slowly raised up his hands.  The sign he made was obviously the roof of a house.  Roy sighed.

            "Okay, I'll take you home."

            Johnny shook his head and repeated the sign.  Roy stared at him, realized it was different than the one for home.

            House...house... what's he trying to tell me?

            Johnny looked a little exasperated, and he pointed at himself, then made the shape again.

            Damn, I feel like we're playing charades.

            "Your house," Roy stated dully, feeling very stupid.  "Your house... Johnny, what... Oh!"  The light finally dawned.  "The house... the new one."  Johnny nodded eagerly.  Roy was quiet a moment, remembering all the things he'd thought about telling his friend.  There had never seemed a good time, but since Johnny brought it up, Roy knew now was that moment.  They needed to get the whole mess settled.  "Johnny... I've been meaning to apologize..."

            But Johnny was shaking his head, trying to get Roy to stop.  Roy watched as Johnny pointed to him, then made a V shape with both hands, touched the tips together, then pulled them in toward his chest.  Roy studied the gesture intently, finally realizing Johnny was trying to tell him he could have the house.

            "Johnny, I don't think..."

            Johnny shook his head vehemently and pointed to Roy again, determination obvious on his face.  He then moved his hand to his chest and made a circular motion.  That one Roy knew.  It was one of the first signs the kids had learned.

            Sorry...  he's telling me he's sorry.

            Roy smiled.  "I'm sorry, too.  I guess we can figure something to do with it."

            Johnny finally smiled, a small crooked grin and Roy took heart that maybe they were making some progress.  He rested his hand on Johnny's shoulder, then quickly removed it when he saw his partner's slight grimace.

            "Hey, you okay?  Did you hurt your shoulder again?"

            Johnny shrugged self-consciously.  Roy stood and held out a hand.  Johnny took it with his left and let Roy help him up.  They started walking back towards the restaurant.

            "If Brackett's not still at Connally's, I'll take you to Rampart... get somebody to look at it."

            Johnny shook his head stubbornly, but at least this was familiar ground.  Roy smiled, knowing he'd win.  He was the senior partner after all.

* * *

            "I looked over the sheet from your visit last night," Dr. Brackett told Johnny.  "And I agree you just overworked it at PT yesterday.  I talked to Hal, and he says to take it easy the next couple of days."

            Johnny nodded, glad to know he'd been right.  He glanced at Roy sitting beside him in Brackett's office, happy he had a partner who worried too much, rather than one who didn't care at all.

            "He also said you'd be released to return to work in another week or so..."  Brackett trailed off.

            Johnny felt a heavy weight settle in his gut.  He knew he couldn't go back to work the way he was.

            "I wanted you to know, Johnny," Brackett continued.  "The condition with your speech has been kept rather... low key is a good way to put it, I suppose... at least as far as the Fire Department goes.  Captain Stanley and I both agreed it didn't need to be an issue, at least until you healed physically."

            "And now..." Roy prompted.

            Brackett's jaw tightened.  "With the article in the paper, we've had to be a little more forthcoming.  I had to assure the Department that you would still be seeking professional help."

            Johnny folded his arms across his chest.  That was the last thing he wanted to do.

            "I wish you'd consider it," Brackett requested.  "I know Wilts was not a good experience, but you still have time before the Department insists on something definite as far as your ability to work.  You need to give yourself the best chance you can."

            "Do you have somebody else in mind?" Roy asked calmly.

            Brackett nodded.  "I do."  He fixed his gaze on Johnny.  "If you still trust me on this."

            Johnny studied the older man's earnest expression, and knew he was sincerely trying to help, but he still had nightmares about the accident and Wilts had started appearing in them.  It would be difficult to go through all that again.

            "We trust you, Doc," Roy spoke up.  Johnny glared at him, but his partner chose to ignore it.  "Maybe if it's somebody you've known a little longer than you did Wilts."

            Brackett smiled warmly.  "Believe me, I have.  If you remember, I told you my first choice of doctors for you was out of the country.  Well, she's back.  I'd like to have you meet her right now, if you don't mind.  Just for an introduction... see how you feel about her."

