When the Skies Open

 Dixie McCall stepped around a puddle in the parking lot of Rampart General Hospital, wondering if she would ever see the sun again. For the past three days Southern California had been deluged with overcast skies and almost constant rain. While she didn’t mind the occasional cloudy day and drop in temperature, it brought a relief to the almost unvarying climate, she would currently welcome even a brief glimpse of a sunny cloudless sky. 

Shaking off her umbrella she stepped into the hospital emergency room to begin her shift. 

A tall man with dark wavy hair, gray eyes and smiling handsome features met her, his deep voice saying, "Good morning Dix." 

"Welcome back," she told him with an answering smile, her normally husky voice containing an added hoarseness. "How was Vegas?" 

"Dry. And the convention was pretty good too. I even got in a little gambling," he replied, eager to tell her of his trip. But as he caught a glimpse of her reddened nose and watery dark blue eyes, he felt his enthusiasm die on his lips. Even her long blond hung limply against her shoulders. "Are you all right?" 

"Yeah, I’m fine," she answered just before a repressed cough burst forth followed by a sneeze. Wiping at her nose with a tissue she added, "I’ve just got a cold. There’s something going around."

 "Maybe you should go home."

 Dixie shook her head. "Uh-uh. You have no idea how many people have it worse than I do. If yesterday is any indication, there’ll probably be a lot more out sick today. I’ll just take some extra precautions when I’m with a patient. Besides," she said with a tired smile, "I want to hear about any Las Vegas show girls that may have figured into to your trip."

 Dr. Kelly Brackett watched her walk down the hall toward the nurse’s locker room. In the four days he had spent away from Los Angeles he had thought of her often and the rekindling of their relationship outside the hospital.

 In the early morning hours of a disastrous fire at a neighboring hospital he had faced the grim reality of how much Dixie meant to him. His earlier reluctance to admit, both to himself and her, his true feelings suddenly became foolish. When at last he found her alive and unharmed among the ashes, he told her with conviction, "I love you."

 In the three months that had passed since that moment, he had worked diligently to repair the damage done by the hesitation and doubt which had caused him to lose the woman he had not only considered his lover but also best friend. Dixie alone completely knew and understood him; the gradual resumption of the simple things that had once comprised their companionship bringing him a great deal of pleasure. But Dixie’s enthusiasm at his return seemed guarded, as if there was invisible barrier that wouldn’t allow her to fully trust or enjoy his company again.

He could understand her reluctance, he knew he had hurt her deeply, and was willing to let her set the pace as to how matters proceeded. Still, he had hoped his few days away would allow her time to realize he was sincere and that a thawing in her attitude might take place. But given the fact she was probably juggling a schedule to accommodate others who were out sick, and appeared to be ill herself, he doubted his absence had made any difference. 

Hearing himself paged to the base station he pushed his thoughts of Dixie aside.  

*** 

"That sounds great. I’ll see you tonight then," Johnny Gage said, hanging up the phone. "It’s got to stop raining!" 

"New nurse?" Roy DeSoto asked without looking up from where he sat trying to read a soggy version of the day’s newspaper. 

"Nah, I think I’m done with nurses," Johnny said, pulling out the chair next to Roy and taking a seat in it with one of his classic lopsided Gage grins. With black hair and almost boyishly attractive dark features he tended to be a favorite fireman/paramedic among Rampart General Hospital’s single nurses -- although he didn’t have a great deal of success when it actually came to dating them. 

"So who is she?" Roy asked, knowing that if he didn’t ask Johnny would find a way to bring the subject up throughout the day until he did. 

"Remember a few weeks ago when I was looking for something for my mom’s birthday?" 

"Yeah, I remember," Roy answered returning to the paper. "You were having a hard time finding the perfect gift." 

"Well, I went to one of the downtown department stores and there was this girl who recommended a crystal figurine of an angel. She was great and my mom loved it! So I took her out to the movies one night . . ." 

"And?" 

"After the movie we went out for a drink. Her name’s Robin . . . and Roy she’s the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met. Besides working full-time at the store she’s also writing a novel and likes to sing. She’s got a great voice."  

"Really," Roy said dryly, not looking up.  

"Yeah! I kinda wanted to do something special for her. So the other day when I was off, I planned one of those harbor cruises they have -- since she just moved here from back east. But it was raining so we went to the movies again." 

"Uh huh," Roy responded, trying to pull apart the damp edges of the sports section. "And how was that?" 

"Fine, except my plans were ruined. So tonight, since we’re not on a twenty-four hour shift, I tried to plan something kinda . . . you know .. . . romantic. Dinner at the Brown Palace and then dancing on the open terrace afterward." 

"Sounds nice," Roy said, glancing from the paper to Johnny’s excited face, trying to remain nonchalant as he once again listened to the woes of being single and dating. 

The older of the two Roy found himself with thinning hair, a longtime commitment to a marriage, and two children. Dinner with Joanne somewhere other than McDonald’s and watching a film that hadn’t been produced by Disney before rushing back to get the baby-sitter home constituted a romantic evening. And while he wouldn’t trade it for anything, he did enjoy hearing Johnny’s stories about how the other half lived.  

"Then what?" he asked impassively, not wanting his partner to know the full extent of his curiosity. 

"It’s still raining! With the rain -- dancing in the open is out of the question! So I asked her if she wanted to grab some dinner and then hit one of the jazz clubs." 

Roy thought over the difference between the atmosphere associated with the Brown Palace and that of a jazz club. While the music might be better at one of the south-end bars, there was no comparison to the old-world elegance of an evening at the Brown. "And?" 

"She said that was fine," Johnny answered, smiling. "She hasn’t been to any of the jazz clubs in LA. She’s great!" 

"Gage, they still have dancing inside," Chet Kelly said entering the room, running a hand along his recently combed mustache and smoothing his dark hair. "Take her to the Brown or I might have to rescue her." 

"I’m sure you’re not her type Chet," Johnny countered, annoyed that Chet had overheard the conversation. Their sparing had become a part of the A-Shift along with Chet’s, AKA The Phantom’s, never ending practical jokes on the unfortunate paramedic. "And besides it’s not the same dancing inside . . . you don’t have that feeling of being above the city . . . and --" 

"Ah, come on Gage," Chet interrupted, picking up a cup and pouring himself some coffee. "The rain’s just an excuse not to have to spring for a night at the Brown Palace." 

"I just want . . ." 

"But then again, she must be something special if you’re even willing to consider it," Chet said thoughtfully taking a chair at the table. "There must be some other allure because we all know you’re pretty stingy when it comes to a date." 

"Oh for God’s sake Chet! Just because I once took a girl out for . . ." Johnny began only to be cut off by the alarm klaxons. 

"Engine 10 with Squad 51," the voice of the dispatcher said. "Car caught in water. Jordan Road. 1812 Galilee nearest cross street. Jordan Road and One Eight One Two Galilee. Time out 09:33." 

As the squad pulled out the garage with Roy behind the wheel, Johnny studied the map. "1812 Galilee. Do you think that’s one of the low places in that undeveloped area between here and Cimmeron?" he asked, looking at Roy. 

"Could be," Roy answered. With a smile he glanced at his partner. "With all the rain we’ve been having that entire area will be like crossing the River Jordan or the Sea of Galilee. Pun intended." 

"That’s for sure," Johnny laughed before turning his attention back to the map. 

Pushing along dirt roads through the standing water, hoping it wouldn’t cause the squad to stall, they reached a point where the road took a dip. Getting out they found a gully filled with at least five feet of rushing water; a car floating on top of it, bumping against the edge of a railroad trellis on the opposite side of the gulch. 

"Man, am I glad you’re here," a man said, climbing out of a Jeep positioned on solid ground. "I called this in a while ago." He gave the trailing antenna of his CB radio a proud glance. 

"About how long have they been in there?" Johnny asked. 

"At least a half hour since I got here," the man said, shaking away the rain that fell against him. "Hell, I’ve got a four wheel drive and I wouldn’t try to get across that. I don’t know what they were thinking. Trying to get through it with a car and no radio." 

"Thanks," Johnny replied, walking toward the edge of the embankment. 

"Four wheel drive and a radio . . . only way to travel in these kind of conditions," the driver of the Jeep went on, following them. "That’s what I tell all my friends." 

"What now?" Johnny asked, looking from the bobbing sedan to Roy. 

"We wait for the engine," Roy answered. "We’re going to need help tying it off. It’s caught on something but if it breaks loose we’ll follow it downstream. 

"Oh that’s great," Johnny said, kicking a clot of mud toward the surging water. "And what if they sink?" 

"So you fellas gonna do something?" the man asked, peering at the firemen expectantly. "I could radio a few of my buddies if you need a hand." 

"That’s okay. We’ll take it from . . ." Johnny began. 

"The way I see it, we need a couple of winches and a truck or two," the driver of the Jeep reflected. 

Johnny spun toward the man in annoyance, ready to end the unwelcome advice. A blast from the air horn of an approaching engine cut through his retort. 

"I think we can handle it now," Roy said, taking the man by the arm and leading him away the ledge. "But maybe you could monitor things on your CB." 

"You got it," the man said, hurrying back to his Jeep. 

"Sorry we’re late," the captain of Engine 10 said, climbing down. "We had a near miss with a hydroplaning car and it cost us a few minutes. What’ve you got?" 

The paramedics quickly explained the situation and a plan was put into action. With two members of Station 10 they climbed into the icy water, tying the lines that were thrown to them from above around the car. Fighting against the current that threatened to drag them under, they pushed it toward the embankment.  

Prying open the passenger door, Johnny stepped back as water gushed out along with an empty Bacardi bottle and a large number of beer cans. Looking inside, he found a man in his early thirties grinning up at him. Blood was running from a cut across the bridge of his nose. 

"Hi, nice to see ya," he said cheerfully, slurring his words and exhaling a blast of alcohol. "That was some ride but I’m kinda glad to be out of the water . . . I was startin’ to get a little worried." 

"Are you all right?" Johnny asked, checking for any signs of a concussion. 

"Oh yeah," the man answered with a grin. 

"Did you hit your head?" 

"Nah, just my nose. Are you gonna get me out a here?" 

"Come on," Johnny said, beginning to pull him from the car. 

