The High School Reunion by Nexxie Johnny Gage slapped the ambulance doors twice then turned to the diminutive woman standing at his side, his demeanor giving no clue to the qualms he felt in her presence. I don't remember Margie being this short. But then I'm a couple of inches taller than I was the last time we were together. "He'll be okay; it was a clean break. They're taking him to Rampart Hospital. The docs will put a cast on the leg and release him." "Thanks, John, I really appreciate your help." Relief erased the anxious frown that creased her otherwise smooth brow. A face that could be called pretty rather than beautiful, nonetheless her expressive eyes still had the power to tug at his heart. All in all, she hadn't changed a great deal in the ten years since he saw her last. FF/PM John Gage shrugged as if to say, "No problem." The little boy whose leg he'd splinted moments ago had looked up at the paramedic with teary eyes, eyes that were the image of his mother's. Johnny shook his head, clearing it of old memories. Margie's husband, Paul Reaver, rode with Paulie, their son, to Rampart. Concentrate on your job, Johnny, he told himself. Margie belongs to somebody else. He flashed her his best killer smile and turned toward the squad. "John, will I see you at the class reunion this summer?" "I...haven't decided. When is it?" The invitation sat on top of his television at home. Two hours of deliberation brought Gage no closer to a decision. High school wasn't exactly the happiest time of my life, he thought wryly. Adjusting to a new school at sixteen in a totally unfamiliar place, trying to cope with the death of my parents and getting around by city bus instead of my old truck... Life held more hurdles than a track meet. Margie flashed a sunny smile that turned her face from pretty to very pretty. "It's on Saturday the 15th. I hope you decide to come. It will be good to talk over old times." "Yeah, that would be...nice." No it wouldn't. Margie Freeman was the only good thing that happened to me in high school, but she's taken and I'm...not. "Well, I gotta head over to pick up Roy; he'll be wondering where I am." "Drive safe, John. It's good to see you again, even if the circumstances weren't the happiest." She stood barefoot in the grass as he stowed the splint box and picked up scraps of litter from the neatly manicured lawn. With an insincere smile and a friendly wave, he checked one last time for any missed articles and opened the driver's side door. The dark-haired paramedic climbed behind the wheel of the squad and rammed the key into the ignition. This is one run I could have lived without. Turning the key with an angry motion of his wrist, he started the squad and pulled away from the curb. "L.A., Squad 51 10-8 to Rampart for follow-up." He had about fifteen minutes to gather his angry thoughts and stuff them into the back of his mind before confronting the all-too-seeing staff at Rampart and his even more observant partner. "Squad 51, L.A., 10-4." Margie Reaver watched the red utility truck pull away from the curb with a pang of regret. At one time John Gage played a major role in her life. Now he rolled out of it again, seemingly untouched by the crossing of their paths. Well, she needed to retrieve Paul and Paulie, not stand on the lawn like an idiot indulging in what-ifs. At the hospital, Roy waited at the base station for the tardy arrival of his partner. He stared at the coffee maker as if it held the answers to the questions that preyed on his peace of mind. "Hi, Roy." Dixie dropped the chart she held into the rack, listening as it fell with a satisfying 'clack', and leaned on the desk. The quiet half of her favorite paramedic team seemed more preoccupied than usual. "Hmm? Oh, hi Dix." "Where's your partner?" "That's a good question. He should have been here by now." Roy looked at the Handy-Talkie swinging on a strap around his wrist and contemplated checking on the whereabouts of John Gage. "Maybe he got stuck in traffic. It's that time of day." She glanced at her wrist as if to confirm her statement. "Yeah," Roy said absently, "yeah, you're probably right. It's just... Dix, I might be going nuts here, but I could have sworn something happened on that last rescue." "Miss McCall, here are those files you asked for." Carol Williams bustled up to the base station, handed a rainbow stack of folders to the head nurse and walked back to the admissions desk. Working the desk was not on her list of favorite duties; she was glad it didn't happen often. Carol would be relieved to help treat patients again instead of dealing with their cranky, demanding relatives. "Something happened? To Johnny?" Dixie didn't bat an eye as she took the large stack of folders and began to sort them. Used to holding multiple conversations simultaneously, this minor interruption was not enough to sidetrack Nurse McCall when someone she cared about had a problem. Roy gathered his thoughts, trying to find a way to express the source of his uneasiness. "Yeah. It was so...weird. We pulled up and this kid lay on the ground holding his foot. Johnny ran over to check him out. The kid's father stood there talking a mile a minute telling how his son fell out of the tree and snapped the ankle, and that's pretty normal so far. Johnny tried to calm the father down while I set up the link. He joked with the kid and actually made him smile...he's good at that. Then the mother came running out. She wasn't hysterical or anything, but she stared at Johnny like she'd seen a ghost. "That's it? How did Johnny react to her?" Dixie asked, intrigued. Johnny almost never talks about his past...especially the ladies. Roy shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little foolish. "He sort of looked startled, then he just got quiet." "And...that's it?" Dixie looked perplexed. "Dixie, my partner didn't say two words the rest of the time we were there. That's an almost unheard of phenomenon for John Gage, and one I thought I would give any amount of money to see. But now that it's happened, I wish it hadn't. Dix, it's almost like Johnny turned into a total stranger before my very eyes." "Well, don't look now, but here comes Johnny, and it sure looks like he's in a pretty good mood." Johnny whistled softly as he approached the desk, noting his partner and Dixie deep in conversation. He waved and put on his biggest grin. "Hi, Dix, how's it goin'? Hey, partner, you about ready? We're supposed to pick up some groceries on our way back to the station." Johnny seems to be his usual carefree self on the surface, Roy admitted, but there's something odd about the way he's acting; something is out of place. "Hi, Johnny, how's Los Angeles County treating you today?" Dixie didn't see anything odd at all about Johnny's behavior. Maybe Roy was just imagining things. "Oh, can't complain. No underground rescues, I haven't gotten wet, nobody's thrown up on me, and Stoker's fixing fried chicken for lunch." His crooked grin put in an appearance impossible to resist. Dix smiled back at him, shaking her head. For Johnny, this was a good day indeed. The younger paramedic headed toward the rest room while Roy poured himself a cup of coffee. "Well, he seemed pretty normal to me." Dixie leaned back against the counter and waited for some response from Roy. Roy took a sip of coffee and reviewed the last couple of minutes, then looked at the head nurse, still not convinced. "He did act pretty normal...for him. But Dix, didn't you notice?" "Notice what?" "When he came in, he never once asked about the patient." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The runner touched home for the final run of the game a second before an opposing player tagged the batter at first for the third out. Cheers and whistles erupted when the crowd stood almost as one. Normally, John Gage would have been on his feet cheering with the rest. Just now, he slumped in his recliner staring at the TV screen without really seeing the game. It could have been the Dodgers or the Angels playing; he couldn't say which. The cardstock invitation fell unnoticed from his fingers and drifted to the floor beside the chair. Johnny saw only the eyes of the little boy he treated yesterday...and the eyes of the boy's mother. His mind wandered back ten years to the halls of West Carver Unified High School. "Hey, Pencil Head, who are you taking to the prom?" Johnny tried to ignore the question, closing his locker with a slam before turning to head in the opposite direction. Maybe they would eventually quit. "Artie, I don't think the 'Galloping Greyhound' is gonna answer you." Ted Smithers smirked, knowing Artie would never let it drop now; Gage bested him at the last track meet. Chester Arthur Tyler, known more commonly as Artie, rapidly gained on the smaller boy and gave him a shove. Books, pencils and papers went flying as John Gage stumbled forward, landing painfully on his hands and knees. The hall echoed with snickering before the group of students looking on fell silent. "What's going on here?" Vice-Principal Jerrod Myers' booming voice quickly cleared the area except for Artie, Ted and the unfortunate John Gage. Why is it, Johnny remembered thinking, that old Myers never shows up until after I've been shoved, tripped or otherwise humiliated? The man always accepts everybody else's explanation without a second thought...if he's capable of second thoughts. "You know Gage, Mr. Myers, he's always having accidents. He must have tripped on his own shoelace or somethin'." Artie's voice oozed false sympathy and Myers took him at face value. "Well, you'd better hurry to class, young man, it's almost time for the bell." Myers, his perceived duty done, turned toward the teachers' lounge and a cup of coffee. "You need to be more careful, Gage," Artie said over his shoulder as he and Ted headed for twelfth grade chemistry. Johnny could still hear their mocking laughter as he quickly scooped up his possessions and ran towards science class. "No running in the halls!" a voice called after him, forcing him to slow to a walk, and arrive seconds after the bell. Of course he was tardy. Artie and Ted smiled triumphantly from the back row as Gage took his seat. Johnny blinked and looked first at the TV screen and then the clock. The baseball diamond stood vacant except for two sports announcers who, bent on recapping the plays and stats, remained in place as the stands emptied. Gage wondered idly who won. "Now why on earth would I ever want to show up at an event where I might run into Ted and Artie?" He looked for the invitation to throw it away, but couldn't find it. "Maybe that's my omen. No invitation, no attendance." The year book from his senior year seemed to mock him from the bookshelf in the corner. No way! I refuse to rehash those days. He shuddered. High school ended ten years ago for me and it's better off a dead memory. Gage stood, his mind in turmoil, and wandered into his bedroom, needing to put space between himself and the year book that brought back such disturbing memories. He stopped at the sight of his waterbed. The covers lay on the floor where he left them after rising from a sleepless night; the bed was a mess. Might as well do a little housework to take my mind off 'things'. With quick purposeful motions, Johnny yanked the sheets into place, drew the comforter over the bed and plumped up the pillows. He reached for the small pile of dirty clothes abandoned before retiring and moved to toss them onto the floor of the closet. As he opened the closet door, accumulated dirty clothes tumbled out to cover his feet. It brought to mind the pile of scattered books and papers. No, John, think laundry, not high school. Think fire department search and rescue, not class geek. You are a skilled paramedic who saves lives every day. You are no longer the skinny kid that became a track star running away from bullies and trying to attract girls. Not girls, he corrected himself, girl. Artie doesn't matter. Ted doesn't matter. Peggy doesn't matter. Now why'd I have to go and think of her? He bent down to gather the pile of clothing and stuffed it into a T-shirt, creating a makeshift laundry bag. One of these days I'll replace the laundry basket that I gave to Chris for his box turtle. He smiled at the memory of Chris DeSoto hunkered down to watch in fascination while Gladys the turtle got used to her new home. Johnny "rescued" Gladys from near certain death as she doggedly struggled to cross four lanes of the busy highway. Chris was thrilled with his new pet. Joanne rolled her eyes in a "what next?" reaction. He grinned. One pleading glance melted Jo's resistance and Gladys gained admittance to the DeSoto family. Three narrow flights of stairs brought Johnny to the basement laundry room, empty except for two mismatched socks on a rickety table that had seen better days. Darn! Forgot the detergent. Back up the stairs to his apartment. He reached under the kitchen sink and pulled out the box of soap flakes. Empty. Now why did I put back the empty box? Oh, yeah, Michelle was coming over and I needed to get it out of sight. Well, the laundry isn't going anywhere, I'll pick up a some laundry soap and be back in fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes later, Johnny stood impatiently in line at the checkout. The checker popped her gum and chatted with a friend, apparently oblivious to the line of people awaiting their turn. "Hey, can you two talk later? I've got stuff to do." Never good at waiting, Johnny fumed as the cashier glanced at him, popped her gum and resumed the conversation. "I don't believe this." The woman in front of him gave him a dirty look and drew a tabloid paper from the rack. Bored, Johnny glanced over her shoulder at the latest inventions about the stars' lives. "How can people fall for that stuff?" Gage didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until the motherly type ahead of him turned to glare, paper still in hand. He colored and looked away. Finally the checker ran out of conversation with that customer and finished the transaction. The next two people in line must have been strangers to the cashier; they checked out in rapid succession. The customer in front of Johnny was another friend, apparently. The two women conversed about their families and mutual acquaintances as groceries slowly went into the bags. I wonder why nobody else in line is as upset about this as I am. Heck they're probably all friends of hers, waiting for their turn at her fascinating conversation. A glance behind him revealed four more shoppers all patiently thumbing through magazines or trying to control unruly children. Finally it was Johnny's turn. He shifted from foot to foot as the cashier popped her gum and proceeded to take a register reading, looking everywhere except at the man in front of her. She quickly keyed in the amount of the detergent and quoted the total. Johnny fished a five from his wallet and handed it over. He glanced at her name tag. Peggy. Yeah, it would be. Her gum popped again, prompting the memory of another annoying cashier. "You don't happen to have a glass eye do you?" She looked at him blankly. "Never mind." He grabbed the receipt, picked up the detergent without waiting for a bag, and headed for the door. The basement laundry room greeted Johnny with the sounds of the busily whirring washing machine and the rumbling tumble of the dryer. Somebody else got there first. Johnny's clothes, no longer wrapped in their T-shirt bundle, lay in a heap on the floor. Whoever it was removed his laundry from the table and tossed it carelessly out of the way. Nice! Gage gathered up his pile of clothing and made his way up the stairs and out the back door to the parking lot. He yanked open the door of the Rover, tossed the bundle inside, then went back to his apartment for some change. The junior baby food jar he used as a bank, covered with a layer of glitter courtesy of Jennifer DeSoto, held just enough change to do two loads of wash. Well, it would be enough. As he passed by the kitchen on his way out the door, Johnny briefly contemplated disposing of the petrified Jell-O packet on the counter by dumping it into the rinse water of the washing machine downstairs. Cherry pink underwear would be a nice change for somebody. He grinned and chuckled, but dismissed the thought. No use getting into apartment wars. Now if it was Chet's laundry... The 24-hour laundromat three blocks from Gage's apartment was crowded as usual when Johnny pushed open the glass door. The steamy air, already heated by several dryers