            Johnny's ears picked out the pronoun immediately.  He sat up a little straighter, then blushed when he heard Roy chuckle.

            "I think you may have his attention, Doc."

            "Whatever it takes," Brackett replied wryly.

            Johnny debated whether or not to waste the effort of acting indignant.  Instead, he decided to get more information.  He brought his hands together, and Brackett raised his eyebrows questioningly.

            "He wants to know if she's nice," Roy supplied.

            "Very," Brackett answered emphatically.

            Johnny raised his index finger to his forehead.  Brackett didn't need any help on that one.  His smile broadened.

            "Yes, she's very smart."

            Johnny mulled that over for a moment, then he drew his hand over his face.

            "I think the answer to that one is yes, she's pretty, too," Brackett stated with a laugh.  "Does that meet your criteria, John?"

            Johnny grinned, then nodded.  It wouldn't hurt to see her.

            Brackett got up and left his office for a moment.  While they were waiting, Johnny happened to glance at Roy and saw a smug grin on his partner's face.  He rolled his eyes and Roy actually laughed at him.

            "Face it, Johnny, in some things you are just too predictable."

            Johnny very nearly stuck his tongue out at his friend, but he was glad he hadn't, for the door opened and Brackett ushered in Johnny's new doctor.

            She was pretty - tall, with dark brown hair that swept her shoulders.  The glasses that perched on her nose only seemed to add to the overall attraction.  But even as he gave her what he hoped was a subtle once-over, he realized she was an older woman, probably Brackett's age.  Which made sense, if the doctor had known her for quite a while, as he'd suggested.  Johnny wasn't disappointed, rather he was relieved.  It made things simpler.

            "Johnny, this is Dr. Gwen Crandall.  Gwen - John Gage and Roy DeSoto."

            She reached out to shake their hands.  Then, instead of taking a seat, she perched herself on the corner of Brackett's desk, facing Johnny directly.

            "It's nice to meet you, John."  Johnny's mouth dropped open.  Though she'd spoken her greeting, her hands were moving as well.  She was signing to him.  "Kel let me review your file.  I'd love to take over your case, if that's all right with you?"

            Johnny closed his mouth, and had to wrack his brain for the little bit of sign he'd learned.  He pointed to himself, then made the signs for not good.  He hoped she understood what he was trying to tell her.

            She smiled.  "I think you've learned a lot for such a short amount of time.  You have an advantage over the deaf, in that you don't need to read my signs, but I'll keep doing them anyway so you can practice."

            He returned her smile, the fear of meeting a new doctor fading fast.  He moved his hands again, knowing he was signing the equivalent of pigeon English.

            Why - you - sign?

            "My little sister is totally deaf," she answered.  "I've been signing since I was about fifteen."  Her hands moved so fast that if she hadn't been speaking, he would never have understood her.

            He thought that over, but something was still bothering him.  He hesitated, then signed again.

            Sign - okay - me?

            It took her a moment, then she nodded, her face serious.  "I think signing is wonderful for you.  Any way you can communicate is a big help."

            That was unexpected.  Wilts had spent so much time telling him not to use anything but speech.

            "Well, Johnny?" Brackett prompted after a few moments of silence.  "Are you willing to see if Gwen can help you?"

            Johnny pulled at his lower lip.  He moved his gaze from Roy to Brackett to Dr. Crandall.  They waited expectantly.  Blowing out a loud breath, he nodded.

* * *

            Joanne pulled into the rear parking area of Station 51 and glanced over at Johnny beside her in the passenger seat.  She was a little concerned about bringing him, but there had been no way around it.  His car had been here since the accident.  The guys could keep an eye on it, rather than take it back to Johnny's place, where it would sit unattended.  Now that Johnny could drive again and was ready to move back home, they needed to pick it up.

            The kids were excited.  They'd seen both the engine and squad in quarters and sure enough, Roy was standing at the back bay door, waiting to greet them.  They jumped out of the back seat almost before she'd turned off the engine.

            "Christopher, Jennifer," Joanne called, reminding them to be on their best behavior.  Only slightly restraining themselves, they ran ahead to greet their dad.