"What about me?" the driver piped up. "I think my leg’s busted." 

"Just hang on. We’ll have you out of there as soon as we move your friend," Roy said, helping Johnny with the staggering passenger. 

"Friend! He’s not my friend," the driver called out drunkenly. "He’s just some fool I met in a bar and was stupid enough to give a ride home. He’s the one who talked me into this mess!" 

"Ah, shut up!" the passenger shouted as they sat him a few feet away. "You’ve been whining since this started. It wasn’t so bad."  

Roy and Johnny exchanged exasperated glances before Roy turned back to the car.  

Climbing inside, he asked, "Which leg is it?" 

"My right. I hit it on the steering wheel." 

Roy reached down; gently pressing along the leg until he reached the knee at which point the man let out a loud yelp. It was swollen and tender but there was no apparent fracture. Leaning the man’s head back and looking into his blood shot eyes Roy said, "I don’t think it’s broken. Probably just a sprain. Are you hurt anywhere else?" 

"Well it sure as hell feels like it’s broken," the intoxicated man said. "And how would you know? You don’t look like a doctor!" 

Roy turned his face aside as a blast of stale beer and rum assaulted his nostrils. "No I’m not a doctor," he said, looking back at the patient. "But right now, I guess you’ll just have to trust me if you want to get out of here." 

"All right. Just get me the hell out here and to a hospital." 

Roy smiled slightly, all too familiar with those who doubted the abilities of paramedics. Finding no other injuries he and another fireman removed the drunken driver from the car, sitting him near the passenger. 

"What have you got Johnny?" Roy asked, wiping rain out of his eyes. 

"I thinks he’s okay, but he’s so drunk it’s hard to be sure. He could have a head injury since it looks like he hit his nose pretty hard on the dash. How ’bout you?" 

"Probably a sprained knee. We should take them in. I don’t think they’re in any condition to get to a doctor on their own." 

"Shit! Can’t you guys get me out this rain?" the driver growled. "What kind of operation are you running here?" 

"An ambulance is on the way," Roy assured him as he began to place the man’s leg in a splint. "It won’t be too long." 

"Hey man, relax," the passenger said blearily. 

Any reply the driver may have had was lost in a gasp of pain as the splint tightened around his injured knee. 

"Little early in the morning to be drinking isn’t it?" Johnny asked as he finished bandaging his patient’s nose. 

"Nah, not if you’ve been at it all night," the man grinned up at him. 

Shaking his head, Johnny glanced at Roy through the rain. With an answering shrug, Roy picked up the biophone to contact Rampart. 

*** 

"Hi, Dix," Johnny called as they approached the base station. 

Dixie looked up from the schedule she was trying to rearrange to ensure there would be enough nurses and orderlies to cover the night shift. The current "bug" that was going around and the number of people who had fallen prey to it was wreaking havoc when it came to keeping the department staffed. Not to mention the headache it was giving her. 

"Hi guys," she said, a wan smile beginning to spread across her face until it was interrupted by a sneeze. 

"Dix you look --" 

"How are those two guys we brought in doing?" Roy interrupted his partner, knowing where Johnny was headed and aware of the fact that it would not be well received by the nurse. 

"Once they sober up, both should be fine other than some pain and a hangover. There was nothing serious," she answered, her voice reflecting the congestion that filled her head. 

"That’s --" 

"Dix, you look and sound worse than you did yesterday! Why don’t you have somebody give you something for your cold," Johnny interjected. 

"In case you haven’t heard Johnny: there is still no cure for the common cold. But thank you for commenting on my appearance," Dixie replied with a scowl. 

"It’s the rain. All this damp air," Roy said quickly, having no idea if it was the culprit behind the current virus going around or not, but hoping to change the subject. It might save Johnny from placing his foot further in his mouth. 

"Yeah. This damned rain," Johnny said, his eyes contemplating the counter. 

"Interfering with your quest when it comes to a particular nurse?" Dixie asked, smiling. She could never stay angry with Johnny for long and his pursuit of Rampart’s single nurses was a source of amusement. 

"Not this time," Johnny answered with a grin. "Her name’s Robin and she works in a department store. She’s fantastic! But every time I plan something special it’s raining. Dix, you’re a woman. How would you feel about a night at a jazz club rather than the --" 

"Come on Johnny," Roy said, turning to leave. Maybe the change of subject hadn’t been such a good idea after all because his partner was now off on another track he could talk endlessly about. "We need to get back to work and I’d like to get into some dry clothes." 

"And I’ve got a schedule to figure out. But don’t worry Johnny. It’ll stop raining someday," Dixie told him, picking up a pen and once again bending over the desk. 

"I don’t know. I’m starting to think that maybe I should build an ark. At least that way we could go sailing," Johnny complained. Glancing around he saw Roy heading for the exit and hurried to catch up with him. "Hey Roy! Wait up! Do you think Chet’s right about a night at a . . ." 

Dixie began to chuckle to herself only to have it turn into a cough. 

"You sound terrible Dix."

Looking up she found Dr. Mike Morton looking over the top of a chart at her, his brown eyes behind glasses holding concern. 

"Want me to take a look at you?" he asked. 

Dixie shook her head. "I just have a cold. But thanks for asking Mike." 

Placing the chart in the rack he said, "Okay. But if you start feeling any other symptoms let me know. I’ll be happy to see if I can prescribe something." 

"Now who would have thought you could be such a nice guy," Dixie said. Dr. Morton, a gifted intern in matters of diagnosis and treatment but lacking in tact as well as compassion when in came to the human factor of medicine, had long been a source of irritation to her. Of late she had noticed subtle differences in his approach to patients as well as staff, but his often abrasive manner could still grate on her nerves. 

Smiling conspiratorially, he leaned across the counter to her and whispered, "When it comes to the nurse who keeps me in line and also happens to be a favorite of mine, the hidden ‘nice guy’ can easily find its way out. I’m trying to improve when it comes to everybody else." 

"I know you are Mike," she said, smiling softly. 

***

Pushing open the door of the break room, Dixie poured herself a cup of coffee and dumped four aspirin from a nearby bottle into her hand. After swallowing them with the coffee, she sat the cup aside, finding that even coffee had taken on the taste of cardboard and walked over to the window. The rain had dropped off to a drizzle but the sky remained gray with a promise of more to come.  Silently she cursed the timing of it and everything else. A long absent but precious friend had recently returned to her and she had wanted to welcome him back properly. But now, with so many added complications, it no longer seemed possible. The squeak of the door’s hinges that were in need of oiling cut through her reverie and she heard a familiar step approach until it stood close behind her.  

"Trying to wish it away Dix?" Kel asked. 

"Yes Kel, I guess I am. The rain -- the people who are out sick -- my cold -- all of it," she answered, not turning from the window. 

He caught the note of discouragement in her voice and placed a hand against her shoulder. "None of it can last forever, Dix." 

Nodding, she sniffed and wiped at her nose. He was right. Mustering one her beautiful smiles, she hooked her thumbs in her pockets and faced him. 

"I still haven’t heard anything about the convention and any interesting people you may have met there. Male or female," she teased. 

Kel smiled down at her, glad to see that her spirits had risen somewhat, and entered into the joke. "Well, there were a few doctors of note and I met an absolutely fascinating blackjack dealer. All of them male. But when it came to the female species," he said, his smile fading as he grasped her hands within his own, "the only one I could think about was a nurse in LA." 

Briefly Dixie lowered her head then lifted it up to him. "Kel . . . I wanted to . . .," she began, meeting his eyes only to have her gaze shift over his shoulder as the door opened.  

Sharon Walters, a student nurse who had earned a reputation of competence yet clumsiness, tripped into the room. 

"Oh Dr. Brackett, I’m so glad I found you," she said breathlessly. 

For a moment Kel closed his eyes, clenching his jaws in frustration at the interruption, before releasing his hold of Dixie and turning toward the nurse.

"What is it, Miss Walters?" he asked, making an effort to fill his voice with patience. The student nurses, especially Sharon, tended to tax his limited reserve in that area. 

"There’s a woman in the hall with a little boy. Both look like they’ve been beat up pretty bad."  

"Okay, I’ll have a look at them. But Nurse Walters, there is a PA system and you can page a doctor any time you need one rather than running from room to room," he said in exasperation. Stepping toward the door he heard Dixie’s footsteps fall in behind him. 

In the hallway he found a woman, the dark shadow of a bruise covering the left side of her face, holding a toddler against her chest.  

Taking the child from her arms he asked, "Are you the mother?" 

"Yes," was her plaintive responsive. 

"Who did this to you?" 

"My boyfriend . . . Les . . . I guess he’d really had enough of both of us this time," she sobbed as she followed the trio to a treatment room. "But Danny got the worst of it." 

Inside he lowered the boy to the table as Dixie began the vitals. Glancing at the blood coming from his ears and mouth, Kel parted the child’s eyelids to check for pupil reaction while Dixie relayed her findings.  

"He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?" the mother asked behind them. "He’s not going to die because of a stupid mistake I made -- is he?" 

Brackett and Dixie exchanged a doubting glance. 

"Oh God no!" she cried. 

"Sharon, take her to the waiting room" Dixie said, looking quickly toward the student nurse. "And get a parental consent form." 

"All right, Miss McCall," Sharon said, leading the crying woman from the room. 

Kel began to bark out orders that Dixie quickly carried out, both trying to save a life that now hung precariously in the balance between the living and dead. 

***

"Okay, I’m going to clock it Dix. There’s nothing more we can do," Kel said, stepping away from the table and running the sleeve of his white coat wearily across his forehead. "Time of death 12:41 p.m." 

Dixie repeated the time back to him and made a notation before handing the chart to him for signature. 

Filling in the probable cause of death, Kel signed off on it before slamming his fist against the table. "Damn it! What a senseless death! Why the hell do women put up with this kind of abuse against their children and themselves?" 

Dixie bit her lip at his outburst. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, they had seen this type of brutality. It was a fact of life when you chose work in emergency medicine.  

"Because they’re scared Kel, we both know that," she said, taking the chart from him.  

"But why in the name of God can’t they pick up the phone book and dial a number? There are plenty of people out there willing to help," he said angrily, striding over to a cabinet for a sheet.  

