You Make Me Feel Like Dancin!

By

E!F

Chester B. Kelly popped an eight-track tape into his stereo and boogied across his gold-flecked green shag carpet. If he'd groused a bit yesterday about trading with Erickson from C-shift, today all was right with the world. While his regular shift mates were busy working, he was at the start of a three-day break. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, it was a beautiful Friday in spring and tonight he was going to be one hot stud-muffin on the prowl.

His mind already racing ahead to the singles' scene, Chet shimmied into the bedroom and opened his closet to pick out his clothes. He couldn't go wrong with a polyester leisure suit. The one he chose was black and white, with vertical rows of plaid interspersed with vertical rows of a screaming geometric design in ovals and diamonds. To go with it he selected an imitation satin dress shirt with paisley designs the colors of orange and raspberry sherbet offset by tiny, fire engine red polka dots against a white background. Laying the clothes together he admired his own taste in wardrobe.

Elegant and understated, yet bold enough to say, "this man's a party animal".

He would leave the shirt open nearly to his navel, to show off his dark chest hair, and top it with a handful of heavy gold chains. Adding a pair of bright red socks and his dancing shoes to the outfit, Chet boogalooed out of his jeans and tee shirt and did the hand jive all the way to the shower.

Two minutes later he came out, still dry and sweaty, and stomped across his apartment to the phone. "Hi, uh yeah. This is Kelly in 4B. My water -- yeah. Uh huh? It did? Well, how long is it going to take them to fix it? WHAT? But this is Friday! I have plans tonight! Yeah? I know, but . . . . Okay, then. Bye."

Showerless, Chet slumped on his sofa and considered his options. Normally he'd just go over to Marco's or Gage's, but of course they were both working now and wouldn't be home. He could go to DeSoto's, he supposed. Joanne would probably be there and he knew she'd let him take a shower. It'd feel awfully funny, though, to be naked in Roy's house when Roy's wife was there and Roy wasn't.

Okay, so scratch that. He'd just have to go down to the station and get Marco or Gage to lend him their house keys and -- wait! He smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. Big duh! He could just take a shower at the station! Okay, so maybe the guys would rib him a little about his water not working, but it wasn't like it was his fault, so what could they say? Plus he could rub it in about how he wasn't working and they were. He could rag Gage about all the beautiful girls he was going to be seeing tonight. And if the squad got toned out while he was there, maybe the Phantom could even set up a little surprise for his favorite pigeon. Ha! It was a win/win/win situation!

His good cheer restored, Chet got dressed, gathered up his clothes for tonight and headed out.

#-#-#-

When Chet drove up to station 51 he found the doors standing open and the bay empty. He parked his car in the back lot. He came in through the kitchen, put his clothes in the locker room, and wandered around considering the place. He wasn't used to being the only one here, and it was strange and just a bit unnerving. He wondered how long the guys had been gone and when he could expect them back. Just then, as if answering his thoughts, Cap's voice came over the radio.

"LA, Engine 51 10-8 at the civic center for the Fire Prevention Fair. Time out two hours. Over."

Chet grinned. Two hours. He could shower and change, set up a few surprises and leave without anyone even knowing he'd been there.

Secure in the knowledge that he was alone in the station, Chet stripped in the locker room. The quiet of the empty firehouse was getting just a little bit eerie, so he took the time to dig an old radio out of his locker, find a pop music station, and crank the volume. Then he took a long, hot shower. When he was finished he reached blindly for a towel and groaned when his hand met only an empty towel rack.

"Oh, man! You guys!" he whined. "What did you go and do with all the towels already?" Once more thanking his lucky stars that he was alone, Chet went through into the locker room in search of a towel, dripping a small river behind him. The sound of "Knock Three Times (on the ceiling if you want me)" echoed around the brick-walled room and Chet found his feet moving in time to the music. He did not hear, over the song, the sound of a quiet motor pulling into the vehicle bay.

#-#-#-#-

Johnny Gage backed the squad into place and snagged the microphone from the dash. "Squad 51 available in quarters."

Roy DeSoto popped open the passenger door and climbed down carefully. "You know, you could have let me get out of this clown outfit before you made us available."

Johnny gave his partner an evil grin. "Aw, but you look so cute! You know, I think you ought to wear that all the time. Just think how much it would cheer people up, getting rescued from the jaws of death by Fireman Clown!"

