Out of Nowhere When Johnny arrived at work on Sunday morning he still wasn't sure how to explain his hoarse, scratchy voice. The soreness was much better, but he still had a pretty bad case of laryngitis. "What happened to your voice?" a concerned Roy asked as soon as John tried to speak. Johnny shrugged. "Don't know. Woke up this way." In a flash Roy had his penlight out of his pocket. "Lemme look. Is it sore?" Gage swatted the light away. "No, it's not sore. I'm just a little hoarse." At roll call it was no different. "What happened to you?" Cap asked. "Lost my voice." The captain turned his attention to Roy. "Did you take a look?" "No one needs to take a look, Cap!" and exasperated Johnny declared. "It's just a little laryngitis. I'll stay off the radio, and I'll be fine!" "Okay pal, if you say so." One thing Johnny noticed was that with everyone focusing on his voice, they weren't wondering what else was bugging him. And he had an excuse to keep to himself. It was a blessing in disguise. + + + + + "Hey, Dixie, are there any doctors available?" The nurse smiled until she saw the look of alarm on Gage's face. "Sure, Roy, why?" she asked hesitantly. "It's Johnny. Notice how quiet he is? He woke up this morning with laryngitis. I was thinking maybe someone could take a second to look down his throat." John could see the reproachful look on the nurse's face. "Do you have a sore throat, Johnny?" she asked. Her voice oozed false concern. "No, I don't," the paramedic croaked out, while shooting a lethal look toward his partner. "I'm fine." "I just figured it wouldn't hurt to have someone take a look," DeSoto added. "Nooo," Dix drew out. "I suppose not. Let me see who I can find." She walked away and went straight into treatment two, where she knew Kel Brackett was working. He was putting a bandage on a forearm he'd just sutured, and was about to send the patient on his way. The nurse waited until he did so before speaking. "You won't believe this," she said first. "What?" "Roy is outside, worried about his partner, who 'woke up' with laryngitis this morning, and hoping someone could take a look. He still hasn't told him!" The corner of Brackett's mouth twitched in displeasure. "Send Johnny in here. And see if you can occupy Roy. If you can't, we'll just have to play it out, I suppose." "This is ridiculous," Dixie muttered as she left, and Brackett was inclined to agree. "Dr. Brackett's waiting for you in two," the nurse told John as she returned to her desk. She sported a sickly-sweet and completely disingenuous smile, and Gage was sure she was making Roy suspicious. He rolled his eyes and headed toward the room. He could feel Roy following, but didn't know what to do about it, until he again heard Dix speak up. "Oh no you don't, Roy. I've been waiting for someone to buy me a cup of coffee all morning. We'll be in the lounge, Johnny!" And then his partner was gone. "Sorry, Doc," the paramedic said as soon as he entered the treatment room. "Johnny, this is getting completely out of hand. I don't understand why you haven't told Roy what's going on. I suppose that is your prerogative, but _not_ when it means drawing Dixie and me into your deception." "I know, I know. I . . . ." John didn't know what to say, really. He wanted to tell Roy ten times every day, and twice that many when they were working. He'd tell himself that this would be the time, and then Roy would tell him about his mother-in-law troubles, or about the leak in the garage, or how proud he'd been at Chris's Little League game, and he wouldn't be able to do it. "I just can't tell him yet, Doc," he finally admitted. "Why, Johnny? I've told you from the beginning that you should have the help and support of your friends during this time. It'll help you." "I have you and Dix," he said with a grateful smile. "Yes, you do. But I'm not just talking about rides home, Johnny. There's more to this than that, and I think you know it." The smile left John's face. "I know that, Doctor Brackett," he said with complete seriousness. "Believe me, I know that. And that's exactly why I can't tell anyone." He looked at his watch to predicate his departure. "We really need to get back on duty. Thanks again, Doc." "Wait a minute Johnny," Brackett called out as Gage was about to leave. "I said I was going to take a look at your throat, and I intend to do exactly that. Get over here." + + + + +    "Gage, phone." Mike held the receiver out toward the paramedic. "Who is it?" Stoker scowled and shrugged. He hadn't asked. "Hello, this is John Gage." Johnny listened for a second, and then spoke again. "Okay, look, can you hang on for a second? I need to switch phones." He held the receiver back toward Mike, silently asking him to hang up when he'd picked up in the other room. Mike nodded. "Who is it, Johnny?" Roy asked before his partner could leave. "No one," Johnny answered hurriedly as he ran to the dorm. He looked around quickly, saw that the room was empty, and picked up the phone. "GOT IT!" he yelled as best he could, and then listened for the 'click' of Mike hanging up before he spoke again. "Okay, thanks," he told the woman on the line. "Can you start again?" "Sure, Mr. Gage," the pleasant voice said. "My name is Mindy, and I'm calling from the diagnostic radiology department at UCLA Medical Center. You have an appointment with us tomorrow morning at ten?" Her tone was as if she was scheduling a haircut. "Uhhh, yeah, that's right." "Well, I was just calling to confirm, and to give you some instructions." "Oh. What are they?" Johnny wasn't sure he liked the sound of this. "Nothing really major. You were told not to eat anything after midnight, correct?" "Yeah," Johnny sighed. "Again." It's not that he even wanted to eat, really--he'd probably lost weight in the last week if anything. It was just the matter of not being allowed that grated on him. "Okay, good. And we have your blood work on file already, Rampart send that over today." The woman was clearly reading a chart as she spoke. "Did Dr. Miller explain the possible complications of the procedure?" He had, before releasing Johnny from Rampart after the bronchoscopy. Miller had gone through what would happen in excruciating, and dispassionate, detail. But Gage had found that he was getting used to the guy's manner. Nevertheless, the mere mention of the word "complications" was enough to send a shockwave of nervousness through his system. "Yeah, he did," he croaked out. "Okay," the girl chirped on, "so you know that there is a possibility you will need to be admitted." "But Dr. Miller said. . . ." Johnny started; he'd said the chances of that were very remote. "Oh, I know," Mindy laughed. Johnny was glad she could take this so lightly. But then, she wasn't going to be having a biopsy in the morning, was she? She continued, "it'll be fine. But just in case, you should bring an overnight bag. That's all I wanted to say." "Oh. Okay." John derived no comfort from that suggestion at all. "I will." "Your time in the scan room is scheduled to begin at ten, so you should be here by 9:15 if you can. Will that be a problem?" "Uhh, no, it shouldn't be." As long as he took his toiletries from his locker, that was. He wouldn't have time to run home to pack a bag. But he didn't want to get into that with this woman. He just wanted her off the phone. "Okay, great!" Johnny rolled his eyes. There was nothing 'great' about this. Nothing at all. "We'll see you tomorrow. Do you have any questions?" "Ummm, Dr. Miller will be there when I arrive?" "He should be. Hard to tell with him, he's always coming and going. If he's not, he'll be on his way. Anything else?" "No, I guess that's it." "Great," the annoying girl repeated. "We'll see you tomorrow, then." "Yeah. Tomorrow." The woman hung up, and John did the same with a heavy sigh. He allowed himself a second to rest his elbows on the table and drop his head into his hands. He dreaded tomorrow probably more than any other day in his life. It was the day he would Find Out For Sure. Just a formality, he was sure, but still. Who in their right mind would actually _want_ confirmation of something like this? He sometimes wondered if he wouldn't be better off if Brackett had never taken that x-ray. But that was stupid, he knew. That thing in his lung wasn't going anywhere, and they would have found it sooner or later. And if that was the case, sooner had to be better, right? Right. And what was done was done. Nothing he could do about it except keep going forward. So he sat up straight, pulled himself together, and left the dorm. He didn't see Chet standing by the door to the latrine. + + + + +       "How about _this_ morning, Johnny?" Roy asked. "I bet I can get Joanne to make blueberry pancakes!" The paramedic was desperate to get some time with John away from the station so maybe he could really talk to him, and get him to open up about what had been bothering him this last week or so. And breakfast at his house after a shift was a good enticement, he knew. Johnny looked at