Finding no response he would accept without argument, she took the sheet from his hands and began to draw it over the small body that lay on the table. There was no satisfactory answer right now as far as Dr. Brackett was concerned when it came to either the circumstances or the treatment. It was something she had witnessed before: his inability to save a patient resulting in a rare emotional reaction.  

As she tucked the sheet around the boy, Kel gripped the edge of the table and felt her dark blue eyes meet his own. In them he saw understanding and a reflection of his own pain. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the scene to the window of the treatment room. Leaning an arm against the sill, he pushed open a gap in the vertical blind covering the glass and looked out. Wind was whipping rain against it and he felt his spirits sink even lower.  

Maybe I should have asked you to go to Vegas with me, Angel in White, he speculated morosely, the term of affection he most often associated with Dixie finding its way into his thoughts. At least there the sun was shining. And there were no dead children as a result of domestic violence. 

Giving the dark sky a final glance, he turned back to the room and the unpleasant task that lay before him.  

"I need to tell the mother." 

Dixie stepped around the table and held out a hand to him. Taking it, he felt her fingers tighten into a squeeze of support. 

"Do you want me to go with you?" she asked. 

Kel shook his head. "No. I’ll take care of it. Make sure the authorities have been alerted to the fact we may have a homicide." 

*** 

Dixie hung up the phone at the base station and blew her nose. All that was known of the death of a toddler named Danny Larkin and its probable cause had been passed on to the Police Department. An officer was on the way to the hospital to take the mother’s statement.  

Sighing, she placed the child’s chart in the empty slot reserved for those who were in no further need of treatment and turned down the hall. Her step slowed as she approached the waiting room. It was empty save for Kel and the mother, who was sinking weakly into a chair. 

"I’m sorry," Kel said, "but you’re going to have to tell us what happened today." 

Dixie stepped around him and took the seat next to the woman. Placing an arm around the trembling shoulders, she looked at the doctor.  

Kel read the message in Dixie’s eyes clearly. Ease up Doctor, they said. Remember, she’s feeling this a hell of a lot more than you are. 

"Come on," he said, taking the woman’s arm, "let’s get her to my office." 

Once inside, he helped her to the sofa where she fell into Dixie’s arms weeping uncontrollably. Closing the door he went to his desk and leaned against the edge of it, crossing his arms. Silently he watched the nurse comfort the mother, listening to the unfolding story of seven months of verbal and physical abuse that had culminated in today’s tragedy.  

When the identity of the "boyfriend" -- Kel used the term loosely -- and his possible whereabouts were finally revealed he went over to the couch. 

"All right, Dix," he said, "let’s get her examined then admitted." 

***

Officers Jim Reed and Pete Malloy of the Los Angeles Police Department pushed open the treatment room door. 

"What have ya got Dix?" Pete asked, seeing the nurse standing next to a woman sitting on the examining table. There was a slight clearing of a throat and he turned toward the sound. "Oh, hi Dr. Brackett." 

The mother’s tale had done nothing to improve his mood and looking at the policeman, Kel felt it worsen. Since her first days in emergency Dixie and Officer Malloy had been casual, and at times flirtatious, friends. While not usually prone to jealousy at the relationship, this afternoon he found it to be yet another source of irritation. 

Finishing with the chart he handed it, along with a prescription for a mild sedative, to Dixie. "Here are the orders. Once the police are done have them carried out." 

Dixie watched as he left the room.  

You’re just in one those moods aren’t you, Good Doctor? she silently asked as the door closed behind him. With a slight shake of her head, she turned back to the woman on the table. 

"All right, Colleen," she said softly, taking the woman’s hand, "tell the police everything you’ve told me." 

***

 A bolt of lightening followed by a loud clap of thunder had Johnny Gage turning away from the window he had been staring out of for the last few minutes.  

"So, Gage," Chet asked from where he sat on the couch thumbing through a magazine, "what does this woman your moping over look like?" 

Johnny leaned against the wall, smiling. "Chet, she’s beautiful." 

"Blond or brunette?" Marco Lopez asked from the table where he and Mike Stoker sat engaged in a game of chess. 

"Check," Mike said dryly, moving his bishop and picking up Marco’s queen. 

"Brunette, about shoulder length. With brown eyes" Johnny answered grinning.  

"You win Mike," Marco said, giving the board and his no-win position a look of disgust before taking a seat on the couch with Chet. 

"Full figured or on the more petite side?" Chet asked. 

"I don’t know. She’s probably about 5’5" or 5’6" and proportionate," Johnny shrugged. "Chet, it’s her personality rather than her measurements that I’m interested in." 

"Sure, John," Chet nodded smugly. "In that case take her to the Brown Palace tonight rather than some smoky jazz bar." 

"I think Chet has a point, Pal," Captain Stanley said from across the room where he and Roy were finishing the dishes from a late lunch of Marco’s famous, or tiresome depending on how you looked at it, green chile. "My wife would never settle for a night in some club after having been promised the Brown." 

"Neither would Jackie," Mike concurred, referring to his longtime but rarely talked about girlfriend, as he began to set up the chess pieces for another game.  

"There seems to be a general consensus Gage," Chet said, crossing his arms and looking at Johnny. 

"But with the rain we can’t dance outside, which is what I had planned . . . and besides . . she said she . . .," Johnny began defensively. 

"Station 51. Tree through house. 7292 West Ponderosa Circle. Seven two nine two West Ponderosa Circle. Cross street Piñon. Time out 14:22." 

"Saved by the bell," Johnny sighed with relief, turning toward the door. 

Climbing into the squad, Roy hit the lights, siren and windshield wipers before pulling out of the garage. Behind them the engine gave its air horn a blast as it followed them into the street.

 "West Ponderosa Circle. That’s not too far from here" he said to his partner. 

"Yeah, we had a run near there last week," Johnny said, giving the map a glance. "If I remember right, it was an elderly lady who fell off a ladder while pruning her wisteria and dislocated her shoulder." 

"I remember it. An entire neighborhood with streets named after trees." 

"Uh huh. ‘Tree through house,’" Johnny quoted the dispatcher. 

The coincidence of it was not lost on Roy and he felt himself smile slightly as he steered carefully through the driving rain. 

Reaching the address they found what had once been a tall pine sheered off at the center by lightening, its upper portion now resting inside the one story structure while the lower half steamed in a last effort to ignite against the cloudburst that was dowsing it. 

"Marco, Chet -- grab a real line," Captain Stanley shouted to make himself heard over the wind. A young woman, wearing only a bathrobe and slippers, ran out of the house to them.  

"Thank God you’re here. My husband’s caught under it," she said, frowning at the fallen tree. 

"Roy, you and Johnny go with her. Find out if he’s hurt." 

"Are you all right?" Johnny asked, as they followed her up the path to the front door. 

"Uh huh," she answered, ushering them inside. "I was in the bathroom when it happened but Matt was in bed. He’s got a cold and stayed home from work today. It came in through the bedroom and . . .." She stopped, looking down at her attire with a blush of embarrassment.  

"There’s something going around," Roy said, placing an understanding hand against her shoulder. "Why don’t you show us where he’s at." 

"We bought this place a few years ago. We liked the fact it was an older neighborhood. You know . . . nice big trees," she explained as they entered the bedroom. "Who would have thought this would happen."  

It was small, the decapitated pine almost filling it. 

"Kate, is that you?" a muffled voice called. 

"Yes, Hon," the woman answered. "The Fire Department’s here." 

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Johnny asked, pushing back the branches. 

"Right now just about everything hurts," the voice answered with a groan. 

A clawing bough raked across Johnny’s left cheek as he encountered a heavy trunk and a tangle of limbs. Backing away from it, he turned to Roy and the woman. 

"You all right Pal?" Captain Stanley asked, coming up behind them and seeing Johnny wipe at his cheek. 

"Yeah," Johnny answered, seeing a faint smear of blood on his fingers. "But I think we’re going to have to saw him out of there. There’s no way to get through it or get a grip on it." 

The Captain nodded, picking up his HT and radioing instructions to the crew waiting outside. 

"Saw?" the voice beneath the tree squawked. "What the hell?" 

"It’s all right. Just try to stay calm," Roy said soothingly, seeing Marco and Chet enter with the K-12. "We won’t get close to you with it. But if you can, try to cover your face with something." 

"Okay. I’ve got a blanket," Matt answered, the cover adding to his already stifled tone. 

"Here we go," Marco said, starting the saw.  

The others retreated to the doorway, away from the flying debris, watching him trim away branches then tackle the trunk. Reaching the edge of the bed he stopped. The pine was now a skeleton of its former self. 

"Okay, let’s see if we can ease it off of him," Captain Stanley said, stepping around a pile of litter. 

The four men grasped the tree, the woman standing back and gnawing at her thumb while they heaved it away from the bed. A blue comforter was soon revealed, a moan escaping from the tall figure beneath it. 

Kneeling, Johnny eased the cover back and felt a spray of moisture against his face. 

"Sorry," the man lying on the mattress sniffled, reaching toward the crumpled box of Kleenex that lay close by. 

"It’s all right," Johnny replied, reaching for a tissue of his own and running it across his face. The victim appeared to be in his late twenties, scratches marring his attractive blond characteristics. There were also lacerations on his hands and arms. "Are you hurt anywhere?" 

"Man, did that feel good," Matt answered, blowing his nose. "I’ve been laying here wanting to do that for I don’t know how long." 

"Uh huh," Roy said, taking a seat on the other side of the bed and setting up the kit. "Anything else?" 

"Well, I’ve got this stupid cold, so I felt pretty bad to start with. But since our unexpected guest, I’ve been in pain from about here to here." He indicated the area just below his rib cage to knees. "I teach forestry but never thought I’d be attacked by Pinus attenuata."  

Pulling back the cover they found the area below his shorts mottled with bruises. 

"I’ll get Rampart," Roy said, rising for the biophone as Johnny began to cut away the T-shirt. 

***

 "The doctor says he’s going to be all right," Kate told Roy, clutching at the coat now covering the purple robe, her feet clad in thongs rather than slippers. "They’re going to keep him overnight for observation but he can come home tomorrow." 

"That’s great," he said. "What are you going to do about the tree that came through the bedroom?" 