            Joanne and Johnny followed at a more dignified pace, and by the time they reached the bay, the other guys had come outside.  Joanne saw Rod Hoskins and wondered if that would be awkward, but it didn't seem to be.  Johnny was greeted by everyone with a round of handshakes and claps on the back.  Joanne got a kiss on the cheek from Hank and then they were all ushered into the day room.  When Joanne produced a freshly backed pan of coffee cake, a chorus of cheers filled the room.

            "Good thing you don't come by more often, Joanne," Cap chuckled, watching his men devour the treat.  "None of us would fit in our turn outs."

            "Nobody but Gage," Chet wise-cracked.  "He eats like a pig and is still skinny as a rail."

            "Beats looking like a pig," Marco said in an aside meant for Chet to hear.

            "Hey, I take offense at that, Marco," Chet grumbled.

            "I think you were meant to," Roy pointed out.

            "I'm glad you're here, John," Cap told him, ignoring the friendly bickering of his men.  "You got more fan mail."  He tossed Johnny an envelope.

            Johnny opened the letter and stared at it a moment, then while the meaningless banter around the table continued, Johnny got up from the table and headed toward the apparatus bay.  Joanne caught Roy's eye, but he shook his head, telling her to let Johnny be by himself.  She wondered what was in the letters he had been getting that was so interesting, but Johnny hadn't shared their contents with either her or Roy.

            "So, he's really going back home, huh?" Chet asked Roy in a quiet voice, and Joanne turned her attention back to the conversation.

            Roy nodded.  "That's what he wants to do."

            "You think he's ready?" Cap inquired.

            Roy shrugged.  "Johnny thinks he is and that's what matters.  His new doctor didn't seem to have a problem with it."

            "But you don't agree," Mike observed.

            Joanne saw Roy's startled expression and hid a smile.  He thought he was being so neutral, but it was obvious to anyone that he was still worried about his partner.

            He was quiet a moment, and Joanne knew he was measuring his words, being cautious about how much of Johnny's personal problems he should share with the guys.  Finally, he just shrugged again.

            "It's not up to me," was all he said.

            Joanne reached over and squeezed his hand.  They'd talked about this long into the night, and she knew his concerns.  Johnny still had trouble communicating with most people and he was still having nightmares, though not as regularly.  But she also knew Roy would worry no matter when Johnny went home.  That was just part of Roy and she loved him for it.

            He gave her a grateful smile.  She wasn't sure if the guys would be satisfied with his answer, but the tones sounded at that moment, sparing Roy any further questions.  There was a loud scraping of chairs and six pairs of feet trotted out to the bay.

            The kids clamored to watch the trucks roll, so Joanne herded them over to the door, keeping a firm hand on each child's shoulder.  They stood against the wall, beside the radio post and listened as Cap acknowledged the call.  He swept past them, handed Roy a slip of paper with the address on it and jogged around the squad to hop into the passenger side of Big Red.

            Mike gave a blast on the air horn, much to Chris and Jenny's delight.  They jumped and waved as Roy pulled the squad out and the engine followed.  In no time, they turned the corner and drove out of sight.  They could still hear the sirens for a time, but soon even that was gone, and they were left in the empty and now silent bay.

            "Okay, kids, let's get the kitchen cleaned up for them," she suggested brightly, amazed at how eager her children were to do chores at the station - jobs they would have whined about at home.

            As Chris and Jenny pushed through the door into the day room, Joanne caught sight of Johnny standing in the far corner.  He noticed her looking at him, stuffed his letter into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall, coming over to join her.

            His hands moved.  She knew the sign for want.  He wanted something.

            "He wants to work, Mom," Jenny supplied.  Joanne hadn't even realized her daughter had come back out.

            Johnny nodded and brushed his hand down the back of Jenny's head gratefully.

            "You will, Johnny," she promised and was suddenly more certain of that than she ever had been.

 * * *

            Johnny stood by the window looking out at the Emergency Room parking lot.  It was a familiar view.  His visits with Dr. Crandall took place in Brackett's office since she didn't work out of Rampart.