running at full speed, carried the scent of various detergents and fabric softeners and the ever present aroma of chlorine bleach. Johnny wrinkled his nose and began searching for a vacant machine. They were all in use; the way my day is going, it figures. Trying to be patient as he waited for a washer to become available, Johnny found a chair and sat down, his laundry and the box of detergent at his feet. Women made up the majority of the patrons, housewives mostly from what he could tell. Most either stood engrossed in whatever program played inaudibly on the TV mounted on the wall near the front of the establishment, or were engaged in conversation. None of them appeared to be either single or below the age of thirty. The magazines available focused on parenting, children or women in general. Don't laundromats think that men like clean clothes? Where's "Sports Illustrated", for crying out loud? Two young women entered through the front door, baskets balanced on their hips, already deep in a private conversation. "Brenda, he's nothing'. Ditch him. He'll never go anywhere or amount to anything." "I know, but he's so cute. He has these big puppy dog eyes and..." "...and no income to speak of," her friend finished for her. "You can do better for yourself. Drop him now, for heaven's sake, before it gets serious." The first woman set her basket down on a table and hunted for an empty machine. "Hey, is anybody almost done?" "Over here," came a response from across the room. "I'm just taking my clothes out now." The two women went to the newly available washer and began shoving clothes in. Now why didn't I think of that? Johnny wondered. Just then he spotted a tall, middle-aged gentlemen beckoning to him from the row of machines behind the two women who just came in. Johnny picked up his possessions and fairly flew to the man before anybody else could beat him to it. "You looked like you could use a little help," the man said, looking at Johnny sympathetically. "We guys have to stick together in a place like this." "Hey, thanks, man," Johnny told him. "You don't know how much I appreciate this." His benefactor chuckled as Johnny began tossing clothes into the washing machine emptied seconds before. He dug in his jeans and located a handful of quarters, then started the washer while the older gentleman found a vacant dryer. The two young women resumed their conversation, this time within the wider community of the other female customers. "I'm telling' ya Brenda, he's not for you. I mean, look at you; you're a knock-out. What guy wouldn't fall for you? You can have your pick. So pick somebody with money, is all I'm saying'." "But I like Steve," her friend protested. "He's a nobody." "He's a fireman." Johnny, nodding from boredom, perked up at this last. "He's a loser! I mean what guy with any brains or talent would settle for being a stupid fireman. It's a nowhere job for nobodies." Johnny bristled, all but ready to jump into the conversation. "Honey, when she's right, she's right," another woman piped up, her hands busily folding towels. "I was married to a fireman for three years and it was lots of aggravation for no money." Another woman, a toddler balanced on one hip, wisps of dark hair escaping her ponytail, felt compelled to add her opinion. "I hear that. Long hours, never knowing whether he's coming home... Who needs it? I say dump him." The paramedic couldn't believe his ears. Did most women think this way? They didn't really seem to care about the importance of the job or the men who daily risked their lives. He began to feel slightly ill. The first woman nodded agreement. "Brenda, they're all brawn and no brains." Johnny looked at his wiry biceps in bewilderment. "But Steve is such a nice guy," Brenda said weakly. "He's a gentleman and he treats me really special." "So bake him some cookies and tell him to take a hike...nicely." Brenda's annoying friend was nothing if not outspoken. "Look, ten years from now, he'll still be a fireman, if he's still alive, and you'll be stuck home with a bunch of kids and no money. He's got nothing to offer you. Find a guy with ambition." Remembering how Roy turned down a promotion because of his love for the job, Gage felt his temper rise, ready to jump in and defend the absent Steve, when his washing machine finished spinning and rumbled to a stop. Johnny spotted an empty dryer and scooped his wet laundry from the washer. His body taut in anger, he slam-dunked the clothes into the dryer and shoved dimes in the slot. "No use gettin' mad, young fella." The middle-aged man watched him with interest throughout the preceding conversation. "That bunch just ain't worth it. I've been a bus driver for nearly twenty years, and I'll retire a bus driver. My wife never regretted marrying me, God rest her soul; we had a good marriage." With the kindly words of the other gentleman, Johnny felt some of his anger recede. "Man, I just don't get it. They're so...mercenary." Gage watched his shirts and jeans do a crazy circle dance in the dryer while he mentally reviewed the women's conversation. Brenda and her friend moved over to the dryers and began loading wet clothes into them. Johnny looked at the other man and rolled his eyes. How much more of this can I be expected to take? "Hey, Brenda, my boyfriend has a friend, he's a lawyer, and he's really going' places. Let me set you up with him. He'll make you forget Steve like a bad dream." That's it. I've had enough! Gage jerked open the dryer door, removed his still-wet clothes, bundled them into a soggy heap and slammed the dryer closed. Then he turned to face Brenda and her friend. "You know what? I don't think you should marry Steve either. You know why? He's too damn good for you!" Johnny started for the exit when the older gentleman's voice halted him momentarily. "Hey, buddy! What do you do for a living?" "I'm a fireman!" Johnny tossed over his shoulder. As he exited the laundromat, he could hear the loud laughter of the older man. Gage smirked. It was funny, and it does feel good. But what am I gonna do with my wet laundry now? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Hey, Roy," Johnny began as he put one foot on the floor of his locker to tie his shoe. "Do you ever feel like you're in a nowhere job?" At Roy's blank look, he elaborated. "I mean, do you feel you've reached your full potential, that you've made a success of your life?" "Yes," was his partner's response. "Hmm. You don't feel like, because you aren't a doctor, or a lawyer or something, that you've failed to make the most of your opportunities?" "No." "Well, has Joanne ever said she wished you weren't a fireman?" "Not to me. Johnny, I know I'm gonna regret this, but why all these questions?" Roy was glad to see his partner back to normal, but really didn't want to get him started on an all-day rant that would end with Johnny depressed and Roy with a headache. "I...you don't think this is a nowhere job? That we're failures that couldn't find anything better to do?" Oh man, what girl dumped Johnny now? "Johnny, I stay with this job because it's important and I find a lot of satisfaction in the lives we save. I thought you did too." "I do, I do. I was just... curious, that's all." Roy tucked in his shirt, shaking his head as he and Johnny exited the locker room into the apparatus bay where the rest of the guys stood around awaiting roll call. This could be a long shift. After roll call, A-Shift gathered in the kitchen around a plate of donuts Cap sprang for that morning. Johnny, preoccupied, didn't even notice when Chet sneaked the last jelly donut from the plate. "Hey, Cap, do you think we're all brawn and no brains? Fireman, in general I mean." Johnny amended his question when Chet choked on the donut. Stoker smiled secretively as Marco pounded the Irishman on the back and Roy reached for a glass of water. Captain Stanley fought to keep from laughing. What was bugging his youngest crew member now? Well, at least they wouldn't be bored today. "No, John, on the whole, we have to use our brains on the job." "Yeah, and some of us are better equipped for that than others," Kelly replied, now over his choking fit. His eyes twinkled. As a topic to annoy Johnny, this one promised to be prime. "Shut up, Chet." Kelly blinked in surprise that