"Yeah, if they didn't die of shock when they saw me." Roy was dressed in his turnout pants with suspenders over a red and white striped shirt and an enormous blue and white polka-dot bow tie. His face was painted in tones of grey and black, a nonetheless cheerful mask. He had spent the last two hours teaching groups of very small children about fire prevention and fire safety while his partner showed off the squad to older kids and taught them some basic first aid.

Roy tossed his helmet into the squad and dangled his turnout coat over one shoulder. "Do you hear music?"

Johnny jumped out of the driver's side of the squad and cocked his head. "Yeah, now that you mention it. One of the guys must have left the radio on." Squad 51 had reported to the fire prevention fair considerably earlier than their engine, which was why they were now back much earlier.

"Oh, well." Roy started carefully towards the locker room, the same oversized clown boots that had kept him from driving making walking perilous. He stopped. "You know what, though, John," he said seriously.

Johnny halted his own progress towards the kitchen and the refrigerator. "What?"

"Next time we do one of these things you ought to be Fireman Clown."

"Oh, yeah. Right," his partner snorted.

"No, really. I'm serious. I think you'd be good at it. After all, you're very good with kids. And you have the greatest natural talent for slapstick in the whole department."

"Wow. You really think so?" Johnny asked, his face lighting up as he considered it. From the locker room the sound of "Knock Three Times" died away and was replaced with "Jive Talkin'". "Gosh. Gee! What a nice thing to say! Thanks, Pally!" He got as far as the door to the kitchen, then stopped suddenly and turned to pierce his partner with a suspicious glare. One eyebrow raised. The other lowered. The corners of his mouth turned down in a fierce frown. "Hey, wait a minute! Was that a compliment or an insult, Roy?"

Roy gave Johnny a small, bright, mischievous grin and went on into the locker room without bothering to answer. He took three steps and found himself staring at a stark naked, dripping wet, disco dancing Chet Kelly.

"Oh, my eyes!"

Clapping one hand over his eyes, Roy tried to turn quickly and leave the room, but he tripped on his oversize boots, fell forward and hit the nearest bank of lockers face-first. Blood spurted from his nose and flashing lights blinded him. As he staggered back, his foot came down in one of the many puddles of water Chet had left in his wake and slipped out from under him. He went over backwards. His head hit the floor with an audible crack and Fireman Clown was down for the count.

"Roy?" Johnny came from the kitchen, still carrying a glass of milk. "What's all the noise about? Roy?" Halfway across the bay he got a glimpse of his partner lying on the floor inside the locker room. He set his milk down on the back of the squad and ran to help. Just as he reached Roy's side he happened to glance up. Chet Kelly stood frozen in the middle of the room, still buck naked, still dripping wet, caught in mid-Saturday Night Fever mode. He had one foot back, one forward, his left hand on his hip and his right pointing into the air.

The sight startled Johnny just enough so that he forgot to stop running and he tripped over Roy and went down hard. He tried to twist away, so that he wouldn't land on his already injured friend, but he was only partially successful. Roy, just beginning to regain consciousness, let out a loud "oof" and started choking as the air was forced from his lungs. Johnny landed hard on his right knee and rolled on the floor, howling in pain as his patella cracked against the concrete and his leg was violently wrenched to the side.

Staring down aghast at his friends, Chet said the only thing he could think of.

"Um . . . oops."

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Johnny sat up and scooted over close to his partner. "Chet! What did you do to Roy?"

Chet pulled himself up, mustering all the dignity he had left, which was very little. "I didn't do anything to him." He stood with his feet together, hands on his hips, looked down his nose at the two paramedics and spoke primly. "He tripped over his clown shoes!"

Roy's struggle to get some air into his lungs was hampered by the blood running down his throat and Johnny pulled him up into a sitting position and started talking to him, trying to get him to wake up. After a few seconds he glanced over his shoulder and saw Chet still hovering there uncertainly.

"Don't just stand there! Go get me the oxygen!"

"Right!" Chet started out at a run but he was less than halfway across the bay when Johnny's voice called him back.

"Chet!"

Chet pulled up in the locker room doorway panting. "What?"

"And the drug box!"

"Right!" He started out again and again Gage called him back.

"Chet!"

"What?"