            Thus far, Johnny had no complaints about her.  She was completely opposite of Wilts.  She encouraged him to sign and listened while he "talked."  Already he'd told her how much he wanted to go back to work.  They'd talked a lot about Roy and his family, and about the progress he'd made with his arms.  He'd even considered telling her about his letters from Rick.  She might have an idea about what he should do, but he'd held back.  He wasn't sure why, but he kept those letters to himself.  Today she had wanted to talk about Peter – and about the rescue.  He didn't see the point.

            "John," her soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

            He turned and reluctantly took his seat across from her.  He'd gotten past his initial self-consciousness with signing for her.  She could usually figure out what he was trying to say.

            Why no talk?

            She shook her head.  "I don't know the answer to that," she told him patiently.

            He frowned impatiently.

            I want.  Wilts say I want, I talk.  I want.

            "I know you do, John," she replied.  "And I don't care what Wilts told you.  I think he was wrong... about a lot of things.  You need to understand that."

            Johnny shook his head in frustration.  It was hard to reconcile that two psychiatrists were telling him completely different things.

            Still nightmares.  Bad.  Why?

            "John, you may have nightmares about this for the rest of your life.  It was a terrible thing to have to go through.  I think, though, that you still haven't accepted what happened."

            I... I...

            He floundered over the next word.  He clenched his fists and pounded his knees.  Gwen reached over and handed him a pad and pen.  He didn't take it from her.

            No... no write.

            "Another item Wilts was wrong about," she declared.  "I've told you before, John, the best thing you can do is express your feelings.  How you do that really doesn't matter.  If you don't know the sign, write it out."  She held out the paper again.

            He eyed it warily, then took it gingerly.  He placed it on her desk and fingered the pen for a moment.  Wilts' words kept ringing in his head, but he met Gwen's eyes and took courage from the belief he saw there.  He looked back at the paper and wrote the word accept.

            I...  He pointed at the word. ...accept.  Why still no talk?

            She leaned back in her chair, her face thoughtful.  "What is it you accept?" she asked.

            His heart fluttered in his chest as he spelled out P-e-t-e-r.

            Peter dead.  My fault.

            "How is it your fault, John?"

            His eyes narrowed as the accident replayed itself in his mind.  The photos Wilts had shown him flashed before him, and he squeezed his eyes shut.  But they didn't go away.

            He felt her hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see she'd come out from behind Brackett's desk to sit beside him.

            "How is it your fault?" she repeated.

            I drop.  Boy dead.

            "I see," she murmured evenly.  After a moment her mouth lifted in a slight smile.  "I didn't know you were Superman."

            Johnny's eyes opened wide at her sarcasm.  He shook his head.

            "Who else could have held onto a fourteen year old boy with one arm while swinging from a rope?"

            Johnny thought about that for a long time before he slowly spelled out R-o-y.

            Now it was the doctor's turn to look surprised.  Then she gave him a look of kind understanding.  "Do you really think Roy could have done a better job than you did?"

            Johnny shrugged, shook his head, then shrugged again.  He didn't know what he really thought.

            "I've talked to your partner a lot about the rescue," she told him.  "You know he blames himself for not getting the rope under control in time to get you both down safely."

            That was news to Johnny, but he should have known.  Roy had a tendency to blame himself for things he had no control over.

            No control over...

            Johnny actually blinked and looked up at Dr. Crandall.  She couldn't have read his thoughts, but she seemed to know the direction they were going in.  She smiled.

            "I think you accepted the wrong thing, John," she stated quietly.  "You need to accept that the accident happened despite what you did, not because of it."

* * *

            Rick stood staring up at the concrete structure, wondering why he hadn't come here before.  This is where he needed to be.  This is where he had to make things up to Pete.

            He walked over to the base of the bridge, wondering idly where all the blood had gone.  Rick supposed somebody had cleaned it all up.  If a stranger came by here they would never know Pete had died here.  But Rick knew.

            He'd tried to let his mom know.  He tried to tell her why it was his fault - why he had to make it up to Peter, but she hadn't wanted to talk about it.  No one wanted to talk about it.  Except for the fireman, no one else cared.  Pete Baker hadn't even existed.

            Rick gazed up at the huge support pillar and smiled.  Pete's rope was still there.  No one had thought to remove it.  Suddenly, he knew what he was going to do.