the set-down came from Marco Lopez. "Who says this isn't a good job, John?" Marco could see where Johnny was going, and wasn't sure he liked the direction. Johnny made a dismissive gesture. "Aw, it was just some stupid chicks in the laundromat yesterday. They were saying that firemen had a nowhere job. Low pay, no advancement, nothing to offer a woman..." "Well, I hope you set 'em straight, pal," Cap said. He didn't like seeing firemen put down either. "Not exactly, Cap. I got mad, but what could I say? I probably will be doing this job ten years from now. I won't be rich. Heck being hurt or killed is a real possibility. I mean, is this a good job? Is there something better I could be doing with my life?" He shook his head and leaned back against the table, then searched the faces of his fellow crew members. "Well, if not gettin' chicks because you're a fireman is what you're worried about, Gage, there's no need." At Johnny's inquiring look Chet's eyes twinkled. "You couldn't get a decent-looking chick no matter what you did for a living." "Oh, ha, ha." Johnny gave Kelly a dirty look and made his way out to the broom closet. Muttering to himself, he extracted a mop and bucket and got ready to mop the bay floor. Hank Stanley, troubled, looked meaningfully at his senior paramedic. He didn't need to ask the question, it was written all over his face. "I don't know, Cap," Roy shrugged. "He's been acting weird since last shift. Maybe it'll pass like every other crazy notion he's gotten." "I hope so," Stanley remarked. "He's a twit sometimes, and a pain in the neck at others, but he's good at his job and a good friend. I'd hate to lose him." "Yeah." Roy frowned and decided to hurry up and clean the dormitory so he could have a more serious talk with his partner. He didn't like Johnny's preoccupation with this either. Johnny pulled the squad out into the driveway and parked. He would wash it when he got done with the bay. It would be a good way to keep busy between calls, and he needed to keep busy. Artie Tyler's dad owned a sporting goods store. He always bragged that he would be the owner some day, and have a chain of stores all over L.A. I wonder if he did? What was the name of that store? "The End Zone", that's it. I'll have to look it up in the phone book and see if it still exists. Mike Stoker crossed the bay and climbed into the cab of the engine. He pulled Big Red out into the driveway beside the squad and climbed down. Crossing the apparatus bay to obtain cleaning supplies, Mike paused to watch as Gage pushed the mop with angry movements, muttering under his breath. Captain Stanley came out of his office to post memos on the bulletin boards and noticed his engineer staring thoughtfully at the junior paramedic. He hoped Johnny's troublesome notion wasn't catching this time. Despite the childish antics around the station, this was the best group of men he could ever hope to have under his command. Maybe Roy could do something with Johnny. "SQUAD 51...POSSIBLE HEART ATTACK...3451 MYERS WAY APARTMENT 1-G...3-4-5-1 MYERS WAY, CROSS STREET BORNE RD...TIME OUT 0915" Sam Lanier's voice sent the men of 51's scrambling. As the tones sounded for the first rescue of the day, Johnny pushed the mop and bucket carefully into the corner, then ran for the squad. Captain Stanley wrote down the details and jogged out into the driveway to hand the slip to Roy, who was adjusting his helmet as he waited in the driver's seat. 3451 Myers Way turned out to be an upscale apartment building constructed to look like a Georgian Mansion. The lobby, elegant in earth tones with pecan paneling and framed art on the walls, was softly illuminated by a chandelier suspended from the high ceiling. Two sets of french doors led out into a small courtyard where a covered walkway sheltered the entrances to the individual apartments. Residents gathered in the courtyard by the pool paused briefly to glance at the two paramedics toting various pieces of equipment as they passed, then quickly looked away. Johnny and Roy hurried to catch up to a man in tennis casuals who bade them simply, "Follow me." The man stopped at the door to 1-G. "He's in here." The door opened and a tall woman Johnny judged to be in her late forties led them through a maze of rooms into a dimly lit bedroom where a distinguished looking man with silver hair stretched out on the bed, his hand on his chest. "Roger, I've brought...help." The woman wasn't sure how to describe the two men carrying an alarming amount of cases and towing an oxygen tank. "Did you get a doctor?" The man, whose eyes were closed when they entered, now stared uneasily at Johnny and Roy. "Who are these people? Where is the doctor?" "Sir," Johnny laid a calming hand on the man's arm, "we're L.A. County paramedics and we'll be talking with a doctor shortly." "Paramedics? I've never heard of such a thing! Is there a doctor on the way or not? Take your hands off me, young man. Deborah, what are these people doing here?" Johnny stepped back and glanced at Roy, who was setting up the biophone, and then at the woman hurrying to the bedside. He waited to see if they were going to be able to treat the patient, who was becoming increasingly agitated. "Roger, I didn't know what to do. Dr. Carter wasn't in and his office suggested I call the fire department, so I did, and they sent these men. Maybe they can help you, Roger." Roger sat up, incensed. "The fire department! Deborah of all the hair-brained notions. We don't have a fire or a cat up a tree. I'm a sick man! Go call the hospital and have them send a doctor. And tell these...firemen to go back home and play cards or something. Deborah, get it right this time!" His limited energy spent, the man whitened and fell back on the pillows Johnny tried again, uneasy at the man's pallor. "Sir, we've been trained to respond to emergencies under a doctor's direction. If you'll let us, we'll check you out and tell the doctor what's happening. That way if you need treatment right now, we can help. We don't do anything the doctor doesn't tell us to do." The man opened his eyes one at a time and stared at Johnny, still doubtful. "Just what do you plan on doing?" He glared pointedly at the stethoscope around Johnny's neck and the BP cuff in the paramedic's hands. Gage nodded at Roy, who proceeded to contact Rampart. "I'm just going to take your blood pressure and check your pulse and respirations, all right? My partner's going to tell the doctor what I find. The doctor will want to know that first. Now, are you having chest pains?" A few moments later, Roy slapped the back of the ambulance and turned toward the squad. Johnny rode with the patient, having established a sort of rapport. Most times, Roy was the one to reason with a reluctant patient, being the gentler by nature. But somehow Johnny's firm authoritative voice was more comforting to this particular man than a quieter approach would have been. I guess that's why we're such a good team. I sure hope Johnny gets over this...whatever it is. "How's our patient?" Roy asked as he approached the base station where Dixie and Johnny engaged in earnest conversation. "He's gonna be all right," Johnny replied. "He's in there now swapping stories with Dr. Early. Seems they're members of the same country club." Johnny gave a little shake of his head. "Boy, that was some place they lived in. You should have seen it, Dix. I think my feet sank into that carpet up to my ankles." "Rich, huh?" Dixie asked. Gage snorted, "And then some. Oh, hi, Doc." "Johnny, Roy," Joe Early acknowledged on his way to the coffee maker. "You guys did nice work on Roger Pemberly; he's practically singing the praises of the paramedic program." "I didn't think he was gonna let us treat him," Johnny admitted. "Yeah," Roy chimed in, "you should have seen my partner. He just told the patient what he was gonna do, and then did it. Once Mr. Pemberly understood that a doctor was calling the shots, he just laid meekly back and let us do our jobs." Roy watched as Johnny looked startled, then angry, his jaw clenching. "Roger Pemberly isn't an easy patient to deal with. He's a self-made man, used to 'calling the shots' as you put it, Roy. He grew up in a rough neighborhood and built his business by working long hours and taking risks. You'd