"And the biophone!"

"Right!"

"Chet!"

Gasp! "What?"

"Call in a still alarm!"

"Right!"

For the fifth time Chet started across the bay. This time it was a new voice that stopped him; that of a small girl calling from the sidewalk outside the open bay door.

"Mommy! Mommy! The nasty fireman doesn't have any clothes on Mommy!"

Chet glanced down and discovered he was still naked. He ran back to the locker room again and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, which was Roy's dropped turnout coat. He started across the bay again and again John Gage's voice called him back.

"Chet!"

Gasp! Pant! "What?!?"

"Hurry!"

"Hurry. Right."

For the seventh time Chet staggered across the engine bay, and this time he made it. He stopped first at the radio and called in a still alarm. "We have a code I times two at the station. Squad 51 is out of service until further notice. KMG 365." As he gathered the things John wanted from the squad, he ignored the sound of his captain's voice over the radio.

"Station 51, repeat that last transmission! Is this a joke, Kelly? What are you doing at the station? What did you do to my paramedics, you twit?"

"Why does everybody always think everything's my fault," Chet whined as he dragged the medical gear into the locker room.

Roy was awake now, and as Johnny assessed his injuries he attempted to assess Johnny's. Roy's obvious concussion made this a challenge.

While Johnny used a penlight to check Roy's pupils, Roy tried to take Johnny's blood pressure. He got the cuff out of the box and got it wrapped around his partner's upper arm, but when he tried to tuck the end of the stethoscope under the edge of the cuff, he kept missing Johnny altogether. Johnny finally helped him out, sliding the stethoscope into place.

"Man, I'm glad you're not trying to start an IV!"

"I can do it," Roy muttered. "I can do it in my sleep. Here, give me the IV. I'll get it in."

"No, no, no! No you don't. No IV! Just play with the BP cuff." Roy peered blearily at the BP gauge as Johnny grabbed his other arm and took his pulse.

Sitting back watching them, Chet started to giggle. "Man! You know what you guys remind me of? You look just like a couple of monkeys at the zoo! You know how they'll sit and pick lice off each other?"

Two heads turned in his direction and Chet Kelly found himself on the receiving end of two icy (if, in DeSoto's case, unfocused) glares. Johnny looked every inch the uncivilized Indian, ready to scalp someone. Roy, both eyes blackening, looked like a malevolent raccoon. Chet coughed self-consciously.

"Not, um, not that there's anything funny about this situation," he said hastily.

"Man, why are you just sitting there?" Johnny demanded. "Set up the biophone and contact Rampart."

"Oh. Right." Chet set up the biophone and hailed Rampart, but then he suddenly found himself unsure of what to say.

"Uh, Rampart base, this is station 51. We have two victims of, um, of, well . . . really . . . um . . . of an accident, I guess . . . ."

Brackett's voice came over the line, his tone no-nonsense. "Fifty-one, this is Rampart. What kind of an accident? A traffic accident?"

"Um, no, not a traffic accident. It was . . . well . . . um . . . it was the kind of an accident that's not a traffic accident . . . ."

"It was a birth control accident," Johnny supplied.

"It was a birth control accident," Chet dutifully relayed.

"WHAT?" Brackett exploded.

"No! No! I mean it wasn't a birth control accident!" Chet glared at his co-workers. "Gage! Why did you say it was a birth control accident?"

Roy answered for him. "Johnny means it was a birth control accident because it wouldn't have happened if your parents had used some!"

Chet took a short, huffy breath and tucked the phone receiver against his hip. "You know something, Roy? You know how you can always understand what Johnny's talking about? Well, you know what? That isn't a good thing, you know that?"

Brackett's voice reached them again. It was the sound of a man who was rapidly running out of patience. "Fifty-one! What's going on out there?"

Johnny reached over and snagged the receiver. "Rampart, this is squad 51. We have two victims of a domestic accident. The first victim is a 29 year-old male, 170 pounds, suffering from head trauma with significant blood loss. Rampart, he has taken two blows to the head, the first above and between the eyes and the second on the back of his head. He has a swelling at the back of his head, bruising around both eyes and a possible broken nose. He also received a blow to the ribs, which initially resulted in respiratory difficulties, however he is now breathing unassisted. I have him on 4 liters of O2. Pulse is 90 and strong, respiration 28 and I will have BP for you as soon as I get the BP cuff away from him."