The woman shrugged with a smile. "Have it hauled away. Fix the house. Then plant a sapling and watch it grow." 

The gurney holding her husband emerged and she gave the fireman a parting smile before following it down the hall. 

Shaking his head at her philosophy, Roy turned toward the base station where Dixie sat watching the conversation. 

"So how does it feel to be a lumberjack?" she asked. 

"Terrible," Johnny answered, approaching the desk. 

Dixie saw his scraped cheek, the antibiotic salve coating it glowing under the fluorescent lights. "Johnny, you’ve been injured." 

"Yeah, just in time for my date tonight," he replied dryly.  

"Oh, I don know -- I think it makes you look rather dashing," she kidded him with a smile. 

"Not only do I have this," Johnny went on, fingering the abrasion before looking at her, "but the guy sneezed on me. With my luck, I’ll come down with whatever you’ve got on my day off. It’ll probably stop raining then too." 

Dixie’s laughter faded into the dry cough that had been plaguing her all day. "You could only be so lucky," she mumbled behind the fist that was held to her mouth. 

Dr. Brackett walked up to base station and dropped a file on top of a stack of administrative manila folders. 

"Hi Doc," Johnny said. "Why is it, with all the modern medical advances, they can’t they come up with something to prevent a cold?"

 "There is no cure for the common cold," Brackett answered curtly before walking away. 

"What’s with him?" the perplexed paramedic asked Dixie. 

"He’s just having a bad afternoon," she responded, watching the doctor tread heavily toward his office. 

"Aren’t we all. But it must be . . .," the shrill ringing of the phone on the desk cut him off. 

"Come on Johnny," Roy said, beginning to walk toward the exit. "Let’s get back to the station so we can sign out." 

"Right. Before another run comes in," Johnny said, his expression panicked. A vision of his date waiting endlessly and becoming increasingly irate when he failed to appear suddenly filled his mind’s eye. "See ya Dix."  

Dixie fluttered her fingers in gesture of good-bye and picked up the phone. "Rampart Emergency. Miss McCall speaking . . . Oh, hi . . . That’s all right, I understand . . . Oh, that’s wonderful news . . . Yes, I’ll tell him as soon as I can . . . Yeah me too . . . I will. Thanks for calling." 

Hanging up she stepped around the desk and began to walk toward Kel’s office. 

"Dix can you give me a hand?" Mike Morton called behind her. 

Turning, she found him beside a stretcher containing a barely restrained patient who had begun to scream profanities at the top of her lungs. 

"I’m gonna need some help and I can’t find a nurse," he said, struggling to halt the woman’s escape. 

God, I love it when we’re short handed, Dixie thought with irony, walking toward them. 

"Sure Dr. Morton." 

***

 Dixie pulled loose the pins that held her hair in its confining professional bun and quickly ran a brush through it. Not bothering to change, she slipped into her raincoat and picked up her purse. Swinging the locker door shut, she hurried out of the room. 

"Hi Dix," Dr. Joe Early said, meeting her in the hall where he had just come on duty. "What are you still doing here?" 

"Joe," she replied with a smile, looking up at his graying hair and kind eyes. Those working in emergency considered him the most patient, understanding and gentle of the doctors. To Dixie he was also a friend. "I’m working a little overtime. We’ve got quite a few people out." 

"You sound worse than last night. Want me to have a look?" Joe asked, seeing her take a tissue from her coat pocket. 

Sneezing, Dixie shook her head, having been asked the same question that day by at least five different doctors. "Uh-uh. I’ve just got a cold." 

"Well, if you’re not feeling better tomorrow maybe you should join everybody else who’s out sick. Rest is the best medicine." 

"Really? I’ve never heard that before," she said wryly. "Joe, have you seen Kel?" 

"He left about a half hour ago. Said he’d be back to do some paperwork," he answered. Her eyes held an unmistakable worry as they strayed from one end of the hall to the other.  

When it came to life outside the hospital, Joe Early alone was aware of the complete history of Dr. Kelly Brackett and head nurse Dixie McCall. He had been a bystander with an acute sense of understanding as heated disagreements over hospital policy drove apart two people who had once found a great deal of pleasure when with each other. But knowing Kel well, he could guess at what truly lay at the heart of the arguments that eventually drove them apart. And although it now appeared some issues had been resolved, he hadn’t missed Dixie’s occasional uneasiness or the tension it sometimes caused.  

Wondering if this might have lead to a fight, he asked, "Why? Dix, is anything wrong?" 

"No. I just wanted tell him something," she answered with a reassuring smile before turning on her heel and walking down the corridor. "I’ll see you tomorrow," she called back over her shoulder. 

***

 Dixie’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and smoky atmosphere of The Green Parrot, a grungy pub that stood off the beaten track near the hospital. There had been occasions in the past when she had found him here. The times when the professional could no longer detach itself from the discouragement the man that lay beneath the tough exterior felt.  

At the end of the bar, apart from the regulars who formed a line around it, she found Kel sitting alone -- his hands folded around a glass whose contents he was studying. Taking off her jacket, she took a seat next to him. 

"Beer. Something in a bottle," she told the bartender, avoiding the wine she preferred, not trusting that the glasses had been properly washed. While Kel had often assured her that though The Green Parrot might seem "untidy" it met every sanitary regulation, she remained doubtful. 

Placing some bills on the counter, she began to cough and reached for the bottle. 

"What are you doing here Dixie?" Kel said, his gaze shifting briefly in her direction before returning to his drink. "You should be home taking care your cold." 

Dixie washed beer past the irritant that was tickling her throat and sat the bottle down. "I’m on my way home, but I wanted to make sure you were all right first." 

"Why? Were you afraid I’d do something stupid?" he asked sarcastically. 

"No. I know you better than that," she answered in a gentle voice. "I just didn’t like the thought of you sitting alone, staring into a drink you’re not going to touch -- wishing you could change the circumstances when we both know you did everything you could to save a life -- and then going back to Rampart." 

The corners of Kel’s mouth lifted slightly and he swiveled his stool around to face her. "You do know me well." 

"And I wanted tell your that Pete Malloy called me earlier this afternoon." 

The mention of police officer’s name had him lowering his head. It was yet another reminder of how badly the day had gone and he found himself wondering if she had come to say that she was finally succumbing to Malloy’s advances. 

"Colleen Larkin’s boyfriend was arrested at the home of one of his buddies. He confessed to beating the boy until he lost consciousness. I thought you’d want to know that." 

Kel heaved a sigh, taking a sip of the whiskey and soda that sat before him. The legal battle of prosecution still remained, but a step had been taken in righting a wrong. 

"Thanks Dix," he said, reaching for her hand that lay against the bar.

"Oh, don’t mention it," she replied, lacing her fingers within his. 

His gray eyes wandered over her red nose and unusually pale complexion until they came to rest against the fatigued blue of her own. She had not for the first time set aside her own needs to satisfy his, just as she had always tolerated his unpredictable schedule, often curt manner and so much more. The enduring qualities Dixie McCall possessed were, for him, unending.  

"I think it goes something like: ‘She’s as sweet as Tupelo Honey. She’s an angel of the first degree.’ She’s an Angel in White," he murmured, his free hand rising to the collar of her uniform to grasp it lightly. 

Dixie felt the glow of a blush spread across her features at his utterance of the words of a popular song and what had always been a special term of endearment. 

"You’ve been listening to the radio," she commented casually. His adversity to current trends in music had long been a lighthearted source of disagreement between them. 

"Maybe a little," he replied. "But a few years ago I danced with a woman to ‘Into the Mystic.’ Since then . . . I seem to have become hooked on anything by Van Morrison." 

Dixie’s lips curved into a brilliant smile and she leaned toward him. 

Her affectionate brush against his lips became a lingering kiss as she felt his mouth open and her own response. Feeling his hand rise from the collar to bury itself within her hair, her arm slowly crept around his shoulders. 

When they drew apart, Dixie frowned. "I hope I didn’t just give you whatever it is I’ve got." 

"I’m pretty hardy. I’m sure I’ll avoid it," he said, fingering a lock of hair that had fallen against her cheek. "And even if I don’t, it was worth it." 

Seeing his grin of pleasure, feeling his hand within her own and his touch against her face, she was reminded of other expectations the night had once held for her. Expectations he was unaware of. 

"Kel, there’s been a change in . . .," she whispered before a sneeze claimed her. 

Over the top of her bent head he saw the five or six others at the bar watching them intently, two of the men snickering with the bartender and pointing in their direction. As Dixie straightened, he rose from his stool. 

"Come on. Let’s get out of here," he said, picking up her coat to help her into it. "You should be home in bed and I need to get back to the hospital to finish some paperwork." 

Sliding her arms into the sleeves, Dixie knew the moment had passed. Maybe tomorrow. 

Outside the rain had slackened in its intensity, splashing lightly against the pavement. Standing beneath the bar’s awning, they exchanged glances until it became apparent they had both left their umbrellas at work. Her eyes, sparkling with amusement at their predicament, turned up to him inquiringly. 

Smiling, Kel reached for her hand. "Want to make a mad dash for it Dix?" 

"I’m right beside you, Good Doctor." 

"Okay. Let’s go."  

Leaving the protective covering, they began to run across the parking lot. They had gone only a few feet when the sound of Dixie’s laughter reached his ears.  

How long has been since I’ve heard that? The laughter that comes from something only you can find humor in, he thought, slowing his pace. Just like tonight’s kiss. It’s been a while Dix. 

Wiping away the cool water that washed against his face, he found himself laughing with her and together they walked toward her car. 

***

 Part Two: It never rains, but it pours

 "Squad 51, read you loud and clear," Dixie’s voice acknowledged. 

"10-4 Rampart. We’ll probably see ya sometime today. Squad 51 out," Johnny responded. 

"So, we’ve been on duty over an hour and you haven’t said anything about how it went last night," Roy said from where he crouched over the morning check of their equipment. "I have to admit -- I’m a little curious." 

"Oh, it went fine," Johnny answered glumly, sliding the biophone into the compartment housing the squad’s medical equipment.  

"Did you take her to a jazz club?" 

"Blues actually. We had dinner at Capri’s and stayed for the music." 

"And she liked it?" Roy asked, picking up the oxygen tank and lifting it inside the vehicle. 