* * *

            Johnny sat on the steps of Roy's deck, his arms folded and resting on his knees.  Even though he'd moved back home, he still found himself at the DeSoto's most of the time.  Maybe because he'd been here for so long he was used to it, but his apartment seemed kind of empty.

            He had helped Roy with the yard work this morning, but now, with not much to do, he was antsy.  Joanne had taken the kids to a movie and now even Roy's house was too quiet for him.  He needed to do something – to go somewhere, but he didn't know what or where.

            He heard Roy come outside and glanced up as his partner sat down beside him and handed him a Coke.  Johnny took it.

            Thanks.

            "You're welcome," Roy replied.  "Whatcha doin' out here?  Watching the grass we just cut grow back?"

            Johnny chuckled and shook his head.  He held his soda can up to his sweaty forehead.  The day was hot and muggy.  Even a shower after the yard work hadn't given much relief.

            "It's pretty bad," Roy agreed.  "My mom used to call it earthquake weather."

            Johnny grinned.  That was a well known myth in Southern California and many people held to it, even though geologists had never been able to prove any connection between the frequent tremors and the weather.

            Johnny finished his Coke and set the can down beside him, his fingers tapping on the top of it absently.

            "Oh, I almost forgot."  Roy pulled an envelope out of his shirt pocket.  "You got another letter.  I was too beat when I got home yesterday to drive out to your place."  He handed the note to Johnny.  "When you gonna let me know her name?" he teased.

            Johnny shook his head absently.  He opened the envelope, and unfolded the piece of notebook paper.  He was almost afraid to read it.  Rick's last message had turned very self-hating.  He knew the kid blamed himself for Peter's death.  Johnny had hoped writing would have provided the kid with an outlet for those feelings.  But the words before him could no longer be ignored.

            Dear Mr. Gage,

I've figured it out.  I know how I can make it right with Pete.  I thought you should know since you were there in the beginning.  Maybe you might want to be there with me.  I'd like that.

            Pete died on a Monday, so that's when I will, too.  Maybe I'll see you at the bridge.

            Thanks for listening,

            Rick

            Johnny jumped to his feet, his heart racing.  The kid was going to kill himself.  Why hadn't he seen that sooner?

            "What's wrong?" Roy asked, getting up as well.  "Johnny, what's the matter?"

            Johnny shoved the letter at Roy.  Hands free, he started moving them frantically.

            Rick kill... die... bridge

            "Johnny, wait, slow down, you're going too fast."  He glanced over the letter, his eyes widening in comprehension.

            Johnny shook his head.  There was no time to wait.

            We go now!

            "Let me call it in first," Roy demanded.  "We're gonna need help."

            Johnny knew that if Rick heard sirens and saw strangers, it would most likely send him over the edge, literally.

            No time, scare him.  We go first.

* * *

            With Johnny driving, there was no way for him to talk.  Roy had read the letter, could only assume the others Johnny had received were from the same boy.  There were a million questions Roy wanted to ask, but no way Johnny could answer them.  He had to trust his partner on this.

            Johnson Canyon Bridge was on the very edge of their territory and it took them nearly half an hour to reach it, even with Johnny pushing the Rover past the speed limit by quit a bit.  They pulled up to a screeching halt at the base of the bridge, not far from where they'd been parked the first time.

            Roy saw the figure on the cross beam at the same time Johnny grabbed his arm.  Both men jumped out of the car.  Before Roy could say anything, Johnny was already running in the direction of the support pillars.  Roy raced after him, catching him only when they reached the base.  He grabbed Johnny's arm.

            "Hold it," he said, a bit breathless.  "What do you think you're doing?"

            Johnny pulled his arm away and pointed up, as if it were obvious.

            "Now wait a minute," Roy demanded.  "You can't go up there.  You don't have any gear... how do you plan on getting up there?"

            Johnny scanned the area and his eyes lighted on the rope.  He reached over and grabbed it, giving it a good yank.  He started to hoist himself up, but Roy pulled him back down.

            "Johnny, you can't do this.  Let's call it in, wait for some help."