Brackett hesitated a bit at this last, but didn't pursue it, too glad to have a reasonable adult on the other end of the biophone. "Fifty-one, is patient coherent?"

Chet had turned away to silence the radio and Roy was looking at him in wonder. He squinted and tipped his head, reading, with obvious difficulty, his own name on the back of the turnout Chet was wearing. He reached out and poked Chet's arm with one finger, then pinched himself.

"Rampart," Johnny said, "I'm gonna say that one's a big 'no'."

"Understood, fifty-one. Start an IV with ringer's and administer .25 mg lidocaine. Do you have an ambulance standing by?"

Johnny shot Chet a questioning look and Chet blinked in surprise. "You wanted an ambulance? You didn't say you wanted an ambulance!"

Johnny sighed. "Negative Rampart. Will transport in the squad if that's okay."

At Rampart, Brackett frowned at the radio. "I suppose it will have to be. Go ahead with vitals on the second victim, 51."

Roy's head snapped up, his deeply ingrained paramedic's sensibilities taking over. He pulled off the oxygen mask and grabbed the phone. "Mine!" he said. "My victim . . . you . . . my . . . ." Blinking to try to clear his head, he spoke into the biophone. "Rampart, second victim is a 27 year-old male, 150 pounds. He's suffering from a twisted right knee as the result of a fall and has also taken a blow to the right patella. There is swelling present and victim is in considerable pain. And . . . and . . . and --" Roy's concussion reasserted itself. "Did I tell you Johnny has a owie? On his leg? Did I tell you that?"

There was a brief silence and then Brackett spoke very carefully. "Fifty-one, who exactly are the victims here?"

Johnny sighed and reclaimed the biophone, taking a second to fix Roy's oxygen mask. "Victim number one is Roy, doc, and victim number two is me."

"Am I to understand that you're treating each other?"

"Well, more or less. I'm treating Roy. He's only lucid in brief spurts, but he's doing his best. He has managed to immobilize my leg, though between you and me I think he went a bit overboard on the tape. Okay, Roy. Roy? Don't you think you've got enough tape now? Come on, Pally, give me the tape. Roy? Chet, can you get the tape away from him? He's turning me into a mummy here!"

Brackett re-considered his earlier decision. "On second thought, Gage, it might be best to wait for an ambulance. Do you have a blood pressure on Roy yet?"

"Uh, stand by Rampart."

The radio was silent for several long seconds and then Johnny Gage's voice came again. " BP is 80 over 40."

Brackett sighed. Not good. "Do you have someone else available to drive the squad?"

"Affirmative," Gage replied. " Chet Kelly's here. He can do it." Brackett wondered if he was imagining the amount of venom Johnny Gage put into Kelly's name.

"All right. Get that IV started and get yourselves in here. Can you wait until you get here before I give you something for the pain, John?"

"Yeah, doc. I'm good. I gotta take care of my partner."

"Understood. We'll be waiting."

"10-4. Fifty-one out."

While Johnny worked on getting an IV into his partner's arm, Chet closed up the biophone and started packing away the equipment the two men had used. In doing so he turned his back on his friends and once again Roy noticed his name on the back of the turnout Chet wore. He pulled off the oxygen mask and tugged on Johnny's sleeve.

"I'm over there. How come I'm over there, Johnny? I thought that I was over here."

Johnny taped down the IV, replaced the oxygen mask and looked into his friend's confused blue eyes. "You're not over there. Okay? You're right here. That's Chet over there. He's wearing your turnout coat, that's all."

Roy pulled down the oxygen mask. "Oh. Why is Chet wearing my turnout coat?"

Johnny replaced the oxygen mask. "He was running around naked and that was the first thing he grabbed."

Roy pulled down the oxygen mask, suddenly lucid and very annoyed. " Chet 's wearing my turnout coat with no clothes on under it?" He leaned around to get a better look at Chet and Johnny had to wrestle him down to keep him from yanking out the IV. "I want that coat cleaned, Kelly! I want it washed! Before I need to wear it again! And . . . and . . . sanitized! And . . . and . . . and . . . fumigated!"

Chet sniffed and gave the blond paramedic a wounded look. "You know, Roy, you really know how to hurt a guy's feelings!"