"Yeah. She even took the open mike they had and sang ‘The Midnight Hour.’ She’s got a wonderful voice." 

Roy looked down at his partner re-packing the drug box. For an evening that had gone "fine," Johnny seemed unusually quiet, his usual euphoria at a successful date not in evidence. Rather he had the shell-shocked appearance he displayed after a bad night out. 

"So why the long face?" 

"Well, she asked me --" 

"What’s the matter Gage? Dumped again?" Chet’s needling voice said as he and Marco stepped around the engine to stand between the trucks. 

"No Chet, she didn’t dump me," Johnny said with exasperation as he rose from the kit. "In fact she asked me over to dinner tonight and then tomorrow, when we’re both off, we’ve planned a trip to Disneyland. She hasn’t been there yet." 

"She must not have known what she was missing when it came to the Brown then," Chet said, placing a foot against the running board of the engine. 

"As a matter of fact, she did. Turns out she’d been there before and found it kind of stuffy," Johnny replied smugly, leaning confidently against the squad. 

"Then what’s the problem? You’ve got it made. Dinner tonight and a ride through ‘It’s a Small World’ tomorrow. What more could you ask for?" Marco asked with a shrug. 

"In case you haven’t heard, it’s still raining. B-Shift had a busying night because of it. That could mean overtime. I don’t like the thought of her waiting for me," Johnny answered, the smile evaporating from his face. "And what if it’s still raining tomorrow? Plus I’ve been exposed to the bug that’s going around and could still --" 

"Hey, we’ve still got a whole shift to go before you have to think about any of that," Roy’s voice of reason interrupted from where he finished loading the medical equipment. "And you still haven’t come down with a cold." 

Johnny turned to him with a frown. "Yeah, but that guy sneezed on me yesterday. That sort of thing . . ." 

"The problem is, you worry too much Gage. If you’d just sit back and enjoy the ride then . . ." Chet began only to have his attention turn to the speaker mounted on the wall. 

"Squad 51. Child caught in gutter. 726 Rainbow Terrace. Cross street Thunder Road. Seven two six Rainbow Terrace. Time out 09:16." 

Grinning, Johnny closed the compartment doors.  

"Later," he said, with a nod to Chet and Marco, as he climbed into the squad. 

***

 A barking cough had Kel looking up from the pad that rested against the top of the cardiac unit used to monitor paramedics in the field. Dixie had emerged from Treatment Room 2 and was beginning to walk down the hall.

"Hey Dix," he called, a hand beckoning to her. As she rested an arm against the counter, he glanced at his notes. "There’s been an altercation between some motorcycle gang members and the police. Some of the victims are being transported here."

"So I’ve heard," she said, stepping around him to open a drawer of the base station. Taking out a couple of packets of aspirin, she tore them open and walked to the desk for the glass of water she had left there earlier. "I’ve got 2, 3, 4 and 5 set up for them."

"Good girl." 

Dixie nodded, perching herself on a stool and swallowing the aspirin. "You know, I’ve always been under the impression that this sort of thing only happened when the sun was shining. Not when it’s raining cats and dogs." 

"I know," he said, leaning against the desk. "But this started in a bar. Maybe they were getting a little tired of being cooped up for so long and not being able to hit the road. How are we staffed?" 

"Worse than yesterday. I’ve got calls in to the wards but they’ve got the same problem and so do the temp agencies. I guess we’ll just have to make do." 

Kel nodded, listening to the deep cough that was emanating from her. 

"Dix," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You . . ." 

"Look and sound worse than I did yesterday," she glowered.  

"Heard that one already, huh?" he asked, smiling. 

"Only about five or six times," she answered, her features softening as she looked up at him. "I’m all right. It just seems to have settled in my chest overnight. But at least my head feels clearer today." 

Kel’s expression became one of guilt. 

"I kept you out last night," he said, his head dropping as he shook it. "And I should have pulled the car around for you rather than making you walk in the rain. I didn’t think about . . ." 

"Hey, it’s not your fault Kelly Brackett," she reassured him with a bright smile, her hand gently pushing his chin up. "It’s just a cold that has to run its course." 

Peeling the wrapper off a cough drop, she popped it in her mouth and slid off the stool to stand before him.  

"Besides, the time I spent with you didn’t cause a delay in my nightly dose of Nyquil," she went on, her eyes filling with tenderness as they looked into his. "And I enjoyed our walk in the rain. It’s been a longtime since we laughed together over something silly. But Kel, I think maybe we should --" 

"Fuck you!" a voice shouted, followed by a crash.  

Kel glanced down the hall then back at Dixie who was biting down on the lozenge in her mouth. Their guests had started to arrive. 

***

 The man was tall, standing at least 6’3" with a neat beard, short auburn hair and a muscular frame. Hands buried in the pockets of a denim jacket adorned with various motorcycle logos including that of a gang of thugs who took the sport biking beyond enjoyment, he leaned casually against a wall. Taking advantage of the rain, he had been spending some time with his "old lady" and had not been among those present at the Ace High Saloon. But a series of frantic phone calls had brought him to stand among the corridors of the hospital. Quietly he watched and listened, carefully avoiding the detection of the law enforcement that was present. 

In the shadow of a doorway, his ears finally picked up what they had been straining to hear. The man he sought was about to be moved from the examining room for x-rays, blows from a set of num-chucks leaving him with a broken collarbone and possible concussion. In all likelihood the doctors who had been treating him would have moved on and there would be no one left but the attendants preparing to take him to radiology. 

Stealthily, the biker made his way down the hall until he reached the room marked One. Pulling a switchblade from the pocket of his jacket, he flicked it open and entered. 

Inside he saw a man dressed in a white tunic. Before the orderly could react the biker seized his arm, pinning it painfully behind him, and pressed the knife against his throat. A gasp followed by the sound of breaking glass filled the room. 

"Are you going to kill him?" a woman’s voice rasped out behind him. 

Shielding himself with the attendant, he slowly turned to find two nurses standing amid the shattered remains of a bottle, its contents forming a puddle around their feet. One of them was young, a blue apron covering her white uniform, and her hands were clasped against her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Although older and from all appearances sick, the other was still what he would consider a "hot babe." Thumbs hooked in the pockets of her dress; she coolly studied him. She had to have been the one who had spoken. 

"No lady, I’m not gonna to kill him. I’m not interested in him or you. Only in the cop on that bed," he gestured with his head toward the examining table. "As long as you all stay quiet, I won’t hurt you." 

"It’s all right Miss McCall," the hostage spoke up. "You and Lydia should get out of here." 

"No Harper, it’s not all right," Dixie said, the orderly’s flinch against the sharp edge of the knife scraping against his tender flesh causing her voice to rise.

"Nobody leaves. I’ll slit both his throat and the pig’s before you get out that door," the man stated calmly, seeing Lydia place a foot in the direction of the exit. With practiced precision, he intensified the pressure of the blade until a thin trickle of blood began to seep from beneath it. "When I’m done, you can go back to business as usual." 

In the distance, Dixie heard the low rumble of thunder and the downpour outside. The rain, which had probably led to the current set of circumstances, would also muffle anything taking place inside the hospital. There was no point in shouting; no one would hear it. 

"We’re not going anywhere," she said quietly, reaching out a hand to stop Lydia. "Why do you want the policeman?" 

"He shot my brother. He killed him before my men could stop him. Now it’s time for revenge," the gang member answered, his mouth taking on a bitter smile.  

"How do you know your brother’s dead?" Dixie queried, fighting against the cough that was beginning to swell within her chest. "There were no reported fatalities at the bar and we haven’t had any here since the victims came in. If you want, I can check with some of the other hospitals, but I have a feeling your brother’s alive -- recovering somewhere." 

"But they saw Joey go down. And he shot him," the man said, glancing over his shoulder to the patient then back at her, feeling his resolve beginning to waver. Her gravely voice and the honesty in her face had cut through to his more rational side. Moving the knife, he circled it around a button on the attendant’s abdomen. There were still plenty ways he could end his life if she was being deceptive. "What about what they saw?" 

Dixie shook her head. "I only know what I’ve heard. But have you thought about the fact that if stab the officer, you’ll have to kill the rest of us? We’re witnesses. I think that takes it up to four counts of murder. You’ll never get out of here with that kind of blood on your hands." 

"Lady, that makes no difference to me," he said, biting his lip.  

"Maybe it should," she replied, hearing his hesitation and taking a step toward him. "There’s still time to find about what really happened to your brother before you turn this room into a blood bath then spend the rest of your life in prison."  

The impulse he had acted on when he had left the warm comforts of his woman’s bed to avenge his brother now seemed foolish. Joey may well be alive, recuperating in some other part of the hospital just like she said. He should have waited until he knew more. Assault with a deadly weapon, along with kidnapping charges, would be added to his current rap sheet. He would spend several years staring from behind the bars of a cell while his brother possibly careened the streets on his Hog.  

"You win lady," he said, slowly lowering the knife to his side. Amid the confusion of the ER floor there was still the chance of escape. 

A sudden movement from the table caught Dixie’s eye as the figure dressed in blue sat up, groggily reaching for his holster to remove the revolver it held. The lack of staff had led to the gun being missed when he was triaged.  

The fractured clavicle caused his left shoulder to drop somewhat and his hands shook as he aimed the pistol at the tall man holding the others prisoner. "Let them go," he said through teeth gritted against pain.  

Dixie felt the scene before her take on an element of surrealism, as if a movie director had slowed the action so that the audience could catch every detail. The knife bounced harmlessly against the floor. Shoving Harper away, the biker twisted toward the policeman, a low growl escaping from his lips, his fingers clawing toward the swaying man sitting before him. 

"No," she shouted, reaching toward the hand that held the gun and seeing a finger press against its trigger. 

***

 "Okay, we’ll be ready," Kel said, hanging up the phone at the reception desk in the waiting room.  

They were in the final stages of cleaning up the casualties from the latest go round between the LAPD and the gangs who populated parts of the city, the inadequate number of personnel already beginning to take its toll. Now, yet another disaster had struck due to the heavy rain and Rampart would soon begin receiving many of its victims.  

Looking up at the clock, he grimaced and took a deep breath. It was going to be a very long day. With a heavy exhale, he left the desk to look for the department’s head nurse to tell her the latest development -- just in case she hadn’t already heard.  