him with a weary grin, and Roy suddenly noticed how tired his partner looked. Was he still not sleeping? "That sounds really good, Roy, but I can't. Wish I could." The dark-haired man stood and picked up a duffel bag that he kept stashed in his locker. It had stuff in it, but Roy had no idea what. "I'll see ya in a couple of days," he added, and he left. Roy shook his head in defeat and started to button his shirt. "Roy," Chet asked from the other side of the room, "what's wrong with Johnny?" The paramedic looked at his friend and shrugged. "Wish I knew," he admitted. "He's not talking. To me, anyway." "Is he sick or something?" "No, Dr. Brackett looked at his throat yesterday and said it was fine." "That's not what I meant," the fireman said enigmatically. But he didn't continue immediately. "Then what _did_ you mean?" DeSoto finally asked. "It's just that I walked in on him in the dorm yesterday; he was on the phone. And I coulda sworn he was making a doctor's appointment or something. He said something about a Dr. Miller, and that he'd see them tomorrow." Chet shrugged. "I dunno." Roy sat down hard on the bench behind him. Was that it? Was he _sick_? The paramedic couldn't accept that. Surely Johnny would have told him that. And he wouldn't be able to _work_ if he was sick. And Brackett had said his throat was fine, and before that his cough was fine. It couldn't be it. Chet must have misunderstood, that's all. + + + + +     "Okay, Mr. Gage, I'm about ready to insert the biopsy needle. Are you ready?" No, he wasn't. And yes he was. He'd been lying in this enormous contraption of a machine for what seemed like hours, though he knew it wasn't nearly that long. But his arms had been over his head for so long they were both falling asleep. And the walls of it were too close to his body, and more than once he'd thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't claustrophobic. There was no way, he was sure, that someone who was would be able to stand this newfangled machine. "Uhh, I guess," he answered. "Thanks to the local, you shouldn't feel any pain, just pressure. I'll start by making a small incision in the skin," as he said it, the surgeon did it, and Johnny felt his skin give. But it didn't hurt, as promised. "It is imperative that you do not move at _all_, Mr. Gage. We've done a good job of localizing the lesion, but if you move we'll have to start all over again. Can you stay still?" The way the physician asked the question annoyed Johnny. It was as if he was admonishing a small child in advance of him doing something bad. As if he was already sure Johnny would not be able to remain motionless. Why hadn't he changed doctors again? "Of course," he answered, letting his annoyance show. "Just get on with it. My arms are asleep." And with that Dr. Miller proceeded. Johnny felt the pressure, and it was quite uncomfortable even if it wasn't actually painful. But the paramedic remained silent and stoic, until it _did_ hurt. Something happened, the needle hit a spot, and it sent a shooting pain through John's chest, causing him to gasp. But he didn't move. Miller stopped. "Okay, Mr. Gage, I'm sorry about that. The needle has advanced beyond the depth of the local. The pain should be temporary. Calm down; breathe through your nose. Use the oxygen. I'll wait." After a moment of deep breathing through the nasal cannula, the pain did dissipate. In the mean time the doctor had checked the position of the needle, and deemed it satisfactory. He advanced it slightly more, checked again, and decided it was time to remove a sample of the tumor. Claiming he wanted to be sure to get a good sample, Dr. Miller retracted and re-advanced the needle two more times. By the time the whole thing was done, Johnny was miserable. "I'll need a chest x-ray," he heard the doctor tell someone. Then he was talking to him. "We'll need to watch you closely for several hours." Gage knew why--in case his lung collapsed. "Uh huh." + + + + +       John was lying in his bed in the observation unit, trying to get comfortable. The right side of his chest ached, and the people at UCLA's idea of pain relief were a couple of Tylenol, which hadn't kicked in yet. He kept shifting, and every time he did, it hurt more. Finally he gave up, and found the bed's controls to sit himself up. He was surprised when Dr. Miller came in. It had only been about an hour since they'd finished the test, only a few minutes since they'd taken the chest x-ray, and he hadn't expected to see the doctor so soon. "How are you feeling, Mr. Gage?" he asked. "A little sore." For some reason, Miller's expression alarmed Gage. "Why? What's the matter? What'd you find out?" "The biopsy samples are in pathology now. We don't know anything yet, and the complete biopsy won't be finished for a couple of days. But I can tell you preliminarily that it looks like we didn't miss the lesion. That's good news." John nodded mutely. "Can I take a listen?" the physician asked, pulling his stethoscope from its place around his neck. The paramedic sat up straight, and the doctor proceeded to listen to his right lung very carefully. "Do I have a pneumothorax?" Johnny guessed. Collapsed lung was the most common side effect, after all. The doctor stepped back from the bed before answering. "Maybe. The x-ray indicated that there might be a little bit of air in your chest cavity. Any pain?" "Well, yeah, it's sore where you went in. Doesn't hurt to breathe, though." Miller nodded. "That's good. I suspect what you have is what you'll get. We'll repeat the chest x-rays periodically, get a blood gas on you, and see." "If it doesn't get worse, can I still go home this afternoon?" "If it doesn't get worse," the doctor repeated, "I don't see why not." + + + + +     It didn't get worse, and after five hours of observation, during most of which he managed to sleep, Johnny was sent home. The only problem was that Miller insisted he take the next shift off. "We invaded your chest cavity," he'd admonished, "any strenuous activity before it has a chance to heal could cause bleeding, or a worsening of the pneumothorax." John had agreed and gone home, with an appointment to see Miller at Rampart in two days for another chest x-ray and the biopsy results, and instructions to call immediately if he felt any increased discomfort, or had difficulty breathing. He hadn't, and made it through the second day with no problem other than a little soreness, and stiff shoulders from holding his arms above his head for what had seemed like hours. He was even answering his phone, and had already assured Dixie he was doing okay when he got another call. Roy was inviting him to dinner. Again. "I can't, Roy, but thanks anyway." "We haven't seen you in ages, Johnny." "What are you talking about? You see me at work all the time." Roy's voice sounded perturbed. "That's not what I mean. The kids miss you." John sort of chuckled at that. His partner always played the "kid card" when he wanted him to do something at the DeSoto home, knowing Gage was a sucker for those kids. But Johnny wouldn't let it work this time. "I can't, Roy. I, ummm, I'm busy, if you know what I mean." Gage spoke as provocatively as possible, hoping Roy would jump to his own conclusions about what he meant. Because after all, his partner actually had no idea what he meant. + + + + +    "No, huh?" Joanne asked her husband as he hung up the phone. "No," Roy admitted with a heavy sigh. "He says he has a date. I just don't know, Joanne. I'm worried about him. He hasn't been over in what? Two weeks?" "I think that's about right," Jo agreed. "Not since you painted the sun room, and even then he was late because he had that doctor's appointment, and he didn't even stay for dessert." The woman stopped speaking, and thought for a moment. "Come to think of it," she finally said, "he really didn't seem like himself that day, either." "My God, Jo, you're right!" Roy exclaimed. "He was quiet, seemed kinda down, didn't he?" His wife nodded her agreement. The paramedic sat heavily in a kitchen chair. "What if Chet was right?" he mused aloud. "Chet? Right about what?" "He said yesterday morning after shift that he'd overheard Johnny on the phone making a doctor's appointment. I just chalked it up to Chet being Chet, but what if what he heard was right? What if there's something wrong? This whole thing started right after he saw Doctor Brackett that morning. I'm sure of it. And a couple of times when we were at the hospital Brackett saw Johnny, but I thought they were just talking, and . . ." He stopped, it all suddenly starting to come together. "And Dixie, Joanne. Dixie kept taking me to the lounge for coffee and stuff. What if she was getting rid of me?" Roy shook his head. "How could I have missed this?" "Wait a minute honey," Joanne said, trying to calm her increasingly agitated husband. "Don't you think you're jumping to conclusions here? If there were something wrong with Johnny, he'd tell us. He wouldn't hide something like that." "Normally I'd think you're right. But he's been acting so strange lately." "And another thing," the undaunted wife continued, "if he was sick, how could he still be working? He's been okay at work, hasn't he?" "Well," Roy admitted, "yeah. Except that day he had laryngitis, yeah, he's been okay." He picked up the phone. "I'm still gonna call him." Joanne put her hand over her husband's, and put the phone back in place.  "He said he had a date, honey. Leave him alone. You can talk to him at work tomorrow." + + + + +       It was late, almost nine at night, and John was staring at his phone. He needed to call Cap and tell him he wouldn't be in the next day. But what to tell him? It was tempting to just tell him everything. The next morning Gage would get the confirmation he'd been seeking for the last ten days, and then he'd have to tell Cap. A guy getting treatment for lung cancer couldn't be a fireman. Johnny was sure of that. But something still held him back. He didn't want to tell Cap. Didn't want to tell anyone until he heard the words himself. So he lied. Again. "I dunno, Cap," he told him. "Must be some sort of 24-hour stomach virus. Can't keep anything down." "Sorry to hear it, pal." "I'll be okay," the paramedic promised. Another lie. "Glad to hear it. But boy, John, with that cough and losing your voice and now your stomach, this hasn't been your week, has it?" Johnny actually chuckled at how unbelievably true those words were. It hadn't been his week at all. And he was sure that, come morning, it was only going to get worse. + + + + + "He's _what_?" an incredulous Roy DeSoto asked his captain. "What exactly did he say?" "He said he wasn't feeling well. Some sort of stomach bug. Thanks, Dwyer, by the way, for agreeing to work a double." "I don't believe this. He told me he," Roy suddenly realized what he was saying, and that he was dangerously close to getting his partner in serious trouble, so he stopped. "What'd he tell you, pal?" Cap asked curiously. "Nothing, Cap, nothing. I just talked to him yesterday afternoon, and he didn't say anything to me. That's all." "Well, these things can come up on you rather suddenly, can't they?" "Yeah, they can." The minute roll call was over Roy headed toward the dorm and called Johnny. He had to find out what was going on, and if what he was thinking was crazy, or was right. There was no answer. + + + + +        John entered Rampart through the front doors, rather than the more familiar ER entrance. He didn't want to run into anyone he knew, if he could help it. He especially didn't want to see Brackett or Dixie. He'd gotten used to brushing off people who didn't know, but those two. . . . He couldn't stand the pity. And even though he knew he'd probably have to get used to the sympathetic looks and condolences, he'd put it off as long as possible. The repeat x-ray only took a minute, and the tech developed it while John waited, so he could bring it up to Dr. Miller's with him. The news was good--the guy told him he didn't see air any more, and Johnny knew that most of the guys in x-ray could read films as well as any doctor. Of course, that "spot," as Brackett had annoyingly labeled it on day one, was still there. Johnny didn't need any help finding that. As he left the radiology department with x-ray in-hand, he was confronted in the waiting area by Dixie, arms crossed on her chest and looking perturbed. John matched her mood, and tried to walk past. "Hey, Dix," he said, hoping he'd be able to make a clean escape. He should have known better. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked him. She sounded like she was scolding a child, and Johnny couldn't help feeling he'd been getting altogether too much of that attitude lately. "Got an appointment with Miller," he said, making another unsuccessful attempt to get away from his friend. "Not for almost an hour, Johnny. Did you honestly think you could make an appointment in my hospital without me knowing about it?" The woman literally clucked with disapproval, but then the stern look on her face melted away into a smile. "Come on. Let's get some coffee. You've got time." Thankfully, Dix didn't try to take him to the ER doctor's lounge, opting instead for the nearly deserted cafeteria. "How have you been doing?" the nurse asked as soon as they sat down. "Eh," Johnny deflected. "Not too bad." Dixie scowled, so Johnny amended his answer. "And not too great." "You look tired." Gage shrugged. "I've been sleeping okay these last couple of nights. It's weird, but I've kinda gotten used to it, you know what I mean?" "I know what you mean." She paused a minute before continuing. "How'd the biopsy go? The board is lobbying to get one of those scanners over here. We'll see." "You claustrophobic?" John asked with a slight grin. "Cuz if you are, you're in big trouble. Picture spending an hour in a pipe. It's like that." "But they say the pictures they produce are amazing." "I wouldn't know, I didn't see them." The nurse nodded. "You're here to get the results," she said simply. Gage tried to keep the flash of worry from running across his face. He could tell from his friend's concerned expression that he'd failed. "Yeah," he admitted. It came out as almost a whisper. "Do you want company? Someone for moral support?" The small talk and banter was over; Dixie had gotten to the point. "No, Dix, but thanks." The nurse shook her head. "You still haven't told anyone, have you?" "Nah." "Why _not_, Johnny? This is crazy. No matter what you find out upstairs, some course of action will need to be taken. People will need to be told. Did you think you could keep this a secret forever?" The woman was clearly upset. "No, no, I didn't think that," Johnny said apologetically. He truly was sorry for the stress he'd put on Dixie and Dr. Brackett as a result of the way he'd handled this. "I don't know, Dix," he finally said, his voice filled with resignation. "It didn't seem like the right time at first. So I thought I'd wait and find out exactly what was going on before I told anyone. And then it went on and on." He allowed another slight smile and shook his head. "I never thought it would drag on this long. Honest." "Well, that's true, this has taken longer than expected," the nurse allowed. "But Johnny, you shouldn't go in to see Dr. Miller alone. I feel strongly about this. Whether it's good news or bad, you should have someone with you. This isn't something you should hear alone. I can get Betty to cover the desk for me." Johnny had started shaking his head "no" the minute Dix had started. By the time she was done, he was shaking it vigorously. "No, Dix, no. You don't get it. Even if I'd told everyone everything I wouldn't want anyone with me today." It was Johnny's turn to get upset; he had to make her understand this, but he wasn't all that sure he understood it himself. "I wouldn't want anyone with me when . . . when I find out. I couldn't. . . . I can't." He gave up in frustration with a disgusted wave of his hand. "Oh, I don't know how to explain it." "I do," Dixie ventured, and Johnny looked at her expectantly. "It's pride, Johnny. Stupid male pride. And it's wrong. There's nothing wrong with leaning on your friends a little during hard times." "I've done that plenty of times," Gage protested. "What? When you're laid up from an injury at work? Sure, you let people do some shopping for you, or drive you to doctor's appointments. But that's not what I'm talking about and you know it." Johnny let out a mirthless laugh. "What?" "You sound just like Dr. Brackett." Dixie smiled. "Well, Dr. Brackett is a wise man. You should listen to him." "Except," Johnny said with a slight smile, "when he said it I thought he sounded just like _you_. And now I know I was right." "I'm just worried about you, Johnny." "I know. And I appreciate it." Johnny nervously checked his watch. "I should get upstairs." "Are you sure you won't let me come with you?" "I'm sure, Dix." The nurse sighed. "Okay. But promise me you'll come downstairs and let me and Kel know what the results were." "I can't promise that." Dix started to protest, but Johnny stopped her. "But I'll let Dr. Miller tell you. Heck, Brackett probably already knows by now." "I don't think so, Johnny." The paramedic stood. "Doesn't matter," he decided aloud. "I gotta go." Dixie stood, too. "Walk me back to the ER?" "What if one of the guys, what if Roy is there? I better not." "You'll be able to see if he is long before we get down the hall. If someone's there, I'll let you run and hide. Don't you worry." She had a teasing grin on her face. "Come on." + + + + +      Dixie had secretly been hoping someone _would_ be in the ER when they got there, but the area was maddeningly free of paramedics. She'd put Johnny in the elevator, holding up her crossed fingers for him as the door closed. He'd smiled, but looked totally resigned to the notion that the news would be bad. As luck would have it, just as she turned around she saw Roy bringing in a patient at the other end of the hallway. Betty