Johnny growled and replaced the oxygen mask. "Chet! Will you quit antagonizing him?"

"Me? What'd I do?!?"

"Oh, never mind! Look, can you help me get him to the squad?" Johnny tried to stand and could not. Sharp pains shot through his right leg, so intense they made him nauseous, and his head spun. "Hell. For that matter you're going to have to help me get to the squad."

"Okay, so who's first?"

Johnny considered. "Take Roy. Put him in the middle and make sure the keys aren't in the squad. Then come back and get me fast. If we leave him alone for too long he's apt to pull out his IV."

Chet pulled Roy's arm over his shoulder and helped him out of the locker room, juggling the IV and pulling the oxygen tank on its rolling stand along after them. Left alone, Johnny managed to lever himself up to sit on the bench in front of the lockers. Leaning his head back tiredly he winced at the thumps and banging noises that came from the bay. After what seemed like an eternity Chet strolled back in drinking a glass of milk. Johnny stared at him in disbelief.

"I found it!" Chet said defensively. "It was just sitting there on the back of the squad waiting for me to drink it. What?"

Setting the glass down, he pulled Johnny's arm over his shoulder and helped him out to the squad. Johnny stood in the open squad door with his back to the squad, reached up to take hold of the vehicle's roof and pulled himself into the passenger seat. Turning carefully, he used his hands to ease his heavily-splinted leg inside. Chet closed the door and went around and climbed in the driver's seat. Roy was starting to nod off and Johnny slapped his face lightly until he came to.

"No sleeping on the job, there, Pally!"

As they left the vehicle bay, Chet slowed and leaned forward to look both ways. Roy, blinking and looking around confusedly, caught sight yet again of his own turnout coat. He pulled off his oxygen mask and turned a helpless, bewildered look on his partner. "I'm sitting in the middle. But I'm driving. How can I drive when I'm sitting in the middle? I don't understand, Johnny."

Johnny sighed and resisted the urge to smack his head against the dashboard. "You're not driving, Pally." He fixed the oxygen mask. "Chet's driving. He's wearing your turnout coat because he didn't have anything else to wear."

Roy pulled off the oxygen mask. "He's wearing my turnout coat without any clothes on?"

"Yup. Fraid so." Johnny put the mask back on him.

Roy pulled the mask off and turned unsteadily back to Chet. "Cleaned, Kelly! I want it . . . and . . . ."

". . . and sterilized. And fumigated. I know! I know!" Chet rolled his eyes.

Johnny reached over to fix the oxygen mask, but Roy caught his hand and gave him a suddenly panicked look. His face was deathly pale, his skin waxy and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

"Chet, pull over!" Johnny yelled.

"What? But I . . . ."

"Pull over! Now!"

Chet pulled off into a gas station parking lot and Johnny wrenched the door open and levered himself out, careful to land on his left leg. Roy followed, abandoning the oxygen, and fell to his knees. Johnny lowered himself to the squad's running board and reached an arm across his friend's chest, supporting him and trying to protect the IV while Roy vomited.

It had been a long time since lunch and there wasn't much to come up, but when Roy's stomach was empty the dry heaves only intensified. As if they weren't having enough trouble, a stout, matronly woman caught sight of Roy, in his clown outfit, being sick in the gutter and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion.

She stormed up, swinging a heavy purse at the helpless paramedic. "Why you! You'd ought to be ashamed of yourself! Don't you know the influence you have on small children? You can't even get out of your costume before you go and get stinking drunk? For shame. For shame !"

Johnny shot out a hand, trying to intercept her flying purse before she could further damage his partner. "Ma'am! Ma'am! Stop, please! He's not drunk! Will you stop it? Please!"

"If he's not drunk, then why is he throwing up in the gutter? And it not even five o'clock yet? Hmm?"

"Look, he's been in an accident. We both were! See his IV? See the splint on my leg? Now, please. Stop! He's hurt already and you're going to make him worse."

The woman stopped swinging her purse and looked more closely at the two men. "Oh. Oh, my! I am so sorry!" She turned away quickly and ran right into Chet, who had come around the squad to help. She took one look at his outfit and the purse went flying again. "Ahhh! Flasher! Masher! Pervert! Take that! And that! And that!"

Chet ducked and danced around, trying to avoid her. "Gage! Gage! Don't just sit there, Gage! Help already!"