never know now, though, that he wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth." Joe Early took a sip of coffee and failed to notice the expression that crossed the face of the younger paramedic. "Yeah, well, he sure lives good now," Johnny commented. "You ready, partner?" With an uneasy nod, Roy DeSoto gave a wave to Dixie and Joe, then followed his partner to the squad. Something ticked Johnny off in there, and he was sure to hear about it soon. The silence in the squad felt almost tangible to Roy during the first half of the trip back to Station 51. Johnny stared out the window at the passing scenery as Roy mentally replayed the conversation at the base station, failing to find anything that would anger the other paramedic. "Roy, when we were at that apartment earlier, did you notice the people that lived there?" Here it is, at last. "I saw them. Anybody you mean in particular?" "No, just 'them', the whole group around the pool. They saw us come in, but turned away, like they didn't want to be caught paying attention to guys in uniform." "I think you're imagining things, Johnny." Truthfully, Roy noticed, but it didn't really bother him. "Roy, they acted like we were beggars, or...or lepers or something. They thought we were beneath their notice because we're public servants." Johnny crossed his arms, seething at the memory. "Johnny, that's their problem, not ours. We have a job to do, regardless of how rude people get." Roy knew immediately he said something to pique his partner further. Deciding that, under the circumstances silence might be his best course, Roy finished the trip without further comment. "Stop here," Johnny commented, reminding Roy that the bay floor was being mopped and the squad needed a bath. Roy parked beside Big Red where Stoker worked diligently with a chamois cloth. The big engine gleamed in the sunlight and Roy thought he'd never seen a prettier sight. He wouldn't trade this job for anything in the whole world. "Hey, Johnny," Marco called, "I finished up the mopping for you." "Thanks, Marco, I owe ya." Gage went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Chet, seated on the couch, perused the newspaper, Henry's head on his knee. Johnny sighed and reached for the phone book. His mind wouldn't let the idea alone; he needed to find out. "Hey, Chet," he said as he searched the pages of the book, "have you ever heard of a sporting goods store called 'The End Zone'?" "Yeah," Kelly replied, fondling Henry's ears, "there's one a few blocks from where my sister lives. I think it's a big chain, but they're pretty high-priced, if you're thinking of going there." "I went into one last month looking for a bicycle. They were a lot more expensive than the department stores," Mike Stoker added, entering the kitchen. With Big Red gleaming spotlessly in the apparatus bay, Stoker reached in the refrigerator for a cold drink. Gage slammed the phone book shut and tossed it on the TV stand. "Boy, it figures," he said savagely. He left the kitchen walking fast in angry jerky movements. A few seconds later the men in the kitchen heard the sound of the hose as Johnny prepared to wash the squad. "Hey!" "He must have gotten Roy." Chet grinned. His surmise was confirmed when Roy DeSoto joined the men in the kitchen, his uniform dotted with water spots. "Does anybody know what set Johnny off this time?" the bemused paramedic asked. Stoker and Kelly just shook their heads. Gage was Gage, it could be anything. Out in the driveway Johnny pictured Artie Tyler's smug smile. "So, Pencil Head, what are you gonna do with your life? If you play your cards right, I could make you a clerk in one of my old man's stores. But you'll have to treat me nice, call me 'Mr. Tyler', 'cause I'm gonna be the manager, just as soon as I finish college. Where are you going to college, huh, Gage? Oh, I forgot, you want to be a fireman, and that doesn't require college." Johnny thrust the sponge into the hot soapy water and scrubbed at the squad for all he was worth. Captain Stanley watched from just outside his office door. Whatever bee was in Gage's bonnet didn't seem to be going away. Like the others, he decided to just let Johnny work it out on his own. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The shift over, Roy climbed into his Porsche and started the engine. Johnny, looking straight ahead, opened the door of his Land Rover and got in. He started the engine and shot out of the parking lot without a backward glance. Roy waved goodbye to his crew mates who were still talking to the men of B-Shift, and headed for home. This stood out as one of the longest shifts in his memory, and one of the strangest. He needed to touch home base and regain a little of his equilibrium. After 24 hours with Johnny, Roy began to see where his partner was coming from...and it scared him. "Jo, are you happy?" Roy took a drink of orange juice and buttered the toast his wife set on the plate before him. Joanne DeSoto knew something was up immediately and suspected the origin of the question. I'm gonna strangle Johnny Gage one of these days, she thought before answering her husband. "Of course. What cock-eyed scheme has your partner come up with now?" "N-nothing, Jo, I just wondered. I mean, do you like being a fireman's wife?" "Well, I like being your wife, and you're a fireman, so yes, I like being a fireman's wife." Roy could tell that his spouse was trying to keep a light touch, but his darker thoughts wouldn't let the matter rest. "I mean, if you could choose any career for me, would you pick 'fireman'?" "What brought this on?" Joanne had a feeling she knew. She's avoiding the question; she doesn't want me to feel bad. "Joanne, I really would like to know. If we weren't married, if we were still back in high school and I hadn't chosen a career, and you knew it would be like this, would you have still married me?" There, it was a little strange, but maybe it would ease his mind. She would say yes, he knew it. The kitchen remained quiet as Joanne gave careful consideration to the question. Her answer mattered a lot to Roy, for some reason, and he wouldn't quit until he had the truth. But what is the truth? With slow, deliberate motions Joanne removed two eggs from the skillet and arranged them on a plate, then added bacon from a covered dish and some grapes from the refrigerator. She set the plate in front of her husband and sat down across from him, reaching for a slice of toast from the stack near Roy. "I suppose, knowing what I do now, I might have tried to change your mind about being a firefighter. But if you decided that was the right thing to do, I would still have married you, regardless of your chosen career." Roy knew there was going to be a problem when she hesitated so long before answering. And it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. Maybe I should have stuck to the first question and let it rest, he thought unhappily. He took a bite of the eggs and noticed that he'd suddenly lost his appetite. Like a dog with a bone, Roy couldn't let go until he knew the whole truth. "How do you feel about my job? If it wasn't too late to switch jobs, and I'm not saying it is too late or that I would ever do that, but would you rather I did something else for a living?" This time Joanne knew what to say. She rose from her seat and walked over to stand beside Roy, then leaned down and embraced her husband. "Roy DeSoto, stop doubting yourself and stop doubting me. You are doing what you think is good and important. When you passed up the promotion, I was upset at first, but I realized that you would always have regrets if you left the paramedic program. I would much rather be married to a man who feels his work is more important than his paycheck. Now if John Gage is behind this, the next time I see him I'm going to give him a piece of my mind!" She will, too, Roy thought before she diverted his attention completely away from his troubled partner. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Troubled was a very apt description of John Roderick Gage. After arriving home from work, still in a foul mood, he gave in to temptation and pulled down his copy of the high school year book. Then he retrieved the telephone book from the stand beside the door and set it on the table. For a few moments he just stared at the two volumes, trying to decide which was more dangerous. The telephone shattered the peace and quiet of his apartment, but he just let it ring. There wasn't anybody he wanted to talk to at the moment, and if he got sidetracked right now, this would only come back to haunt him later. The words "West Carver Unified High School, Class of '65" on the front of the brown leather volume might as well have said "Pandora's Box". He vividly recalled the day they passed out the yearbooks. "Sign mine, Ted, right here by your picture." Girls crowded around the football team's quarterback like his own personal huddle. Ted Smithers beamed as he signed one book after another. "Sorry, girls, my pen's out of ink," Ted told the few that remained ten minutes later. Peggy Thurston, a pretty brunette that sat next to John Gage in English class, spotted Johnny cleaning out his locker. "Hey, can I borrow a pen?" she asked him. Unable to resist the pleading look in her eyes, he reached into his locker and pulled out a blue ball-point pen and handed it to her. With a cheery, "Thanks", the girl turned back to the group surrounding Ted and crowed, "Hey, here's one, Teddy, now you can sign mine next!" Johnny felt slightly ill and more than a little bit used. He turned back to the locker and finished stuffing his notebooks and papers into a bag. "Thanks, you're a lifesaver," the same voice said to him a few minutes later. Peggy held out Johnny's pen and smiled at him. "You're welcome," Johnny said. Then on impulse, "Hey, Peggy, sign my book?" She hesitated and checked to see if they were being watched before replying, "Sure." The response wasn't enthusiastic, but she held out her hand for the book. Johnny promptly placed his yearbook in her hands and waited. Peggy opened the cover and noted that there was only one other signature on the page, and no personal messages. "Er, what was your name again?" "Never mind," Johnny said, retrieving his yearbook. Peggy shrugged and held out his pen. "Naw, keep it," he told her. As he turned to close his locker, he felt the yearbook suddenly ripped from his hands. Artie Tyler and Ted Smithers grinned as they opened the cover and took the pen from Peggy. In letters that covered the whole page, Artie wrote, "John Gage is a Pencil Brain and a Geek," then he dropped the book at Johnny's feet, put his arm around Peggy and walked off, Ted Smithers following in their wake. Johnny balled his fists and vowed revenge...someday. Fighting to control his emotions, the young man tucked the ruined book under his arm and hurried home. Well, it never happened, Johnny thought, opening the cover. Artie's scribbled words still lay scrawled across the inside cover like an accusation. Man, I sure wanted this thing bad, Johnny recalled. I couldn't really afford it, but I worked extra hours at the gas station and saved up enough to order it. And then Artie and Ted ruined it; those two ruined everything I ever tried to do in high school. He stared down at the crisp pages, opened only twice in the past ten years. The lone signature in his yearbook remained that of Margie Freeman. For Johnny, her date for the prom, and her own personal hero in their senior year, Margie felt no qualms about signing her name. Okay, Artie made good on his boasts. There is a string of sporting goods stores called "The End Zone" all over Los Angeles, just like he'd said there would be. What about Ted Smithers? One of the assignments Johnny hated most as editor of the school paper was writing an article about the senior class and their plans for the future. Try as he might to forget, most of the names and their aspirations were still burned into his memory. He opened the phone book to S...Smithers, Theodore J., Attorney at law. Well, that figured. Two hours later, sick at heart, Johnny quit. Closing both the yearbook and the phone book, he stood up and walked to the refrigerator for a beer. Three doctors, four lawyers, two veterinarians, five realtors, two shrinks and a politician. And two firemen. I'd almost forgotten Gil Robinson. But then Gil planned to become a pilot. Go figure. The rest, who knows? All in all, it's pretty apparent that John Gage turned out just like he planned...a fireman, at the bottom of the financial scale. He placed the yearbook back on the shelf. Stay there for another five years, he told it. He replaced the phone book in the stand and walked into the bedroom. Setting his beer on the nightstand, Johnny sat down on the bed and lay back, resting his head on his hands. He wondered idly if the reunion would bear any resemblance to the prom. He shuddered, well if it did, at least he wouldn't be there to provide entertainment this time. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Dixie, did you ever go to a class reunion?" Johnny couldn't get the event out of his mind. Maybe it won't be as bad as I think. Maybe the people I went to school with will remember me as a good student, or as a track star. Maybe...maybe Artie and Ted won't show up. Maybe by now Peggy Thurston is fat and frumpy. "Yeah, I went to a couple...don't ask me which ones, because I won't tell." Dixie gave him a mischievous smile. "Why, do you have a reunion coming up?" Johnny leaned on the counter obviously preoccupied. Roy was in with their latest patient, an octogenarian who broke her ankle...on an exercise machine. The old woman grimaced in pain, but her eyes twinkled at Johnny when he helped put her in the ambulance. "Darned contraption. Caught my ankle on the bookcase. Next time I'll be more careful. Don't ever get old, sonny." "No, ma'am," Johnny replied with a wink. "Johnny?" "Hmm?" "I asked if you a class reunion coming up." Dixie was rewarded with a frown. "Yeah. I just haven't made up my mind whether or not to go." "Well, I think you should. It'll be fun." "What will be fun?" Roy walked up to join his partner and the head nurse at the base station. "Johnny's high school class reunion. He hasn't decided whether to go or not. I told him it would be fun." Dixie explained the situation while Johnny wandered over to the coffee maker and poured a cup. He glanced at the head nurse, a question in his eyes, and at her nod, poured a second cup for Dixie. "I went to my class reunion two years ago," Roy remarked. "It was pretty good, seeing how everybody turned out. The head cheerleader married the captain of the football team, like everybody expected, but they had five kids and each gained about thirty pounds." Roy smiled at the memory. Dixie gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Gage handed her and smiled broadly. "Well, at my class reunion I got to see people I'd lost touch with years ago, and I've even seen a couple of them since then. One of them gave me a deal on a used car. Oh...and our head cheerleader didn't marry the captain of the football team. She didn't marry anybody." Dixie smirked. Roy grinned at the head nurse. "You?" She nodded. "You were the head cheerleader?" "Yes, but don't you dare tell Kel." "Don't tell me what?" Dr. Kelly Brackett joined Johnny at the coffee machine and poured a half cup for himself. "Nothing." Dixie's look threatened Roy with bodily harm if he revealed her secret. Enjoying the situation, Johnny leaned over to Brackett and whispered loudly, "...that she was the head cheerleader in high school." "The head..." Kelly Brackett grinned broadly. This was ammunition indeed. Dixie glared at John Gage. "Say, Doctor Brackett, I bet you played football in high school." Roy took a stab in the dark. Brackett looked sheepish. "No, as a matter of fact, I played tennis. You?" "Nope, I was on the swim team. Johnny there ran track. They called him the 'Galloping Greyhound'." As laughter erupted from the group around the base station, Johnny stiffened, the smile deserting his face, and pushed his way past the others heading rapidly for the double-doored emergency entrance, and the squad. "Now what was that all about?" Dixie wonder aloud. Roy shrugged. "I don't know, but I'll bet it has something to do with his mood for the last few days. He's been really down, talking about the fire department being a 'nothing job for nobodies'." "Johnny said that?" Dixie couldn't have been more shocked if he'd said John Gage vowed to give up the pursuit of nurses. "Squad 