seemed to have it well in-hand, so Dixie returned to her post at the base station. "Hey, Dix," Roy greeted her as soon as he'd delivered his victim to Morton. "Do you have a minute?" "Sure, Roy, what's on your mind?" "I want you to tell me what's going on with Johnny." The nurse was startled. Dumbstruck. This wasn't what she'd been expecting at all. "What. . . ," she had to force herself to keep from stammering in shock. "What are you talking about?" "All those meetings Johnny kept having with Doctor Brackett, while _you_," he stressed the word a bit menacingly, "dragged me off to get coffee. And you encouraging me to force Johnny to talk. You knew something then, didn't you? He started acting strange right after he saw Doctor Brackett for that cough. Something's the matter with him, isn't it? Is he sick?" The nurse's mind was reeling; she had no idea what to say. She couldn't deny it, he was absolutely right. But at the same time, she couldn't divulge Johnny's medical condition, no matter how much she wanted to. More than anything, she wished Kel would show up at that moment, so she could defer to him. "I don't know what to say, Roy," she admitted honestly. "I can't say anything. You know that." She knew that even by saying that much she was, in effect, confirming the worried paramedic's suspicions. She watched in dismay as Roy made that very connection, and his face fell with concern. "Wow," he admitted. "I was kinda hoping you would tell me I was out of my mind." Dixie shook her head sadly. "You're not." "Umm, where. . . ." Roy stopped after a second, appearing to recollect his thoughts. "Johnny didn't come in today. Do you know where he is? I tried to call him, but he wasn't home." The ER nurse looked at the elevator doors for a long moment, wishing they'd open and Johnny would be on the other side so Roy would have the answer to his question, but knowing they wouldn't. Then she had an idea. "Roy," she started. "When you came in, you saw Johnny get on that elevator, didn't you?" "Huh?" Roy asked. "I didn't," but Dix cut him off. "DIDN'T you?" she stressed with a conspiratorial grin. "Because if you did, I suppose I could tell you which floor he got off." A slow smile crept across DeSoto's face. "Yeah, Dix, I saw him. Any idea where he got off?" "As a matter of fact, I do. That would be the eighth floor." Roy headed toward the elevator and pushed the call button before turning back. "Dr. Miller's office?" he asked. Once more, Dixie was stunned by how much Roy knew. "How did you?" she started, but stopped because the doors had opened and Roy was getting in. "I'll tell ya later. Thanks, Dix," he said as the doors closed. The nurse watched the numbers climb on the elevator's floor indicator, and hoped that some day Johnny would forgive her for what she'd just done. + + + + +      As the elevator rose, Roy realized that he had no idea _where_ on the eighth floor this Dr. Miller's office was. He wasn't even entirely sure what was on the floor--he'd never been up there before. His answer came the minute the door opened, and he was greeted by the sign. Surgical Oncology. Johnny had cancer? The door started to close, so he quickly jumped out. But he never took his eyes off the sign. He physically shook himself. No way. It couldn't be that. He'd figured out it was something, but not that. No wonder Johnny'd been acting so strange. But why hadn't he _told_ anyone? "Can I help you?" Roy's reverie was interrupted by the voice of a woman, a nurse, who was looking at him inquisitively. "You look lost," she said kindly. "Oh, no, not really. I'm trying to find my friend . . . . Do you know where Dr. Miller's office is?" "That depends. Which Dr. Miller? There's Dr. Nathan Miller, he's in gynecology in the east wing," Roy stopped her. "No, no, it's a guy; My friend. He's a man." "Oh," the woman chuckled. "Then you probably are looking for Carl Miller. He's a thoracic surgeon. Mostly lungs. His office is down there," she said, pointing through the doors that led to the west wing. "I think it's 812, but the name's on the door." "Uhhh, okay. Thanks." The woman walked off, and Roy was left to digest yet another piece of information. Lung cancer? No way. Johnny didn't even smoke. In short order the paramedic roused himself and decided he'd been kept in the dark long enough. There was only one way to find out what exactly was going on with his partner, and he purposefully went in search of Carl Miller's office. + + + + +      Johnny was sitting nervously in the waiting room, trying to quell his urge to jump up and pace in the small room. He knew Dr. Miller's receptionist Sandy--he'd talked to her so many times over the past two weeks that they were on a first-name basis--wouldn't mind if he literally climbed the walls, but he still didn't want to disturb her. So he stayed in his place. "He should be here in a few minutes, Johnny," the young woman told him with a warm smile, apparently able to read his uneasiness from the way he was fidgeting. "Uhh, I know. You told me. Thanks." John leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, taking a moment to study the carpet between his feet. He was still looking downward when he heard the door opening. He resisted the urge to jump to his feet in anticipation of it being the doctor, and instead just looked up. He was not expecting what he saw. Roy. Gage was on his feet in an instant. "Roy! What are you . . . how did you . . . ? What are you doing here?" Roy moved toward him, and spoke in low, though urgent, tones. "Me? Geez, Johnny, why didn't you _tell_ me? Are you okay?" "How did you know where I am?" Johnny asked, though he had a good idea, and after the talk they'd just had, he was mad. "Dixie told you," he decided for himself. "No, she didn't," Roy protested, still whispering and glancing over at Sandy, who was trying not to listen. He took hold of Johnny's arm, and sat him back down, taking the next chair for himself. "I figured it out on my own, more or less. HOW could you not tell me? What's going on?" "It's none of your business, Roy!" Johnny snapped--and he instantly regretted it. He was mad--at Dixie and most of all at himself. But he wasn't mad at his partner. He regretted it even more when Roy sprang up and started to shout. "How _dare_ you say that!" he yelled, casting one sideways glance at the receptionist, but forging ahead anyway.  "You're my partner. My best friend. You're like _family_, Johnny. And you're seeing an oncologist. An _oncologist_, for God's sake, and you think that's none of my business? Why would you think such a thing? How could you?" Johnny buried his head in his hands. How could he have, indeed? What _had_ he been thinking? At that moment he couldn't even remember any more. The only thing he was sure of was that he couldn't have made a bigger mess of this whole thing if he'd tried. When he looked up Roy was sitting next to him again. He made eye contact with Sandy, and she grinned sympathetically before pretending to read a paper on her desk. She'd probably seen and heard much worse than this before, John realized sadly. When Johnny looked at his partner finally, he was surprised that he didn't see anger in Roy's eyes. A second ago he'd been raving, with good cause. But now he looked. . . . John didn't know. He couldn't place it. "Look, Roy," he started calmly. Almost too calmly. "I didn't think . . . ." He stopped. That wasn't what he wanted to say. "I didn't want. . . ." He stopped himself again. Roy was shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he finally blurted out. "We should talk about all that later," Roy advised. He was calm now; back to himself. "I don't even know what's going on." Johnny shrugged. "Don't really know," he admitted. "They did a biopsy on Monday. I'm here for the results." "Biopsy of what? Do you have. . . ." Gage almost smiled at the realization that Roy couldn't say the word, either--just like everyone else. "Cancer? Do I have cancer?" Johnny amazed himself at how easily he could say the word no one else wanted to. "Yeah, probably. In my lung. Brackett saw something on my x-ray. Remember that cough I had two weeks ago?" "Probably?" Roy asked hopefully. "So there's a chance you don't?" "I guess so. But the doctor seemed to think I did. And he should know." Roy sat in stunned silence, and John just watched him. He didn't know what to say, and he was betting neither did Roy. But both men were granted a reprieve when Dr. Miller swept into the room. "Mr. Gage," he greeted. "Give me two minutes and come on in," he instructed as he went into his office, snatching John's x-ray on his way by the reception desk. Gage stood. "I gotta," he glanced at the office door then back at Roy. "I gotta go in." Roy nodded, and rose also. "I'll go with you," he offered. Johnny closed his eyes and slumped his shoulders in dismay. This was precisely the moment he wanted--needed--to face alone. "No, Roy," he said, shaking his head. "Please. I have to do this by myself. I'll tell you what I find out. I'll tell you