            Johnny stubbornly took hold of the rope again.  He pointed at the boy on the bridge.

            I help.

            "You can't help him without the proper equipment," Roy insisted, starting to lose patience.  "All you'll end up doing is getting yourself killed."

            Johnny shook his head.

            No die.  I help boy.

            Roy regarded him suspiciously, his eyes narrowing.  "You can't help Peter by doing this.  You can't bring him back."

            Johnny stood still for a moment, his jaw working tightly.  He looked up at Roy, a determination in his eyes that Roy hadn't seen in a long time.

            Not Peter.  Me.  Go up for me.

            Roy's grip on his partner's arm lessened.  "Johnny, it wasn't your fault.  You don't have to prove anything."

            Yes.  To me.  I go up.  You go help.

            Roy hesitated for on instant longer before he finally let Johnny go.  "All right... I'll go get some help.  Johnny..."  He scrambled for something to say.  "Christ, Johnny... be careful."

            Not quite believing he was doing it, Roy raced back to Johnny's Rover, trying to remember where he'd last seen a phone.

* * *

            The climb up the concrete bridge should have been a daunting prospect under the best of circumstances.  Johnny could vaguely remember the knot in his stomach during his and Roy's first ascent, when they'd been equipped with all the proper safety gear.  Now, with nothing to safeguard him except a ragged old rope, Johnny should have been scared to death.  But he wasn't.

            For some reason, being up here was liberating.  He felt free... like he hadn't felt in months.  He knew Roy was down there trying to get some help, but that was far away.  All that mattered right now was getting out to the boy on the bridge.  Johnny was enough of a realist to know that life seldom gave you second chances, but he had that now within his grasp.  He couldn't mess this one up.

            He didn't know how long it took - he had no perception of time.  He concentrated only on each step, each little bit of height he gained in his climb.  He could feel the breeze as it gusted around him, but it was a distant thing, like the sound of the cars whizzing by far above on the top side of the bridge.  He knew they were there, but he couldn't spare them any attention.  When at last he made it to the junction where the cross beam jutted out from the pylon, he paused only long enough to catch his breath.  Then, without a second thought, he crawled out onto the span of concrete.  It was wide enough that he had a good perch.

            Like riding a horse, he thought with an inward chuckle.  Only more reliable than any mount he'd ever been on.

            He could see Rick sitting on the beam about 15 feet away from him.  He didn't look much older than fourteen or fifteen - the same age as Peter, but Pete had been a little small for his age.  This boy looked taller.  He was facing Johnny's direction, though not looking at him, but Johnny was certain his presence was known.  He slid a few feet forward, then stopped.  He'd seen the boy's body tense.

            Johnny sat for a moment.  The wind had picked up a bit, lifting his hair away from his face and cooling the sweat he'd hadn't realized had collected on his back.  He hadn't had a plan when he started - hadn't given a thought about what he was going to do once he got up here.  But Rick suddenly looked up and Johnny could see his anguished face - so full of utter despair.

            Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, knowing in that instant that the emotion he saw in front of him had no place on a fourteen year old face.  Whatever it took, he had to take that pain away.  Instinctively he opened his mouth - and the words came.

            "R-Rick..."  He paused and cleared his throat, months of disuse making his voice raspy.  "Rick, you o-okay?"

            The boy stared at him dully for a moment, then he answered in a low voice.  "You came."

            Johnny nodded and smiled tightly.  "Hey, y-you asked m-me to.  I d-didn't w-want to let you d-down."  He glanced at the dirt far below.  "R-Rick... d-don't do this, man.  This isn't r-right."

            The boy looked at him and shook his head.  "It's my fault," he stated raggedly.  "Pete's dead because of me."

            Johnny shook his head.  "Hey, m-man, that's m-my line.  That's what I thought for a l-long time."

            Rick gave him a confused look.  "What are you talking about?  You tried to save him."

            "I know," Johnny agreed.  "B-But all I c-could think about w-was that I d-dropped him.  I thought it w-was my f-fault."

            Rick shook his head stubbornly.  "It wasn't your fault, it was mine."

            "But that d-doesn't make s-sense," Johnny argued calmly.  "Did you want P-Pete to die?"