Roy's dry heaves had subsided and Johnny helped him sit up and lean against the side of the squad. For the second time in as many minutes he reached out a hand to stop the woman.

"Ma'am! Ma'am! Wait a second and listen to me!"

She rounded on him. "What?"

Chet waited, just out of range of her purse.

"If you hold the strap farther out from the purse," Johnny told the woman, "your aim will be more accurate and you can get more force behind the blow."

The woman tried it, catching Chet on the shoulder.

"Aaaoooww!"

Beaming, she turned back to pat the side of Johnny's face and pinch his cheek. "You're right! Why, thank you! My, but you are a nice young man."

Johnny gave her a charming, modest grin. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. You have a nice day, now."

She turned around and chased Chet around the squad while Johnny helped Roy climb back into the vehicle and then maneuvered himself back into his seat. Roy had slid all the way over to the driver's side and Johnny dragged him back to the middle before he could start the engine and attempt to drive off. He replaced the oxygen mask on his partner and closed his door as Chet finally made it to the safety of the cab.

"Very funny, Gage! You know, you ought to be nice to me. I mean, here I am, on my day off, driving you and your partner to the emergency room!"

"Chet! It's your fault we have to go to the emergency room!"

"Well, I suppose if you want to get technical . . . ."

Chet slammed his door and turned in his seat to see where the woman had gone as he cranked the ignition and started up the little red squad. Roy glanced over at him, pulled off the oxygen mask and pointed an unsteady finger in his direction.

Johnny smacked himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand and replaced the oxygen mask. "That's not you. You're sitting in the middle. That's Chet. He's just wearing your turnout coat."

Roy pulled off the oxygen mask, the question forming slowly on his lips.

Johnny put the mask back on him. "He's wearing your coat so the squad will think he's you and let him drive it."

Roy pulled the mask off. "You know, that makes a lot of sense to me, John."

Johnny put the mask back on. "Yeah, Pally. I was kind of afraid that it might." He reached across Roy and smacked a hand on Chet's shoulder. "Look, he's getting worse. Can you step on it already?"

Chet blinked at him. "You want me to go fast?"

Johnny stared at him in disbelief. "Well, I don't know," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let me think about it. You're in an emergency vehicle, driving code-R to the emergency room with two victims aboard. One of them's condition is rapidly deteriorating and the other one is quickly losing patience with you. WHAT DO YOU THINK?"

Chet grinned, delighted. "Whoo hoo! I get to go fast!"

#-#-#-#-

Captain Hank Stanley stood with his engine crew outside the emergency entrance to Rampart Hospital, waiting for his two injured paramedics to make an appearance. Dr. Kelly Brackett stepped out the door, followed by Dr. Joe Early and a pair of nurses pushing empty wheelchairs.

"They're not here yet?" Brackett asked, his forehead wrinkling in concern. "Dammit! What's keeping them?"

Cap lifted his HT. "Engine 51 to squad 51, where are you? What is your ETA?"

After a moment John Gage's voice answered him, out of breath.

"Engine 51, we are approaching Rampart now. Our ETA is about thirty seconds if Kelly doesn't kill us turning into the parking lot."

At that moment they heard the sirens. The squad screamed onto the lot, the back end sliding wildly from the turn and the squad's back bumper barely missing the front bumper of the big, red engine. Kelly stopped for a second as he maneuvered into position to back in beside the emergency entrance and the waiting crowd could see that Johnny had his right hand over his eyes, an IV bag in his mouth, his left arm wrapped around Roy's head and his left hand over Roy's eyes.

Chet backed the squad into place, then jumped out and ran around to open the passenger door. Cap, Brackett and Early, starting forward to help, stopped in shock to look at Chet's outfit. He was wearing a turnout coat -- Roy's turnout coat, in fact -- and, apparently, nothing else at all.

Chet yanked the door open and Johnny's right hand shot out and fisted in the front of Roy's turnout coat. He used his left hand to take the IV bag out of his mouth.

"Chester," he said, his voice quiet and very deep, "the minute they let me out of this place I am going to come and kill you. I just want you to know now so that you can worry about it."

He released his hold and Chet stepped back quickly and brushed the front of the coat, acting nonchalant. "Actually, Johnny, I think it'd probably be best if you let the doctors help you down."