everything, I promise." He looked again at the door. "But I hafta go in there alone." "Are you sure?" "Yeah," Johnny said, nodding his head emphatically. "I'm sure." "Okay. But I'll stay here and wait . . . as long as we don't get a run, that is. Is that all right?" Gage smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that. Thanks." Roy sat back down and Johnny turned toward the office, knowing that his entire future depended on what he found out on the other side of the door. And he walked through alone. + + + + +     "Have a seat," Carl Miller offered. Johnny was confused. The doctor wasn't his normal, all-business self. He seemed almost . . . upbeat. The paramedic sat, and was stunned when Miller came around from behind the desk to lean on its front, closer to John than he'd ever been during their many consultations. Then the man smiled. Widely. "Benign," he said simply. "It was entirely benign, John." Johnny literally felt for a second as if someone had pushed all the air out of his lungs. "Wha . . . WHAT?" The doctor chuckled. "You heard me. Two of the three biopsy sites yielded good tumor samples. Pathology looked at every damn cell, and found no malignancy. None." The paramedic could not believe what he was hearing. "But I was so sure," he sputtered. "You seemed so sure!" "I probably shouldn't have been so blunt with you in our earlier meetings, and for that I apologize," Miller admitted. He stood and returned to his familiar place sitting behind his desk. "But the size of the lesion, your not insignificant risk factors, the other results--if asked to give odds, I would have said there was a 75 to 80 percent chance the lesion was malignant." He grinned again. "I love it when I'm wrong." Johnny let out a laugh. "YOU do? So do I!" He was feeling giddy, euphoric. He didn't want to sit still, didn't know what to do with himself. He jumped to his feet and turned his back on the doctor. Two weeks ago he'd had his whole life pulled out from under him in a second. And now, just as quickly, it seemed as if it was being given back. He turned back to face the specialist. "So that's it? I'm okay? I'm fine?" Miller's happy expression tempered itself. "Well, yes and no. There's still the matter of that tumor. It is there, after all, even if it isn't cancerous." Johnny's expression became similarly more serious, and he sat back down. "Do you still have to take it out?" "No," Dr. Miller said simply before continuing. "Not necessarily. You have two options here. Right now it's asymptomatic. We can leave it alone and take regular x-rays, and maybe slide you back into the CT scanner at UCLA from time to time, and watch the growth of it. If it remains as-is you can live a perfectly normal, long, healthy life without giving it a second thought." "And if it doesn't?" "If it starts to grow or change, or starts to cause you problems, we can take it out--which is your second option. We can just get it over with, surgically remove it now _before_ it can cause any problems, and put this whole thing behind you once and for all." "But it might never cause any problems." "Exactly."  It hadn't taken much to get Johnny's mind reeling again. He couldn't process this, and didn't know what to say, really. "So what would you do?" he asked, hoping for some guidance. "I'm a surgeon, John," Miller said with a smile. It wasn't lost on the paramedic that all of a sudden the doctor was using his first name. "That should tell you my inclination right there. But it's up to you. I would be perfectly content with either course of action. Lung surgery is no small deal, I know that. If you don't want to do it, that's perfectly understandable, and it's fine with me. Let's just be thankful that you have the choice, huh?" The man stood and came around the desk. "But it's not something you have to decide now. You have time. Go home, think about it, talk to your family, and call if you have any questions." Johnny stood up, understanding that their meeting was over, and anxious to get out so he could talk to Roy. He thanked the doctor profusely, and left the office. But Roy was nowhere to be seen. "He asked me to tell you he had a run," Sandy told him. "Oh," the paramedic said, slightly crestfallen. But it didn't last long. He'd just see Roy later. "Congratulations, Johnny," the receptionist said quietly. Gage looked at her, surprised. "You know?" "Sure," she let on. "I took the call from the pathology lab. It's good news." John smiled. "Yeah, it is. Thanks." He paused for a moment, then plastered a mock-angry expression on his face. "You mean you let me sit there, going crazy, and you didn't say anything?" Sandy shrugged with an innocent smile. She knew he was teasing. "I couldn't! Dr. Miller woulda fired me if I did!" Her expression turned more serious. "It's not that often he gets to deliver really good news like that, you know." John hadn't thought of that. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He reached the door and turned back. "Thanks for everything Sandy," he said. "Any time, Johnny. Call me any time. You know how to reach me," the woman added with a smile. John was halfway down the hall before he realized that the girl had just invited him to ask her out. He chuckled at the realization. Maybe he would call her. Maybe he would. + + + + +       As the elevator descended down to the ER floor, Johnny was surprised to realize he was nervous. It was all good news, and yet he was actually nervous about delivering it to Dixie and, maybe, Brackett. It didn't make any sense to him. The door opened, and as he exited he was immediately met by a penetrating look from Dix, though she remained at her post behind her desk. He approached, trying to keep his expression neutral, but he couldn't do it. As soon as he was next to her, he broke out into a huge grin. "It's all benign, Dix," he said, almost whispering for fear someone would overhear. He didn't quite understand why he was still being secretive about it, either, yet here he was. The paramedic's thoughts were interrupted by the realization that he was being hugged. Dixie had wrapped her arms around him and was squeezing, so he moved his arms as well and made it a proper hug. It felt good. "Oh, Johnny, thank God! I'm so happy for you. I'm so relieved," the nurse was exclaiming. John quickly became embarrassed by the display, and stepped out of her embrace. "Yeah, me too." "What's going on here?" Mike Morton asked as he approached. He'd obviously seen the embrace. Johnny made eye contact with Dixie. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell the doctor. And Dixie seemed to understand. "Johnny just got some really good news, that's all," she said. "Oh. Glad to hear it." Mike was never one to pry, and John was glad he wasn't starting now. "Shouldn't you be on duty?" he asked. "Well, yeah. I wasn't feeling so hot this morning. But I'm a whole lot better now." Dixie laughed, and the physician obviously knew there was something more to it. "What am I missing here?" John grinned. "Dixie can tell you all about it." He looked at the nurse and asked, "Where's Brackett?" "He's in his office. Waiting for you, I'd bet." "Okay, I'll go talk to him." John started down the hall but then turned back. "Hey, Dix, has Roy called in?" "No, Johnny. They were called out, but haven't called anything in. Must not be serious." "Okay. But if he does come in, don't tell him, okay? I want to." Dixie crossed her heart with her finger. "I promise." John again started on his way to Dr. Brackett's office, but once more stopped and turned. "Oh and Dix?" he asked, only continuing his statement when he had her attention. "I haven't forgotten what you did this morning." The nurse batted her eyelashes innocently. "Who me? I have no idea what you are talking about." The paramedic grinned again. "Yeah, right," he said incredulously. "Anyway, thanks." "Any time, Johnny, any time." + + + + +      "So what do you think I should do? What would you do?" Brackett studied John's face for a moment, and marveled at how different--and better--the young man looked from the last time he'd seen him a few days earlier. He hadn't really allowed himself to notice how the weight of this scare had been affecting the paramedic. But that's exactly how John looked now: like an enormous weight had been removed from his shoulders. Kel realized that he sort of felt the same way. "It's up to you, Johnny, really. There are pros and cons with each approach." He knew John would ask, so he immediately elaborated. "Removing it now is major surgery, with all of its accompanying risks and whatnot. But you know what those are. Leaving it lets you resume your normal life immediately." "So you think I should forget about it." Brackett chuckled. "That's not what I said, and there's no way you could 'forget' about it. You'd have to be very diligent about follow-ups. And in the end you may have to have it removed somewhere down the line anyway." "So why prolong the inevitable? I should have it taken out now." He chortled again. "That's