Easing past the crush of stretchers and harried staff who crowded the floor, the sound of thunder met his ears followed by a sharp echo that seemed to come from within the hospital. A student nurse, he thought her name was Lydia Hamilton, stumbled out of Treatment Room 1 and turned in his direction. Stopping, he watched her mouth form into an O as she began to scream incoherently. 

Betty, a senior member of the nursing staff, caught her before she could flee further down the hall. "Lydia, what is it? What’s wrong?"

 Lydia gulped, her voice filled with a hysteria she was fighting to control as her eyes darted fearfully behind her. "They’re going to kill each other . . . and everybody else."  

"What are you talking about?" Betty asked urgently, giving the student a shake. 

"In there!" Lydia screamed, losing her battle and pointing toward the door she had emerged from. 

The piercing report that had followed on the heels of the earlier thunder reverberated once more against the walls. There was no mistaking it now; it was the sound of a gun being fired at close range. 

Standing at the edge of the group surrounding the trainee, Kel scanned their startled expressions for blond hair beneath a nursing cap, a pair of dark blue eyes and a beautiful oval face. It was not among those present and he began make his way through the curious bystanders to the room in question. 

***

 The radio emitting a constant crackle of activity, Roy backed the squad into the station’s garage and switched its constantly moving wipers to the off position. 

"Man, it’s been busy this morning," Johnny said, scribbling on the small notepad he carried with him. 

"Yeah. Looks like the engine’s been out too," Roy replied, looking past his partner to the mud spattered truck parked in the stall opposite them.  

"Uh-huh," Johnny commented, giving it a cursory glance before tearing the page out and putting it with the others holding a record of the morning’s events, stuck carefully between the seem of the dash. Climbing out, he slid back the sleeve of his jacket and noted the time. "And we’ve still got a long way to go. 

"Well, at least we haven’t had anything serious," Roy said, closing his door and walking toward the ready room. "You know, that kid we responded to with his hand caught in the gutter grating was lucky he didn’t drown trying to get his toy out of there." 

Johnny hurried around the squad and past Roy, nodding. "Yeah. But right now I’m hoping they saved us some lunch. Stoker’s making fried chicken and I’ve been thinking about it since about eleven." 

Entering the kitchen area he found the engine crew seated around the table, a loaf of bread sitting among a couple of packages of lunchmeats. A bag of Lays, bottle of mustard and jar mayonnaise completed the picture.  

"Sorry guys," Mike Stoker said, cocking an eyebrow in their direction. "We’ve been out all morning. This is it if you want lunch." 

Grumbling, Johnny took a chair, reaching for the salami. 

"Take it easy Gage," Chet said, lifting his glass of milk. "You’ve got that special woman of yours fixing dinner tonight to look forward to."

 "Aaah, Chet," Johnny muttered, slapping mustard against a slice of bread. "I might not make it to dinner tonight. The rain’s got everything screwed up -- even lunch." 

"Well, if you don’t get there on time for dinner -- there’s always dessert," Mike said, flashing the frustrated paramedic an innocent grin.

 With the exception of Johnny, the rest of the men around the table burst out laughing. It was a rare occasion when the quiet engineer of Station 51’s A-Shift joined in the friendly banter that existed among them.

 "Sure Mike," Johnny scowled around the chips that were filling his mouth. "I’ll try to remember that." 

"Battalion 14, Station 51, Station 9," the voice of the dispatch cut through. "Mud slide involving passenger train. Stillwater Canyon. Use the fire road. Stillwater Canyon fire road. Time out 12:52." 

A collective groan and the scrape of chairs being pushed away from the table answered it.  

"Station 51, KMG 365," Captain Stanley acknowledged, handing Roy a slip of paper through the squad’s open window. 

"What’d I tell ya?" Johnny said, shaking his head. "We’ve been at it all day and this could be the icing on the cake." 

"Yeah," Roy nodded, maneuvering past a Nova that had stalled while trying to cross an intersection, it’s driver’s arms waiving frantically in effort to stop them.

"Huh. Wonder if she tried to drive it through some standing water," Johnny commented, glancing in the side mirror at the rapidly retreating image of a pretty girl being sprayed with water by the passing engine. 

"Don’t know," Roy answered offhandedly, concentrating on the wet pavement. 

Entering the fire road they found it rutted by the wheels of earlier vehicles and it slowed their progress. Cresting the rise of a hill, Johnny inhaled sharply. 

"Man, would you look at that," he said, staring through the windshield. 

On the valley floor one car of the train rested against the rails. A second stood at angle with mud surrounding it, having slipped from its tracks and pivoted against the coach following it. The remainder lay buried beneath the canyon wall and brush that had washed over it. 

Roy nodded. Johnny had been right: this could be their final round in the days long battle against the never-ending rain. His brow crinkling he eased the squad down the knoll, parking it a short distance from the engine that accompanied Battalion 14. A small group of civilians stood close by, huddled together against the shower. 

"What’ve we got Chief?" Captain Stanley asked, pulling on his gloves as he approached the older man wearing a white helmet and standing at the edge of the activity. 

"It’s a charter train. Five cars of Dodgers’ fans making a run up to San Francisco for tonight’s game against the Giants. There were 82 people on board and nine have made it out." 

"Any idea of where they might be concentrated?" 

"Not from what the engineer tells me," the Chief responded, tilting his head in the direction of a man wearing coveralls and manning a shovel. "They were all free to wander throughout the club, dining and passenger cars."

"Damn!" the Captain swore under his breath.  

"I’ve called in the rescue crew from Station 30 and some ambulances are responding. But the rain’s got everybody else working emergency’s all over the city. For now, Hank, there won’t be a second alarm."  

The deep lines etched in the face of a thirty-year veteran of the Los County Fire Department revealed nothing, but his hazel eyes spoke volumes. The fate of seventy-three people trapped within the surrounding muck lay solely on them. 

Nodding, Captain Stanley walked back to his own men who had begun unload their equipment. In the distance Engine 9 was making its way down the steep incline into the ravine, the lights of Rescue 30 peeking over the rise. 

"Okay, let’s start digging them out of there," he said, taking a shovel from Marco. 

***

Police officers Reed and Malloy stood at the desk of Rampart’s base station enjoying a cup of coffee. They had brought in a biker from the Ace High Saloon who had suffered a minor injury. Fighting members of the same motorcycle gang had found a new direction for their aggression when the police had arrived to break it up and the bar became a miniature scale war zone.

"So this guy’s been hiding in the alley the whole time," Pete subtly flirted with the nurse behind the desk. 

"Uh huh," she replied with a bat of her eyelashes. 

"Finally, he makes a break for it and tries to climb the fence cutting him off. At that point I knew we had him. It was just a matter of . . ." 

"And that must be when he lost his grip, fell, twisted his ankle and you were able to make the arrest," the nurse interrupted with a knowing look.

"Who told you?" a flabbergasted Pete exclaimed, arching an eyebrow in the younger man’s direction. 

"Wasn’t me," Jim laughed. 

Outside the heavens peeled with an approaching storm, a nearby crack answering them. 

"Was that what I think it was?" Reed asked skeptically, placing a hand against his gun. 

Beginning to walk down the hall, Malloy reached for his own weapon. "Could be. Let’s have a look around." 

A confirming blast had them running.  

A small crowd gathered outside an examining room took a collective step backward, leaving little doubt as to the location of the shots fired, and they elbowed their way through them. 

Shouldering around the man about to enter the room, Pete said, "We’ll handle it Doc."  

Reed positioned himself against the frame while Malloy aimed steadily at the door. 

"On three," Jim said. "One . . . Two . . . Three."  

Pete kicked the door open and with his partner covering him, they went through. 

Count to ten Doctor and consider your actions, a woman’s voice spoke inside his head. Then decide if what you were about to say next helps or hinders the victim’s condition. 

It was one of the many efforts made by a nurse to help him curb his impatience and often-short temper. Kel listened to the rapid thud of his heart until the required number was met then followed the policemen. 

Inside he saw a knife lying briefly alongside a gun before Reed’s foot pushed them away. Malloy pinned the arm of a large man against the gold and black wings of the eagle spread across the back of his jacket.  

"You okay Sanchez?" Reed quickly asked the policeman seated on the table.  

He was answered with a nod and a groan, as Sanchez eased himself back to the padding.

"Ah, ‘Jason the Red,’ Ericson. It’s a pleasure to meet you again," Pete said, pressing the biker against the wall while Reed read him his Miranda rights. "You know, it’s people like you who give everybody else who rides a Harley a bad name." 

But to the left of the activity Kel saw something that had his pulse returning to its normal rhythm. Within the protective circle of an orderly’s arms a nurse stood coughing.  

"You two all right?" he asked, walking briskly toward them. 

Dixie nodded, catching her breath after surrendering to what had building within her chest. 

"Yeah Doc, we’re all right," Harper answered, his hands dropping away from her. "Things just got a little hairy there for a minute." 

"Well Jason, you don’t seem to be hurt anywhere so what do you say we take a little trip down to the station," Jim said, beginning to lead the biker away. 

"You can’t pin a damn thing on me," Jason muttered. His eyes sought out those of the nurse. "I did believe you and I wouldn’t have hurt you," he told her. 

"Save it."  

Malloy turned to tease Dixie about what she may have said to Jason. The confirmation of a long held suspicion stopped him. The relief Dr. Brackett had exhibited when entering the room went beyond concern for a staff member, a fact revealed by his quick clasping of her hands and steady gaze. Dixie’s expression briefly mirrored that of the doctor’s before they turned their attention to Harper. 

Falling in behind Jim and the prisoner, Pete shook his head and smiled. It pays to be a trained observer. Dix is officially unavailable. She was always too smart for me anyway . . . but damn it . . . Dr. Brackett’s a pretty lucky man. 

"Okay, folks. Let’s break it up," he said to those gathered outside the door. "Everybody’s fine." 

"Looks like he cut you pretty good," Kel said, examining the scrape on Harper’s neck then handing him over to Mike Morton, who had managed to squeeze past the policemen and into the room. "Take care of this will you Mike." 

"Sure Kel," Mike said, taking the attendant’s arm and guiding him from the room. 