            Rick's eyebrows lifted into his hairline.  "No way, man.  I didn't... I mean... " His shoulders slumped.  "I don't know what I mean anymore."

            "You didn't w-want Pete to die," Johnny pressed.  "N-neither did I."

            "But if I hadn't dared him to climb up here..."

            "Yeah, m-maybe... but that doesn't mean it was your fault he f-fell."  Rick seemed to be pondering his words and Johnny took a chance and slid forward just a bit.  "It isn't your fault Pete had a seizure," he continued.  "And it isn't Pete's f-fault either."  He scooted a few more feet.  "Maybe it was a dumb thing f-for him to come up here, b-but what happened after wasn't anybody's f-fault.  Pete got s-scared and his body reacted the only way it c-could.  It just happened, man, and none of us could h-help him.  We tried our b-best, but sometimes things just h-happen."  Johnny swallowed hard at the echo of Roy's words to him.  "S-sometimes it isn't anyb-body's fault," he ended softly.

            Rick's head lowered, and Johnny could tell by the jerking of his shoulders that the boy was crying.  There was only about five or six feet separating them now and Johnny rolled the dice and bridged the remaining distance.  He could now reach out and touch Rick's arm.  He did so cautiously, ready to pull back at the slightest resistance.  There was none.  The boy merely looked up at him again, tears rolling down his face.

            "You d-don't want to do this to your f-folks," Johnny said gently.  "You don't want your m-mom and dad to go through what P-Pete's did."

            Rick slowly shook his head, then took hold of his rescuer's hand.  He swiped his other arm across his nose and sniffed.  "What happens now?" he asked shakily.

            Johnny gripped the hand firmly.  He was now aware of the wail of a siren, signaling the arrival of help.  He flashed the boy a grin.  "We wait h-here and don't move until that s-snorkel gets here."

* * *

            Roy stood impatiently waiting as the snorkel took forever to extend it's long arm up to the bridge.  It had seemed an eternity before he'd found a phone, then after he'd raced back to the bridge, another eon passed before the truck from 127 arrived.  He'd had to stand on the ground and watch Johnny and the boy, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do.  It was out of his hands.

            Now, as he squinted up at the two figures on the bridge, he could have sworn he saw his partner talking to the boy.  But he had to be wrong.  It must be a trick of the setting sun.

            The white aerial ladder finally ground to a stop.  Roy had already gone several rounds with 127's captain, who insisted he stay on the ground and not go up after his partner.  Roy wasn't happy with that, and he ground his teeth in frustration as he watched the two men climb expertly.

            Okay, so they're better on the ladder... They get more practice.

            The firemen reached the top.  In what seemed like slow motion, they helped first the boy then Johnny onto the ladder.  Then Roy had to wait another interminable length of time for them to come down.  By then, he was about ready to burst.  He moved over to the truck, ready to help if he was needed.

            Several police units had arrived by this time, and one of the officers was standing next to Roy.

            "This is getting to be a habit," he commented and Roy turned to see Scotty, peering up at the group descending the ladder.  "At least this one has a better ending."

            "You're telling me," Roy murmured.

            The first man from 127 and the boy were nearing the truck now and Scotty spoke up in surprise.

            "Hey, that's the kid..."

            Roy nodded grimly.  "I guess he's been sending Johnny letters.  He said he'd be up here today."

            Scotty shook his head.  "He was pretty shook up that day.  He must've taken it pretty hard.  Guess we dropped the ball on that one.  "

            They were helping the boy down now and Roy watched as Scotty approached the downcast boy.

            "You're name's Rick, right?" he asked kindly.

            The boy nodded mutely and Scotty placed a comforting arm on his shoulders.  He glanced up at Johnny who was almost down.  "He hurt?"  Johnny shook his head.  "Okay then, Rick, how 'bout we go call your folks?"

            Rick nodded again and went meekly with the officer.  By then, Johnny was climbing down the side of the truck.  Roy stepped up to give him a hand.

            At that moment Rick turned.  "Thank you," he called out.

            Johnny jumped off the truck and hollered after him.  "You're w-welcome."