not what I said either. Some benign tumors never grow. It could stay exactly the way it is right now, forever. Or, it could grow, or worse. There's no way to know for sure." The doctor leaned forward on his desk. "You need to decide what's best for you, and no one can decide for you. But you have time. There's no hurry any more." He watched as Johnny relaxed back into his chair. "Yeah, I have time. That's what Dr. Miller said, too." He face broke into a wide grin. "It's a nice feeling." + + + + +     Gage turned the corner and saw the station ahead. Again, he felt oddly nervous about what he was about to do. But it was time to level with his friends, especially since it was such good news. That, and he hoped to get a chance to tell Roy, too. Whatever run he'd been on had not required a trip to Rampart, so Johnny hadn't seen him yet. The door was up, and the squad was still out; but the engine was there. He pulled his Rover up to the curb next to the station. He wanted to talk to Cap first, and was hoping the man would be in his office, working on the mountains of paperwork that he always complained about. Johnny peeked into the apparatus bay, and was relieved to find it empty. He took a deep breath and walked in, and was glad to find his captain right where he thought he'd be. He rapped lightly on the doorjamb to get the man's attention. "Hey Cap, you got a minute?" he asked as soon as his superior looked up. Hank was surprised to see him, Johnny could tell. But why wouldn't he? As far as he knew, Johnny was home with a stomach virus. "Sure pal, come on in. What brings you here? I thought you weren't feeling well?" Gage entered, and closed the door behind him. He saw the surprise at the move register on the captain's face. He sat. "I'm feeling fine, Cap. I . . . ." Why was it so hard to tell people? How should he do this, and where should he start? "I lied about the stomach thing" is what eventually came out of his mouth, and Johnny instantly knew that was not the approach he wanted. Captain Stanley's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Oh?" he asked. "Is that something you want to be telling me?" The paramedic shook his head. "That's not what I wanted to say," he admitted. "It was true that I couldn't work today for a medical reason, but it wasn't the stomach bug." "So why don't you tell me what it was?" Cap suggested. "Yeah, okay. It's just that I'm not really sure where to start." "Well, pal," the captain intoned. "I'm a big fan of the beginning." Johnny grinned slightly, took a deep breath, and started. At the beginning. + + + + +      "And that takes you right up to about an hour ago," Johnny finished. Cap had sat silently through most of story, only asking the occasional question, like when he connected the hoarse voice to the medical procedure John had undergone. The paramedic waited for some sort or response from his boss, and was unnerved when none came immediately. Finally he had to ask. "So?" Stanley leaned forward in his chair. "I think it's my turn to not know where to start, John," he admitted. "What do you mean?" "Well, I'm happy to hear that you're okay. Or that you will be. Or whatever. That it's not serious. Of course I'm happy for you. That's great news." "Yeah," Gage agreed. "But at the same time I have to confess that I'm a little disturbed that you didn't tell anyone--didn't tell _me_--about this right away." Johnny stiffened at the reprimand that he knew was about to come his way. "Not only are there perfectly valid and important reasons for me, as your captain, to be aware of any medical conditions that might affect your performance on the job," "Dr. Brackett said I was fine to work, Cap. I never would," He cut himself off when he saw Hank shaking his head. "Physically, perhaps you were okay to work. But emotionally? How many times did I have to speak to you these last two weeks about your emotional and psychological state? How many times did you tell me you were okay? How many times did you lie to me?" Gage swallowed hard. He didn't know. And when Cap put it that way, it sounded just awful. He almost wished his captain would get angry and yell at him, like he'd done a week earlier. But this . . . this disappointment he was getting was almost unbearable. "I . . . I'm sorry, Cap," he stammered. "I'm sure you are." Hank's voice softened as he continued. "And yes, there were professional reasons why you should have told me immediately, John. But what troubles me most is that you felt you had to face this alone. I actually thought I was more than just your captain. I thought we were friends." "Oh, no, Cap!" Gage protested quickly. "I mean, we are. Friends I mean. It wasn't that. I didn't tell anyone. Not even Roy." "Why not?" Johnny sighed in defeat. "Looking back, I don't know. Seemed like a good idea at the time?" He shook his head. It all seemed like such a stupid move now. "And then the more time passed, it just got harder and harder, you know?" Captain Stanley nodded, then smiled. "I think I can understand that. But you're going to be completely honest and upfront from now on, correct?" The paramedic grinned. "Yes, sir," he promised. "Good. So what are you going to do now?" Johnny shrugged. "I don't know. I gotta decide." Cap reached forward and patted the paramedic on the arm. "Well just remember, John, whatever you do, if you need anything, just say the word." "I know. Thanks Cap." Hank stood. "I think you owe some people an explanation, don't you?" The rest of the engine crew. Of course he did. They'd borne more than the brunt of his worry. He stood up as Cap pulled his door open. As the two men left the office, the squad backed into place in front of them. Johnny saw Roy's alarmed face and turned to his captain. "Cap," he asked, "can I talk to Roy first? He knows the bad news already, but not the good stuff." "Of course. Tell ya what," Cap suggested, "I'll go give the guys the basics while you talk to Roy, and then you can fill in any blanks I leave later. How's that?" John smiled gratefully. "That would be great, Cap. Thanks." + + + + +      As Roy backed the squad into place, he tried desperately to read his partner's expression--but it was oddly neutral. Was he just trying to be tough? Why would he be here at all, if not to give Cap some bad news, to ask for a medical leave or something? The questions were coming fast and furious, and he couldn't get out of the cab quick enough. "Johnny?" he asked, just as his partner was asking permission to use Cap's office. Oh, God, the news was bad. It had to be. But whatever it was, there was something he needed to say first. All through the two runs they'd had since he'd left Johnny, all he could think of was how he'd behaved in the doctor's office. It was inexcusable. As soon as he followed his partner into the office, he spoke. "Johnny, I'm sorry for the way I yelled back at the hospital. I was way out of line." "I don't have cancer, Roy." Gage said it so quietly, with only the tiniest hint of a smile, that at first Roy wasn't sure he'd heard right. "You . . . _don't_ have cancer?" he repeated numbly. "You DON'T?" "Nope!" With that John's face broke into a wide grin. "You DON'T!" Roy repeated, letting the words sink in. He had an incredible urge to hug someone, but settled for a hearty thump on Johnny's back. "That's great! Just great!" "I know," Johnny agreed, slumping into Cap's chair. "I'm tellin' ya, Roy. When I thought I had. . . . I was really. . . ." He didn't finish, leaving Roy to guess what Gage wanted to say. But he had a good idea. Question was, should he say it for both of them? Why not, he quickly decided. "Scared?" Roy ventured. John jumped a bit in his seat, a fleeting look of panic crossing his face. "No, no, not really," he objected quickly. "I was. . . . I was worried, that's all." Roy could see his friend visibly relax at having come up with an alternative. "Yeah," the older paramedic answered, sitting down as well. "Me too. I think that's why I yelled at you this morning. Because I was sca. . . ." He caught himself with a little inward smile. "Because I was worried, too." Johnny just nodded. They didn't have to say any more than that, and shared a moment of companionable silence. But Roy did have one more question that needed an answer. "So, partner, are you going to tell me why you kept this to yourself?" Gage shrugged sheepishly. "It all started the day we painted the sunroom," he began, and proceeded to explain how something always seemed to come up with Roy's family that kept Johnny from saying anything. "It just seemed like you had enough to worry about," he finished. Roy had been trying really hard to see John's logic through this explanation, but he couldn't. He'd known Johnny for a long time, but this was too much, even for him. "So," he finally started, "you're saying you didn't tell me right away because my _dishwasher_ was broken?" Johnny shrugged again. Roy couldn't believe it. "You know how dumb that sounds, don't you?" "Yeah, I think I do," John confessed. "But