"It’s just a scratch Doc," Harper protested. "I’ve gotta get back to work." 

"Yeah, well I get paid to take care of scratches," Mike replied with a smile before they exited. 

Dixie went to the cabinet to carry out the earlier instructions. "Is Lydia all right?" 

"Uh huh. She’s a little shook up, but I think Betty’s with her" Kel answered, reviewing the patient’s chart then beginning his own examination to ensure his condition remained stable. "What happened Dix?" 

"We were just finishing up when we had an unexpected visitor -- who didn’t have our patient’s best interest in mind," she shrugged with a slight smile, setting up an IV. "Then Barney Fife here got a little trigger happy. Fortunately, his aim was off." 

"I’m sorry," Sanchez moaned, lifting a hand to his aching head. "It was a gut reaction." 

Finding no significant change, Kel took the cannula from Dixie and rolled up his sleeve. "How long have you been with the force?" 

"I graduated from the Academy six weeks ago," he answered grimly. Later there would be plenty of questions about his conduct here. "This was my first experience in a hostage situation."  

"I guess all’s well that ends well," Kel told him, finishing the treatment and helping the men who had wheeled in a gurney to move the patient. "Okay, let’s get him to x-ray. But in the future try to keep this advice in mind," he said, shooting a smile at Dixie before speaking seriously to the rookie officer. "Count to ten first, then decided if what you’re about to do next helps or hinders the victim’s condition."  

Closing his eyes, Sanchez nodded in understanding. "Yeah, that’s what my mom used to tell me," he said with a sigh as he was rolled away. "Guess she was right." 

"Good advice Doctor," Dixie said hoarsely, tilting her partially lidded eyes in Kel’s direction as the door closed, "but I don’t think you followed it before you came through that door." 

"It was quick count," he told her with a wink. She swallowed painfully against the soreness that had begun in her throat before chuckling softly. The fact Dixie was slowly losing the battle against the virus that had infected her wasn’t lost on him and he took her shoulders in his hands. "Are sure you’re all right?" 

"Yeah, just my usual complaints. The rain, sick staff and my cold." 

The corners of Kel’s mouth lifted briefly before forming a grim line. "Dix, there’s been a train derailment and we’re a designated receiving area for some of the injured. Are you sure you’re up to it?"

"Huh -- it never rains but it pours" she replied, lowering her head and biting the inside of her lip. "And right now it’s really coming down out there." Looking back up at him, she managed a faint smile and stepped out his embrace. "I guess I’d better start making some phone calls to see if we can get some more help down here. We’re gonna be pretty busy."  

Kel dropped an arm around her waist. There were preparations to be made in the emergency room for the latest casualties Mother Nature had provided them. But there had been a nagging question in the back of his mind most of the day.  

"You started to say something earlier, before we were so rudely interrupted," he said, stopping her. "Anything you want to talk about? Maybe we could find some time later, if you want to." 

"No," Dixie answered, shaking her head. "It’s nothing important." 

Nodding, Kel reached to pull the door open for her. 

***

 The work was slow and tedious. Not only was the mud thick, but unless they were lucky enough to dig through to a window, which had yet to happen, there was the added complication of cutting through the railroad car’s exterior.  

Standing, Johnny shrugged his shoulders in effort to relieve the growing tension he felt in them and walked to the edge of the tarp standing over the injured. Beyond it the rain had gone from a downpour to persistent drizzle and his mouth took on a shadow of its characteristic lopsided smile. Although they still lacked adequate manpower, he couldn’t help but admire the human spirit that came into play when there was a natural disaster. 

Hearing of the train derailment, members of the nearby small communities of Ridgeway and Salida’s volunteer fire departments had responded -- shoveling vigorously alongside their professional brothers. An off duty grading crew had commandeered equipment, God only knew from where, and were managing to keep the fire road from becoming impassable for the arriving ambulances. They had also been fortunate to locate the club and dining cars, which held the highest concentration of passengers, early on. 

"So far so good Gage," Roger Dodson, a paramedic from Station 9, said coming to stand beside him. "Two cars almost cleared and fifty-five people evacuated with only two fatalities and four serious injuries. Everybody else is minor or walking away from it." 

"Yeah," Johnny nodded. The mud that washed over the cars had also passed around them, cushioning their impact when tipping over. Grasping a pole that held the tarp, he sighed, watching the rescue efforts. The canyon wall still posed a threat to the now small number waiting within the train and those working to free them.  

"Here comes another one," Roger said, nudging him. 

Giving those who were still in danger a parting glance, Johnny went with Roger to meet the Stokes that was being carried toward them. Yeah, so far we’ve been lucky but the job isn’t finished yet. 

***

"Looks like we finally got lucky Roy," Mike Stoker said, shoving away a clump of scrub brush to reveal a glass. For the last hour they had been assigned to digging out the car that lay the deepest under the mire, the teetering forward coach that rested against it hampering their efforts. 

"Uh huh," Roy responded, kneeling to wipe away the film covering the window to reveal anxious eyes staring up at him. Motioning them away, he and Mike began to work at pulling the Plexiglas from its frame. Once they had it free the two firemen dropped into the interior, landing approximately in the middle of the car. 

A man, probably in his late sixties and obviously affluent, scrambled over to Roy from where he had been sitting. "I’m Arthur Davies. Are you finally going to get us out of here?" he asked nervously. 

"Yeah, we’ll have you out here in just a few minutes. For now, all of you need to stay calm," Roy said, scanning the faces of the twelve people crowding around him and Mike. "Are any of you hurt?" 

"Most of us are all right. Just a lot of cuts and bruises" a young man answered, stepping forward and wiping his bloody knuckles across the already stained Dodgers’ logo on his jersey. "But there’s a couple down at the end and I think the woman’s sick," he added, his head motioning in that direction. 

Mike climbed on top of a pair of seats that now rested on their side and reached for the window they entered from. "I’ll let ‘em know topside that we’ve broken through while you check on the woman." 

"You are going to get us out of here, aren’t you?" Arthur asked fearfully, tugging at the edge of Stoker’s turnout coat. 

"Yes sir, we are," Mike answered calmly. "But we need more help to do it properly and safely. I’m going to get it." 

"Come on Pop," the younger man said, placing an arm around the elderly one’s shoulders. "Why don’t you come over here and sit with me and my girlfriend for a while. I think you’re the only one who hasn’t told us about any of the great plays they’ve seen," he encouraged Arthur, leading him over to where a pretty girl with a split lip stood smiling. 

Roy stepped through the litter of baseball gloves and spilled bags. Nearing the end of the compartment, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone retching from within the V formed by two rows of seats that had broken loose. 

"It’s all right Sara," a man’s voice said soothingly from within the alcove. 

Looking over the top of the chairs Roy saw a man sitting with his back to him, his hands grasping the shaking shoulders of a woman who was bent over as she vomited.  

Roy knelt beside them and took the woman’s arm, seeing that her heaving had begun to subside. "I’m Roy DeSoto," he said. "We’re gonna have you out of here soon." 

The man nodded, gently rubbing the woman’s back. With a salt pepper mustache, dark hair streaked with gray and prominent crow’s feet stretching from his eyes, he appeared to be middle-aged. But with the exception of his nose, which was showing signs that it had experienced a great deal of blowing, still handsome. "Sam Arduini. This is my wife Sara." 

"I understand you’re sick Sara," Roy said, helping her to straighten. 

Running a hand through her short blond hair, she leaned back against her husband. Her face was pale but girlish. "Morning sickness," she replied, running a hand across her mouth. "Only I seem to get it in the afternoon." 

Roy smiled, remembering Joanne’s bouts with an almost constantly churning stomach. "What trimester are you in?" 

"First. About two months," she answered, her hands traveling to her pelvic region and beginning to massage it.  

"Is this your first child?" 

Sam kissed the top of her head. "Yes, for both of us. And for probably the last fifteen minutes she’s been having severe cramps. Until now, there haven’t been any problems other than the morning sickness." 

Taking her pulse then respiration, Roy found them both to be elevated. Whether as a result of stress or the onslaught of a miscarriage, he couldn’t be sure. "Let’s see if we can make you a little more comfortable Sara," he told her, easing her out of Sam’s arms. 

Sam helped him to move her past the confining seats. "I knew we shouldn’t make this trip," Sam told the fireman, lying her against what had once been a view to the passing countryside but now only revealed the darkness of the mud. "She’s been so nauseous lately and I started a cold last night. But we’re both die hard Dodgers fans and her parents gave us the tickets for our anniversary . . . well . . ." 

"How old are you Sara?" Roy asked, straightening her legs and beginning to palpate her abdomen. 

Sara gritted her teeth against the pain his gentle pressing caused, her knees pulling forward in an instinctive reaction to shield the tender area. "Twenty-seven. Sam’s twenty-two years older than me and it took a lot of convincing for him to want children," she answered anxiously, reaching for her husband. "Am I going to loose our baby?"  

Glancing uncertainly at Roy, Sam took her hand and lovingly brushed back her bangs. "Shh . . .," he whispered. "It’s going to be all right." 

"But it hurts Sam. That can’t be right --" 

"Take it easy," Roy gently interrupted, seeing her respiration become more rapid as she began to panic. "Right now you’re body’s trying to react against the shock it suffered. We’ll have you to a hospital soon," he said reassuringly. "I want you to take some steady, deep breaths."

"Breath with me Baby," Sam said, drawing in a steady breath. "Just like we’ve seen them do it on TV. Slow and easy." She nodded, beginning to match his regular intake.  

When she began to relax, Roy rose and went to where Stoker stood a few feet away from them. 

"We’re getting the others out," Mike told him. "How is she?" 

Roy heaved a sigh and shook his head. "Not so good. She’s in the early stages of pregnancy and may be miscarrying. I’m kind of worried about . . .." A shift in the wall beneath his feet had him reaching out to steady himself, the screech of metal against metal filling the compartment. The forward car was moving.  

"Oh my God," Stoker muttered, falling against Roy.

Picking themselves up they watched what had once been an orderly line of evacuees rush the fireman from Station 9 who had been assisting them toward the opening, Arthur Davies pushing his way to the forefront.

 "We’ve got a small slide coming down out here," a voice outside shouted. "You guys better move it!"