51, What is your status?" The handy-talkie in Roy's hand came to life. Before he could respond he heard Johnny's voice from the squad reply, "Squad 51 available." "Squad 51, stand by for response. SQUAD 51, ASSIST ENGINE 51...TRAFFIC ACCIDENT WITH INJURIES...2112 HILLCREST DRIVE...2-1-1-2 HILLCREST, CROSS STREET MACON LANE...TIME OUT 1422." "Squad 51, 10-4," Johnny replied. "Later, Dix," Roy said, leaving Kelly Brackett and Dixie McCall still stunned with this latest revelation about his partner. "Well, what do you think of that?" Kel asked her. Dixie bit her lip and looked thoughtful. "You know, I'll bet it's got something to do with that reunion. There's somebody Johnny doesn't want to see again...or somebody he's afraid to see again." Brackett tipped his coffee cup back and finished the remaining drops, then put the cup on the counter, picked up his clipboard and checked the schedule of patient rounds for the afternoon. Focusing on his job once more, he said absently, "You're probably right. He'll be back to normal once this class reunion is over with." As the head of emergency took off at his usual brisk pace down the hall, his head nurse took her seat at the base station and reached for the duty schedule. She chewed on the end of a pencil. I sure hope you're right. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Squad 51 left Rampart Emergency after their third call in as many hours. Roy glanced at his taciturn partner wondering what could be so bad about a high school reunion that it would move the ebullient Johnny Gage to stony silence. "Boy, you're really letting this reunion thing get to you, aren't you?" Johnny spoke no more than necessary since he'd stalked out of emergency after the rescue with the broken ankle. "You know a little conversation wouldn't kill you." I can't believe I said that, Roy thought. Johnny stared out the window at the passing cars, grateful for the three back to back calls that allowed no time for bad memories or idle conversation. If he could just stay busy until bedtime..." After a few moments of asking questions and being ignored, Roy grew impatient. "Earth to John Gage." "Huh?" The junior paramedic jumped and looked at his partner in confusion. "I asked what you plan to cook for lunch. It's your turn, you know." "I don't know. Something simple, I guess." "That's a given." Roy sighed at the thought of hamburgers again. "Now what's that supposed to mean?" Johnny's eyes narrowed as he read the lack of enthusiasm in his partner's expression. "Forget it," Roy replied, attempting to head off the coming storm. "I don't want to forget it. You said 'that's a given' like I never cook anything that takes time." Johnny forgot his preoccupation with old memories as he defended his dubious cooking skills. "Well, I do. I don't want to fight with you, Johnny, I'm sorry I said anything." Roy's hopes that the situation would just blow over were dashed in the next instant. "Excuse me. I'm not Chef Boy-Ar-Dee, okay? I'm sorry, I'm just a stupid fireman and cooking wasn't part of the training. Maybe I should have worked at...at a fast food joint instead of going to fire academy. At least there nobody would sneer at hamburgers and hot dogs." Gage turned and resumed staring out the side window, his back to Roy. The squad backed into the apparatus bay and Johnny nearly shot from the cab, slamming the door angrily behind him. Man, isn't there anything I can do right? I managed to become a fireman, but that's not even good enough. Now I have to be some kind of gourmet chef before I can even be a good fireman. The banging of pots and pans in the kitchen brought the rest of the crew to the door where they stopped to watch in trepidation. Johnny Gage rattled utensils and slammed cupboard doors in his efforts to begin the noon meal. It was a display of temper unique even for the moody paramedic. Captain Stanley got Roy's attention and beckoned, indicating his office. The office door creaked closed and then clicked as it shut. Roy knew what Cap wanted to hear but was unsure how to answer. "What...ah...what's going on with John, Roy?" "Cap, I wish I knew. He was fine at Rampart a little while ago, laughing and joking with Dixie and Brackett about their high school reunions. Apparently Johnny has one coming up and hasn't decided whether or not to go. He up and left when I...when I mentioned that he was called the Galloping Greyhound in high school. He hasn't spoken two civil words since then." "This can't go on, pal. We can't all go tiptoeing around the station until Johnny decides whether or not he's made the right choice in life. I mean, we've all had doubts...look at when you were deciding whether or not to take that promotion. You didn't throw things around and make everybody miserable." Roy shook his head and stared at the toes of his boots, noting a scuff mark that needed buffed out. "I don't think it's that simple, Cap. I think there's something else going on here, but for the life of me, I don't know what it is. And Johnny's not telling." Loud words erupted in the kitchen, indicating a clash between the Phantom and his pigeon. Hank and Roy hurried toward the scene of the argument, Cap to break it up with an admonishment, if necessary, and Roy to intervene...if he could. "Kelly, I've had it with your stupid infantile jokes!" Johnny hissed, brushing the flour from his hair. It was obvious that the spring-mount trap positioned in the cupboard found its mark with perfect accuracy. Chet Kelly, his arms crossed in amusement, eyes twinkling, responded, "If ya can't take the heat, Gage, get out of the kitchen." Johnny's hands balled into fists, his face like a thundercloud. He nearly ran into Roy who grabbed him by the arms stepping between the two men. "Johnny, stop. It was stupid and childish, but it was a joke." Roy looked sternly into Johnny's eyes, hoping to see a return to reason, but failed to find any trace of compromise. It wasn't going to blow over this time. Why did the Phantom have to choose now to pick on John Gage? With an angry jerk, Johnny wrenched away from Roy and returned to the kitchen, his shoulders stiff with pent-up anger. The fragile hold on his temper would not, Roy knew, stand another onslought by his tormentor. "Chet, don't you have something you could be doing, say, in the apparatus bay?" Cap's words were not a suggestion. Pulling a face at Johnny's back, Chet moved to exit the dayroom, muttering, "What a loser!" He was brought up short by the impact of a boiled egg on his forehead, the product of Gage's perfect aim combined with the impetus of rage and the strength of his pitching arm. Kelly shot his hands to his face and sat down hard on the dayroom floor. "Aaaargh!" Stoker and Lopez came running in at the sound of Kelly's outcry, stopping in amazement at the sight of Chet seated on the floor, his forehead bearing a large red spot and bits of egg adorning his face and uniform. They looked from Gage to his victim and back again, unsure how to deal with this latest event in an already turbulent day. Roy grabbed a towel and started to dab at the mess on Kelly's face, relieved that the eggshell left no cuts and no pieces made their way into the fireman's eyes. Chet grabbed the towel and wiped his face in one angry motion, then rose grudgingly accepting assistance from Marco Lopez, and stomped out. Eyeing the still-furious Gage nervously, Marco followed. Roy let out a breath of relief, but knew he had relaxed too soon when Hank motioned for him to return to the office. Hank Stanley leaned his chin on clasped hands and tried to decide what to do. Johnny's moodiness had to stop now. The decision to let Gage work out his problem might have been the wrong one. "Roy, ask Johnny to step in here a minute, will you? And see if Marco can finish up whatever is cooking on the stove." Roy looked at his captain uneasily. The last thing he wanted was Johnny to be reprimanded, but he could hardly refuse to do as Cap asked. "Cap, is Johnny in trouble for this? Chet did start it, and Johnny's bad mood hasn't affected the way he does his job." "I'll take that into consideration, Roy." Knowing himself to be dismissed, Roy didn't look forward to the next few seconds. He left Cap's office and made his way to the kitchen stopping to give Marco Cap's message