it made sense to me at the time. Plus I really didn't think it would take two weeks to find out what was going on. I was gonna tell you as soon as I knew what I was up against, honest. But you beat me to it." "Thank Chet for that. He heard you on the phone in the dorm one afternoon making a doctor's appointment. Then I started putting the other pieces together." "You mean Dixie really didn't tell you?" "Nah. Well, not really. I told her what I knew, and then she sorta helped me track you down at Rampart. That's all." Roy watched his friend smile. "I was sure she told you. I was really mad at her at first." "Would you still be mad at her if she had?" "Probably not," Johnny admitted. "Not much, anyway." Roy smiled at that. His partner never could hold a grudge. + + + + + +   Johnny could hear the noisy chatter coming from the day room as he approached, and he knew they'd be talking about him. Those suspicions were confirmed when he walked through the door and the banter came to an immediate halt. "Hi guys," he said somewhat warily. They were all silent for about three seconds too long before Marco finally spoke. "Hey Johnny," he said, "how ya feeling?" "Ohhh, fine. I'm feeling fine." His wariness was spreading into his voice, too. Dwyer shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and Johnny instantly felt sorry for the poor guy, who was stuck in the middle of something that really had nothing to do with him.    The awkward silence resumed, and Johnny waited for someone to say _something_. Finally someone did. Chet. "Geez, Gage, you could have _told_ us!" And that opened the floodgates, as John's friends started deluging him with questions. "He stuck a needle right into your lung?" Chet asked at one point. He was never known for subtlety. "Yup," the paramedic confirmed. "Right here," he added, pointing to the spot on the right side of his chest, which still sported a bandage over the biopsy site that still sported two stitches. Johnny felt it with his finger, and shook his head. It already seemed like that was two months ago, not two days. "That had to hurt." "Nah, not really. It was uncomfortable, that's all. The bronchoscopy, though, that was the worst." "So what are you going to do now, Johnny?" Mike asked quietly. It was the first time he'd had anything to say, and Johnny had to sigh. He was tired of the question already, as valid as it was. But he couldn't blame Mike for that. "Well," Johnny started emphatically. "Right now I'm gonna go home and not think about it any more for at least a day." He started to smile. "Then I think I'm gonna see if I can get myself a date for tomorrow night." Mike was smiling. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I know," the paramedic admitted, his grin widening as he stood. "You fellas don't work too hard, okay?" As he was making his way toward the front of the building, Roy ran out after him. "Hey Johnny, how about coming over for dinner Friday night? The kids have missed you." John stopped and thought about it for just a second. He'd missed them, too. And Joanne. And just about everything else he'd pushed out of his life in the last couple of weeks. "Sounds good, Roy." + + + + +      "Well, your appetite's fine," Joanne said with a smile as she picked up the last of the dishes off the table. "For your cooking? Always." The woman smiled and went into the kitchen, returning quickly. "Okay, kids, let's go. Christopher, you have homework, and Jen, it's time to get in the bath." "But mom," the young boy wailed. "It's Friday!" "Do it now, and then it's done," the mother said simply. "Git." The kids reluctantly got up and said good night to Johnny before heading up the stairs. "I'll come up to say good night before I go home," John promised. Finally alone, Roy studied his friend for a moment. "Did you get that date last night?" he asked. Gage grinned widely. "Yeah. Remember that girl in the doctor's office? Sandy?" "You went out with _her_?" Johnny nodded "Uh huh. She's incredible!" "I'd have thought you wouldn't want to go out with someone who . . . ." Roy had to stop, unsure if Johnny wanted to broach the subject. After what he'd been through, DeSoto wasn't sure if his friend wanted to take a deserved break from all that. It hadn't come up all evening. "Who knows?" John finished for him. "Well, yeah. I thought you didn't want to talk about it for a while." John grinned slyly. "We didn't talk about it. That's what was so incredible. We didn't do much talking at all--if you know what I mean." Roy knew, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear about it. He did look at Johnny and let out a laugh, though. "What?" "Nothing. It's just nice to have you back, that's all." John blushed slightly. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that. I shoulda told you sooner." Roy shrugged. "Water under the bridge, Johnny," he said. "What's water under the bridge?" Joanne entered from the living room. "Jenny said she wants you to tuck her in, Johnny. Hope you don't mind." "Nah, I don't mind." "Give her ten minutes," Jo instructed. She headed into the kitchen, but raised her voice to repeat "So what's water under the bridge?" "Nothing," Roy deflected. Joanne returned with the coffee pot and three mugs. "You haven't let him off the hook already, have you?" she asked her husband. She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Johnny with a disingenuous smile. "Yup, he has," John answered with a self-satisfied grin of his own. By now the woman had placed coffee in front of her husband, and had poured her own cup and was sitting. "Well I don't think I can let you off so easy, Johnny," she chided. "Joanne," Roy urged quietly. He wasn't sure this was wise. "It's okay, Roy, I can take it. I deserve it." "That's right, young man, you do. What on earth were you thinking? Don't you know that you can count on your friends whenever you need them, especially when something's wrong?" "I don't know what I was thinking, and I do know that. Especially now. And I've already said I'm sorry." "Won't happen again, will it?" she asked pointedly. "No, ma'am!" John promised. "Good," Joanne said with a satisfied nod. "Now that we've settled that, have you thought about what you're going to do?" Johnny swirled the coffee in his cup for a bit, staring at it. "I'm not sure yet." He looked up at his friends. "What do you guys think?" "I don't think we should try and influence you, Johnny," Roy admonished. "I think you should decide for yourself." "Man, Roy, that's what everyone's saying. And it ain't helping, I tell ya. I'll still decide for myself. But you wanna help, so help. What would you do if it was you?" Roy thought about it for a long moment. Finally he had to admit. "I don't know. I honestly don't." Gage chuckled mirthlessly. "Me neither. I'm gonna go say good night to Jen." He abandoned his coffee and ran upstairs. "It's quite a decision," Joanne said quietly as soon as John had left. "Yeah. I don't know what to tell him." He shook his head. "It's funny, we keep telling him he shoulda told us so we could help him, and now we know, and we can't help him." "Sure we can," Jo told him. "By supporting whatever he does decide." "Yeah, I suppose so." "And maybe," the woman continued, clearly forming an idea, "some other way." She went into the kitchen and came back with a large pad of paper and a marker. She made two columns on the paper, labeling one "pros" and the other "cons." "He's not gonna go for that, Joanne," Roy reproached. "This isn't like deciding whether or not to buy a new car!" "How do you know? Maybe he just needs help organizing his thoughts." Roy shrugged, and they waited for Johnny to return. "What's that?" he asked as soon as he did. "I thought maybe it would help you decide what's the best thing to do. Sometimes it's easier if you make a list." Johnny just looked at his partner's wife, completely incredulous. "Hey," the feisty woman said. "You wanted help, this is help. We'll start with the pros and cons of having the surgery." Gage shook his head with a laugh. "Okay, I'll play along." + + + + +       John looked at the two pieces of paper in his hand, his two pros-and-cons lists. It was nice to have it all spelled out for him, and Roy had even thought of a few things that he hadn't. But there was still one problem. "Sorry, Jo," he said. "I still don't know what to do." "Well you just keep those, Johnny," the woman said. "Maybe they'll help later." "Maybe." Gage looked at his watch. "I'd better go. We have to work tomorrow." He stood up and walked around the table to plant a kiss on Joanne's cheek. "Thanks for dinner," he said, "and for this," he added, waving the papers slightly. "My pleasure, Johnny. Don't be a stranger, huh? And let me know if there's anything else I can do." "I will." "I'll walk you out," Roy offered, and the two men went outside. As he got to his car Johnny looked back at the DeSoto house. Chris's light was still on, and the entire downstairs was warmly illuminated as well. He couldn't help but smile