            Roy knew his jaw must have hit the floor.  He stared at his partner as Johnny turned to face him.  The grin on his face went from ear to ear.

            "H-hi, Roy," he greeted a little self-consciously.

            Roy thought for a moment he wouldn't be able to find his own voice.  But he finally was able to respond.

            "Hi, yourself."  He started laughing and grabbed Johnny up in a big bear hug, swinging his partner off his feet momentarily.

            Johnny was laughing too, and when Roy put him down, he pressed his hands against his ribs in mock protest of the rough handling.  When he was finally able to speak again, Roy stood with hands on hips and shook his head.

            "Welcome back, partner."

* * *

            "Well, John, I'm clearing you for work.  Kel has all the paperwork, and he'll turn it into the Department."

            Johnny sat at Brackett's desk and fidgeted a minute.  "W-what about... you know."

            Dr. Crandall smiled.  "The stammer is a common after effect of your condition.  It will most likely improve with time and may go completely away on its own, but I suggest you get into some speech therapy.  It can't hurt and I know someone I can recommend."

            "B-but I can work?"

            She nodded emphatically.  "Certainly.  And I would like to encourage you to keep signing.  It's a tool that could come in handy in your line of work."

            Johnny smiled in satisfaction.  "I p-plan to," he assured, then gave her a questioning look.  "Doc... w-why do you think it c-came back n-now?"

            The doctor shook her head.  "There's no way to know for sure.  Just like there was no way to know why it left you in the first place."

            "M-maybe Wilts was r-right," Johnny pondered.  "M-maybe I never w-wanted to bad enough."

            "Wilts wasn't right about anything."  She grew thoughtful.  "I think you always wanted to talk, John, but maybe this was a time when you needed to."

            That sounded reasonable.  "You may be right, Doc."  He sighed and switched subjects.  "What's gonna happen to Wilts, anyway?"

            Gwen shook her head in disgust.  "He's denying everything of course.  Says the paper misquoted him, that he never meant to imply your condition wasn't genuine.  But even discussing a patient with the press is a violation of all kinds of ethics and codes of conduct, so he's going to be pretty much out of business."

            Johnny sighed again, still wondering why the man had been so vindictive.  He didn't suppose he would ever know for sure.  He got up and they walked to the door, then reached out to shake Gwen's hand.  "Thanks for everything," he told her sincerely.  "I d-don't think I c-coulda..."

            "Oh, I think you would have eventually," she laughed.  "But you're not going to be a stranger.  I want to see you now and then."

            He nodded and started to leave, then he turned back and gave her his biggest grin.  "M-maybe you c-can introduce me to your s-sister?"

* * *

            "More spaghetti, Johnny?"

            Johnny hurriedly scooped up the last bite of noodles on his plate to make room for more.  He automatically nodded, then grinned self-consciously.  "Yeah, th-thanks, Jo," he mumbled around a mouthful of pasta.

            Jenny and Chris giggled behind their hands and Joanne merely shook her head in amusement as she dished up another heaping pile onto the empty plate.  Roy, however, grimaced in mock disgust.

            "Geeze, Johnny, can't you at least swallow first?"

            Johnny looked up from his dinner, all innocence.  He shook his shaggy head.  "I don't know what you're t-talkin' about, Roy."  He placed his hand on his chest as a testament to his sincerity.  "I have imp-peccable table manners."

            Roy might have taken him more seriously if there hadn't been a glob of sauce hanging from his chin.  It was all he could do to stifle a laugh.  Instead, he settled for a big grin as he passed the plate of garlic bread.

            "Here," he stated, his voice filled with all the warm affection he held for his partner and friend, "You have a lot of catching up to do."

The End

Author's Note: A big, big thanks goes out to Jean and Linda for the beta reads, finding all the typos and missed words, and all their helpful suggestions.  They worked so hard and did a great job.  Also, thanks to everyone on this list who responded to my plea and offered to help me out.  What a great bunch of people.

I apologize to any real psychiatrists.  I needed a bad guy and my experiences with the ones that have worked with my 2 autistic children haven't been exactly stellar... so there you are.  I'm sure there are some really fine and wonderful shrinks out there. :>