Cap and Dr. Brackett stepped up and helped Johnny out of the cab. Joe Early came forward with one of the wheelchairs, but Johnny, balancing on his left leg, turned and leaned against the open cab door. "Take Roy first, guys. He's getting worse."

They reached past him into the squad and pulled Roy over so they could lift him down and settle him in the wheelchair. Johnny held the IV and helped them with the oxygen tank. Just as Roy was settled he pointed unsteadily at Chet with his right hand and reached for his oxygen mask with his left. Johnny, standing behind him, caught Roy's right hand and brought it back, protecting the IV, and used his left hand to hold Roy's oxygen mask on gently but firmly. He leaned down, rested his left temple against his partner's right and spoke very gently.

"You're having an out-of-body experience."

Roy's swollen eyes widened a little and he nodded wisely.

Johnny sighed and stood up, letting the medical personnel take his best friend away. "Take good care of him, doc?"

Joe Early lay a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Don't worry, John. We'll give him VIP treatment. He hasn't lost consciousness again, since he first got hit?"

"No. He has been really, really confused. But then, it's been a pretty confusing afternoon."

"Yes, I can see that. Don't worry," Early said again. "We'll undoubtedly be keeping him for a few days for observation, but I'm pretty sure Roy's going to be just fine."

"Really?"

"Really."

Brackett brought up the other wheelchair. "And now, Gage, it's your turn."

Johnny let them help him lower himself into the chair. Brackett took a syringe from the pocket of his lab coat and gave Johnny a shot first thing. "MS for the pain," he said. "Give it a minute to kick in." He knelt and took a look at Johnny's knee. "Good grief! How many rolls of tape did Roy use when he splinted this thing?"

Johnny let a rueful grin light his face. "Just the one, doc, but I think he used all of it."

Brackett grinned back. "It's not too tight, though? Not cutting off the circulation?"

"Nah, doc. I'd have cut it if it were. My partner's still a good paramedic, even when his brains are scrambled."

"All right. Let's get you inside and take a look at you. We'll have to have some X-rays to see the full extent of things, but I can tell you right now I'm going to go ahead and keep you overnight."

"But, doc --" Johnny protested.

"But, doc!" Brackett mocked him. "You cooperate and I'll let you help keep an eye on Roy tonight. Argue and I'll not only put you in a room by yourself, I'll make sure you get nothing but male nurses."

Johnny slumped in his wheelchair. "Aw, man! You play dirty."

"I do indeed." Brackett started for the hospital entrance, a young nurse following with Johnny.

Cap turned to Chet Kelly. "Kelly! I'm still waiting to hear what happened. What did you do to Roy and Johnny, you twit?!?"

Chet blinked and contrived to look innocent. "Cap! I didn't do anything. Honest! Roy fell over his clown shoes and Johnny fell over Roy. This whole thing had nothing to do with me. I just happened to be there."

The nurse was trying to pull Johnny backwards through the emergency room door, but hearing Chet's version of the afternoon he caught the handrail beside the door and hung on. "WHAT?!?" He turned to Cap. "Roy tripped because he was trying to get away from this weirdo! I tripped because I was so shocked at the sight of him that I forgot to stop running! Ask him about that! Ask him about the water all over the floor, Cap! Ask him why he was naked in the locker room on his day off! Ask him why he was dancing! Ask him why he was dancing, Cap! And when you find out . . . ." Johnny stopped abruptly and thought about it for several seconds, then made a decision. "When you find out," he said, "I don't wanna know."

Letting go of the handrail, Johnny sat up straight in the wheelchair and let the nurse drag him backwards into the hospital and out of sight.

Cap glared at Chet. "Do you want to re-think your version of this afternoon's events, Kelly?"

Chet backed up against the squad. "Honest, Cap! It wasn't my fault! I swear!"

"Then whose fault was it?" Stanley bellowed.

Chet Kelly dropped his head and swallowed hard, then looked up and met his captain's eye. "Okay," he said. "Okay. You want to know the truth, I'll tell you." He took a deep breath. "Cap, it was the Bee Gees' fault!"

"The Bee Gees' fault?!?"

"Yeah, Cap!"

"Why?"

"Well, because," Chet grinned at his shift mates hopefully, "they make me feel like dancing!"

THE END.