wistfully. "What?" Roy asked. "Oh nuthin," John tried to dismiss. But then he changed his mind. "I was just thinking that these last few weeks probably woulda been a lot easier if I'd told you right away." DeSoto let out a laugh and playfully jabbed his friend in the arm. "That's what we've been telling you all night. I'll see you in the morning." Johnny climbed in his car. "Yeah, Roy, see ya tomorrow." + + + + +     "Where is everyone else?" Johnny asked his partner as he was changing his shirt. "Dunno. Already dressed, I guess." Roy looked at his watch. "We better move it. Roll call in a couple of minutes." The two men finished changing and made it into the apparatus bay just as Cap was calling them to line up. Gage could feel his captain sizing him up as he took his place in line. "Welcome back, John. Feeling okay?" Johnny cocked his head slightly in confusion. Hadn't he told Cap last shift that he felt fine? "Yeah, Cap," he replied. "100%." "Good, glad to hear it." Cap proceeded to make his few department announcements, and dole out the chores. Everyone was given something, except Johnny. "Cap?" the puzzled paramedic asked. "Oh, I have something in mind for you, John, don't worry. Why don't you drop by my office after you and Roy have checked out the squad." "Yeah, okay." + + + + +     "What do you think that was about?" Johnny asked as they sorted through the drug box. "It was my turn for latrine duty, you know." Roy looked up with an amused half-grin. "You want the latrines? I'm sure Marco will be happy to trade!" "Well, no, that's not it!" John protested. "It was just strange, that's all." Roy returned his attention to counting bags of D5W. "Don't worry about it," he advised. + + + + + The squad's supplies in order, Johnny made his way to Cap's office. "We're all set," he told his superior. "What is it you want me to do?" Stanley banged his hand down on a huge pile of paperwork. "See this?" he said. "Incident reports. They all need to be put in chronological order." John's mouth gaped open in surprise. "There have to be at least a year's worth there, Cap!" "Uh huh. Exactly one year, as a matter of fact. But you can take your time. There's no hurry." "Ummm, Cap," Johnny ventured, getting suspicious. "Can I ask how they got OUT of order?" Hank shrugged. "You know how it is, John. Three men sharing an office, things get misplaced, piles get knocked over." "Uh huhhh. Sure thing, Cap." John took the pile of paper into the kitchen and dropped it unceremoniously on the table, then went in search of Roy. He found him changing beds in the dorm. "Roy, Cap's got me pushing paper!" "So?" The elder paramedic didn't even stop making the bed he was working on. "Don't you think that's a little suspicious?" DeSoto stopped what he was doing and stood up straight. "Why would I think that?" "You know," Gage said with an impatient wave of his hand, "all that stuff I told him last shift. With my . . ." He didn't finish the sentence, but pointed to his chest instead. Roy resumed his chore. "I think you're being paranoid, Johnny. It was just your turn to get the paperwork, that's all." John left, not buying it for a second. + + + + +     The morning was a slow one, affording John lots of time to sort paper. He was actually relieved when the tones went off for a jackknifed tanker truck and chemical spill. Unsure at first of what had been in the tanker, Cap ordered everyone in SCBAs. There were no injuries, so John and Roy found themselves on a hose line, helping to wash down the chemical, which proved to be a horrid-smelling, but relatively harmless all-natural insecticide. As they worked Johnny couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, and closely. But every time he tried to catch one of them, they'd be looking somewhere else. Was Roy right? Was he being paranoid? + + + + +      "You guys need help?" Johnny asked Mike and Marco, who were pulling the used hose off the engine to hang out back. It hadn't taken long to wash down the area and they'd quickly returned to the station. "Nope, we're fine Johnny," Marco promised with smile. "You sure?" No one ever refused help hanging hose. "Uh huh. We got it," John shook his head and returned to the squad. He could replace the air tanks they'd used with fresh ones, anyway. No one would stop him from doing that. He disconnected the two used ones, and put them aside to be refilled later. Then he hopped in the back of the squad and disconnected two fresh tanks. He moved the first to the edge and hopped down to the ground. But before he could pick it up, Chet was by his side. "I got it," Chet said, practically pulling the tank out of John's hand and lowering it to the ground. "Chet," Gage started to admonish, but Kelly had jumped onto the squad to get the second bottle. Johnny set to reconnecting the one tank he had until his friend got down with the second. "What do you think you're doing?" he finally asked once Chet had reached the floor and was connecting the second apparatus. "What?" Chet asked, oozing innocence. "A guy can't lend a hand?" "YOU? No." Johnny picked up his SCBA and returned it to its compartment. The fireman soon followed with the second, allowing Gage to continue. "I'm fine, Chet. Stop acting all . . . weird." "Johnny my friend, you're losing it! I don't know what you are talking about!" Though the teasing tone was in Chet's voice, the mischievous look was missing from his face. He was lying. But before John could take it any further, the klaxons went off. "Station 51, Station 36. Structure Fire. 1429 18th St. 1-4-2-9 18th. Cross street Manor. Time out 11:27." The paramedic latched the compartment and jumped in the squad. + + + + +      It was getting smoky up on the 3rd floor, but wasn't too hot yet. Nevertheless, the man in front of Johnny wouldn't move. He wasn't injured, wasn't sick. He was just . . . paralyzed with fear. "Look, buddy!" he screamed through his air mask. "We gotta get out of here!! Follow me and I'll lead you out. Can you do that?" Nothing. "WE GOTTA MOVE! NOW!" Nothing. John shook him, pinched him, but stopped short of a hard slap on the face. And still nothing. With a resigned sigh, the paramedic hoisted the man on his shoulders, and started carrying him to safety. How come the ones who froze were always over 300 pounds? + + + + +       Gage was relieved to see that Squad 36 was set up for injuries. He lugged his charge over there, and carefully put the man down. He was winded. Severely. "Whatcha got?" one of the paramedics, John didn't catch which one, asked. "Ahhh, he's okay. Hit him with ammonia, and he'll be fine, I bet. Just scared." Gage trudged toward the squad, wearily pulling off his gear and trying to catch his own breath. + + + + + +     Roy was just leaving the building after sweeping the second floor when he was startled by an urgent tap on his shoulder. It was Chet. "What?" he asked. "You'd better come. It's Johnny." He ran around the corner of the burning building, hot on Chet's heels. He could see Cap and Marco standing by John, who was sitting on the bumper of the squad, bent over at the waist.  "Johnny? What's the matter?" he asked as soon as he arrived. John sat up. "Nothing. I'm fine." "I dunno, pal," Cap chimed in. "Maybe a ride into Rampart wouldn't be a bad idea." "He's having trouble breathing," Chet claimed. "I am NOT!" Johnny stood up suddenly, startling all four men around him. Roy didn't know what was going on, or what to make of this. "What happened?" he asked. "I'll show you what happened," Johnny said, making no effort to hide the aggravation in his voice. "See that guy over there with 36s?" He pointed toward their triage area. Roy looked. "The big guy?" "Yeah, the 350-pound big guy. You carry that down three flights of stairs without getting a little out of breath." With that Johnny walked away, ostensibly to put his SCBA away. "What do you think, Roy?" Captain Stanley asked quietly as soon as John was out of earshot. Roy looked back at his captain. "Did he really carry that man down?" Hank shrugged. "I guess so." DeSoto didn't really know what to do. Johnny was winded, that much was obvious. But if he had carried that man out, then he had good reason to be, and that's what he told his boss. Cap shook his head pensively. "Things are under control here. Why don't you pack up and run to Rampart for your supplies," he suggested. But Roy clearly knew that wasn't why he wanted the paramedics to go to the hospital. "Yes sir," he said, and Roy went to join his partner in packing up their tanks. "I'm not being paranoid, Roy," Johnny hissed. "They're acting like I'm gonna break or something." As he spoke Gage was twisting his torso and bending over toward his left side. "You hurt yourself?" Roy asked simply, noting his partner's movements. "Stitch in my side," Gage answered simply. "Oh. Cap wants us to go pick up our supplies now." Johnny snorted with disgust. He knew what that meant, too. "I'm okay, Roy," he promised as he climbed in the squad. "Yeah, I know," Roy sighed. the story concludes