on the way. Johnny's spate of banging the kitchen equipment subsided into an occasional comment muttered under his breath, but his mood had not improved. "John?" The muttering stopped as his partner turned questioning eyes on Roy. John? What now? "What's the matter?" Johnny's brows knit in a frown, expecting more bad news. Roy had to clear his throat before any sound would come out. When it did, his voice broke on the words. "Cap wants to see you." Johnny didn't have to ask what about. He figured this was coming. He wiped his hands on a towel and threw it viciously at the countertop. Marco, entering to finish dinner, couldn't meet the younger man's eyes as he stalked out of the kitchen and made his way to Hank Stanley's office. The door was closed; just great! Roy watched uneasily as Johnny knocked on the door and was told to enter. He could hear Johnny's questioning, "You wanted to see me?" before the office door clicked shut behind him. Chet Kelly and Mike Stoker wandered over to stand next to Roy. "He's in for it, isn't he?" There was no gloating in Kelly's voice this time and no joy in Roy's as he answered, "Yeah." The three men waited silently, huddled in the kitchen doorway, for the younger paramedic to emerge. When he did, it was like an explosion. The office door opened abruptly and closed behind Gage with a crash. Looking nowhere but straight ahead, Johnny shoved open the door to the locker room and threw wide his locker door. He ripped off the uniform shirt and stuffed it into his gym bag, then proceeded to change back into street clothes. Without a backward glance, the angry man left the station, his Rover squealing on two wheels as it turned into the street without pausing. Roy gulped and waited for Cap's next summons. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Johnny spotted the invitation peeking out from beneath his recliner and reached down to pick it up. So much aggravation from a simple piece of paper. He tapped it thoughtfully on his fingertips and bit his lip, then prepared to tear it into as many small pieces as possible. Any minute now he would rip that sucker to shreds. With a sigh of defeat, Johnny crossed to the telephone and dialed the number listed under the RSVP. Maybe nobody will answer. "Tyler residence, this is Peggy." Damn! "Um, I'm calling about the reunion. Is it too late to make reservations?" "No, of course not. But there is a fee of twenty dollars. I'll just make a note to collect it at the door. And this is...?" He winced. "John Gage," the words came out in a whisper. "Pardon? Could you repeat that?" "I said my name is John Gage," Johnny said in a more sure, slightly angry tone. "Gage...Gage...Ah! Here it is. John Gage. Were you on the football team?" "Track," he stated matter-of-factly. "Well, if that's it..." "Yes, that's all I need. You know where Don Carlo's is?" Peggy named the upscale restaurant as if unsure he would have heard of it. "Yes," came the terse response. "Fine, we'll see you then. Good bye, Jim." Unable to choke out another word, Johnny just placed the telephone receiver softly on the cradle. I can do this. I'm not seventeen anymore. I can go to this stupid reunion without punking out. He looked at the clock. It's early, maybe Julie is free; or Donna; or Michelle... Twenty minutes and five rejections later Johnny stared at the phone malevolently. They're all 'busy', he thought. I wonder if they would have been busy if it was Dr. Gage calling instead of Fireman Gage. Yeah, right. None of them would have been too busy for Dr. Gage! Who am I kidding? This is a nothing job for nobodies, and I'm the biggest nobody in the department. "Well, I'm not gonna stay a nobody! Maybe Cap did me a favor, sending me home. Maybe losing my temper worked out for the best." Grabbing his car keys, Johnny jumped into the Rover and headed for the freeway. As the door closed behind him the telephone rang. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Roy DeSoto hung up the phone disconsolately and shuffled to the squad. His call to Joanne, for once, failed to cheer him and Johnny didn't answer. When Craig Brice walked in to replace Gage as his partner, the whole shift seemed a lost cause. Mike Stoker perched in the driver's seat on Big Red and stared down at Roy. Somehow, without speaking a word, the quiet engineer managed to convey that he shared in the depressing mood pervading Station 51. Silently he climbed down from the cab and came over to join Roy in the squad. "Any answer at Johnny's apartment?" "Nope." Roy leaned on the steering wheel and rested his chin on the backs of his hands. The two men took refuge in silent mutual commiseration. "Roy, do you think Johnny's right? That this job is for losers?" "Two days ago I would have thought you were crazy for asking that, Mike," Roy sighed, "but now, I'm not so sure." "Yeah," Mike said softly, "me too." "What did your wife say?" Roy guessed that a similar conversation took place at the Stoker's home as the one between him and Joanne. "That she loves me no matter what I do for a living." "Yeah," Roy said sadly, "mine too." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hank Stanley, still at his desk, mentally reviewed the conversation with John Gage that took place earlier. All in all, considering the outcome, I don't see what else I could have done. "You wanted to see me, Cap?" Gage's stormy expression clued in his captain that the interview would be unpleasant. "Have a seat, John." It wasn't a request. Johnny sat uneasily on the edge of the straight-backed chair beside Hookrader's desk, carefully keeping distance between himself and Cap. "John, you know you can always come to me when something's buggin' you, right?" Johnny looked at his hands, fingers tensely entwined in his lap. "I suppose so," he murmured. The response came out unenthusiastic at best. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" Hank waited for what seemed like ages as Gage's transparent expression reflected a struggle within. Finally he shook his head. "No, sir." "John, do you think you can calm down and do your job without spreading doom and gloom or trying to debilitate your crew mates? You've got everybody down around here, man." "Leave my problems at home, is that it, Cap?" The tone emanating from the younger man resonated with bitterness. "I didn't say that..." "You didn't have to," Johnny hissed. "You know, Cap, maybe those dames were right. Maybe we are a bunch of losers." "You don't mean that, pal..." Johnny cut him off again, "Maybe I do. You know what? I thought I wanted to be a fireman. All my life I thought it would be so cool to put out fires and ride the engine. I really dug the excitement. I thought it was a job people respected. But you know what? They don't. They think we're nothin'. They think we're nobodies. Well, I'm tired of bein' nobody. I'm tired of doin' a thankless job, riskin' my neck...for what? So that I can do it one too many times and end up dead...or crippled or burned? Ohhhh, no. There's got to be something better out there. There's got to be, and I'm gonna find it!" Johnny's voice gradually raised until he was shouting at the man in the chair across from him. He stood looking down at his captain, "I can't take this anymore." Hank stood up to his full height, several inches taller than Gage. His face stern, his voice no-nonsense, he let out his own temper just a bit. "Gage, go home and cool off. If you decide you can be a member of this crew, then come back next shift. If not...well, that's up to you, isn't it. We have to live together and get along. I can't have your bad mood demoralizing the other men." "What's the matter, Cap, afraid they'll figure out the truth? That there's something better out there?" Johnny stepped back as Hank advanced on him, his face like a thundercloud. "Leave now, John, while you still have a place in this station." The words were quiet, but uttered from between clenched teeth. Johnny turned on his heel and left, slamming the office door behind him. Hank sat back down and dropped his head in his hands. After a moment he picked up the phone and called in the squad unavailable. Then he started down the list searching for a replacement for John Gage. Hopefully it wouldn't be permanent. End of Part I Feedback for Nexxie return to main page