 Roy and Mike looked at each other briefly before running back to the couple sequestered at the end of the car. Mike grasped Sam’s collar, forcibly pulling him away from his wife and hauling him toward the exit. Roy lifted a now sobbing Sara into his arms and followed.

 The fireman from Station 9 was helping the last of the passengers out, the young man with the Dodgers’ jersey, when they reached him. "You’re the last of ‘em," he told them, taking Sam and pushing him toward the outstretched hands above.

 "Go," Mike shouted. Silt and debris had begun to stream through their escape hatch. Climbing onto the evacuated seat, he took Sara from Roy and lifted her out. Reaching back, he extended his hand to the paramedic.

 A rocking of the car had Roy falling backward until he came to rest against what had once been the roof of the car. Rising to lean against his elbows, he saw Stoker’s feet disappear through the gap. Standing, he began to slip across the ooze beginning to coat the interior toward safety. His feet trying to find purchase on the slimy upholstery, he fought against the gush of dirty water coming through the window and reached blindly for its edge to haul himself out.

 A hand closed around his forearm and began pull him past the flood. Roy felt his shin scrape painfully against something as his head broke through to the surface. A fire department volunteer from one of the small towns continued to tug steadily at his arm until they both stood unsteadily in the swirling current that threatened to knock them off their feet.

 The car shuddered beneath them, then lurched as the forward coach ground its way through the muck surrounding it and began to slowly swing around.

 "Let’s get out of here!" the volunteer shouted.

Skidding through the mud, they made their way across the buried train until they were clear of the moving car. Slipping down the embankment formed by the earlier slide and then running, Roy heard the cars collide. Reaching the small group that comprised the last of the charter’s evacuees, he finally stopped to catch his breath, hearing the volunteer breathing equally hard beside him.

 Looking back the paramedic watched as one car drove into the other, creating a domino effect in the still coupled together buried sections. Like a large snake awaking from slumber, the train heaved lazily upward then against the restraint of the canyon wall that began to shower down upon it. 

"Thanks," Roy told the volunteer. 

"Glad I could help," the volunteer responded, his dirty face splitting into a grin. "Maybe I’ll make it into the papers for rescuing one of you guys from LA County." Turning his head he sneezed, peppering the approaching Johnny with it’s residual. 

"Man, I’m sorry." 

Johnny shrugged and went to Roy. "You okay?" 

"Yeah. Most of them are just minor. But there’s a woman experiencing premature labor," he answered, finding Sara among the bedraggled gathering. Sam was placing her in a Stokes, her anguished face searching his imploringly. "She needs immediate attention." 

"I’ll contact base," Johnny said, hurrying ahead to the aid station. 

***

The early morning hours of a hallway free of stretchers holding patients but a vague memory, Dixie was almost surprised to find herself passing easily through Rampart’s emergency room. There remained those awaiting removal to one of the wards or release to go home, but there was no longer the stockpile of injured in need of care. A crisis that could have quickly gotten out of control had been averted and she allowed herself a sigh of relief. Every member of her short staff had performed above and beyond what was expected of them with some help sent down from the pediatric department.  

Rounding the base station desk and taking a seat on the stool behind it, she inspected the two paramedics lounging around it. "Looks like you guys swam through some mud." 

"Man, did we ever," Johnny told her, taking a sip from his cup of coffee. "It’s gonna be a long time before I wanna hear a run come in for a mud slide." 

"Most of those people were lucky though. There were a hundred and fifty people booked on that train but a lot of them canceled because of the rain," Roy said. "It could’ve been a whole lot worse." 

"Yeah," Johnny nodded. 

"And we were able to stop Sara’s miscarriage," Roy beamed. "She’s going to need to be under a doctor’s constant supervision but, barring any complications, she should make it to term." 

Dixie nodded. She had followed Sara’s progress through the radio until their arrival, then had let Carol take over. "That’s great." 

"Hey, Dix," Johnny said mischievously, setting aside his mug and leaning against the desk, "we heard you had some excitement of your own here today." 

"It’s been exciting here all day. What are you referring to?" 

"Well, while Dr. Morton was taking care of Roy’s bruises and the scratch on his leg, Lydia kept going on about your skills as a hostage negotiator." 

"There was an isolated incident with a biker and a cop who had shot his brother," Dixie said. "I just happened to be there." 

"Was his brother alive . . . like you told him?" Roy asked. 

"Yes," Dixie replied seriously. "He only suffered a flesh wound but when he fell, he hit his head and lost consciousness for a while. The others thought he was dead though. Jason the Red’s lack of information will have him spending some time in jail. As for my own involvement -- I was only trying to delay him long enough for some of LA’s finest to arrive. "  

Johnny’s face broke into one of its lopsided grins then scrunched into a sneeze. 

"Oh no," he groaned, running an index finger against his nose. "Between the guy yesterday and the volunteer today, I’ve caught it." 

"Johnny, there’s a lot of things that can make you sneeze," Dixie said patting his hand, a pale version of her reassuring smile creeping across her face. "It’s probably nothing." 

Johnny didn’t appear to have heard her. "It’ll probably kick in just in time for my trip to Disneyland tomorrow," he complained turning to leave. "Come on Roy. I called Robin ten minutes ago and told I’d be late. But if we hang around here anymore, I’ll really be pushing it." 

Falling in behind him, Roy raised the HT in a gantlet of good-bye to the nurse.  

"See ya Doc," he said, passing Dr. Brackett in the hall. 

"Uh huh," Kel replied absently, his attention focused elsewhere. Dixie’s hand was pressed against her forehead and her shoulders had slumped wearily toward the desk. Reaching the base station his fingers stroked her cheek. Finding it warm, he lifted her from the stool to her feet.

 "No arguments," he said, guiding her toward the nearest treatment room. "It’s time somebody had a look at you." Pushing open the door and finding it empty, he instructed: "On the table please." 

Hoisting herself onto the surface, Dixie smoothed her skirt and watched him while he went to a cabinet. Inserting a thermometer between her lips and taking her pulse he was the consummate professional, but his eyes reflected an unusual amount of concern and she was touched by it. 

Removing the instrument from her mouth, he studied it and asked, "How long have you had a fever?" 

Dixie shook her head. "It just started a little bit ago." His fingers had unfastened the primarily decorative buttons of her uniform and begun to unzip the front of it. "I’ve gotta look pretty awful right now Good Doctor and you still want to get your paws on me," she teased with a weak smile. 

Placing his stethoscope against her chest, Kel’s serious expression flickered briefly with amusement. "Take a deep breath."  

Inhaling, Dixie began coughing and his professionalism momentarily vanished while he held her until it had passed. "Okay, try again," he said when her breathing became more regular, once again a physician treating a patient. 

Finishing the examination, he conducted a few tests then stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. "How much aspirin have you taken today?" 

"Not nearly enough. I missed both my 1:00 and 4:00 feedings due to all the excitement around here. I think that may have something to do with why I’ve started to feel so lousy."  

Kel went to the counter and began to scribble on a pad, then made a few notations on a chart before returning to her. "Well, Miss McCall, you’re done seeing patients and running the ER for a while," he said. 

"Given the fact that my shift ended an hour and a half ago, that’s rather welcome news." 

"I’ll advise the nursing supervisor that you’ll be out two days due to illness. Maybe that combined with your two days off will allow you some time to get well. And --" 

"But Kel," Dixie interrupted, "I don’t think . . .." His raised hand stopped her. 

"And I’ve written a couple of prescriptions that may do you a little more good than the aspirin and cough drops you’ve been taking," he went on, tearing a page from the pad.  

She cocked her head toward him, puzzled. 

"I’ll need confirmation from the lab -- but Dixie, I’m fairly certain you’ve worked yourself into a severe case of bronchitis. If you don’t slow down and take care of yourself it could easily turn into pneumonia."

Dixie’s face went from one of puzzlement to surprise. "My self-diagnostic skills must be slipping. I just thought I had a miserable cold that had worked its way from my head to my lungs." 

"You’ve been pretty busy with all the people out and had a lot on your mind." 

More than you know Good Doctor, she thought as he helped her down from the table. There’s still so much I need to tell you. But I’ll be home sick and you’ll be going about your business as usual. Maybe someday. 

"That could be why you missed the symptoms," Kel continued. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he lost the air of a doctor informing a patient of his diagnosis. Looking down at her, his features were tender and loving. "Let’s get you home and started on the road to recovery." 

***

Holding a paper bag containing the prescriptions he had filled for her at the hospital pharmacy, Kel met Dixie outside the nurses’ locker room. To ensure that his orders were carried out he was personally going to see her home. Although well aware of how ill she was, he worried she might try to make a few last minute checks in the ER before she stopped working. 

"You two finally calling it a day?" Joe Early asked, meeting them in the hall. 

"Yeah, it’s been a long one," Dixie replied, her voice unusually gruff. 

"Uh, Dix . . . I hate to say this but you look and sound . . ." 

"She’s got bronchitis Joe," Kel informed him. "I’m going to take her home and I’ve ordered her off duty for the next few days." 

"Then I guess that explains it," Joe said, flashing her a smile. "It’s about time someone got to the bottom of what’s been ailing Nurse McCall." 

"Oh come on Joe," Dixie protested. "I really thought . . .." Gage and DeSoto had joined them. "You two came back pretty fast." 

Roy nodded. "Same kid we responded to earlier this morning with his hand caught in a storm drain trying to get out a toy he lost down it. Only this time, he managed to break his finger." 

Johnny was shifting his feet anxiously and darting glances at his watch. "I’ve got to find a phone," he announced, his usual good-natured demeanor displaying frustration. "I called Robin an hour ago and told her I’d be over soon. She’s probably fuming by now." 

Kel smiled fondly at Dixie, telling the paramedic: "Johnny, sometimes a woman can be more understanding than you think." 

"We’ll see. But I think I’m catching a cold too. It could ruin everything," Johnny said, hurrying away.  

Roy watched him leave, shaking his head then grinning. "I’d better try to catch up with Romeo, just in case he’s too flustered to find a phone on his own," he told the assembled doctors and nurse. Their laughter followed him down the hall. 

As Roy caught up to him, Johnny stopped. There was an aspect of the recent conversation that had just registered and he turned around. Dr. Brackett and Dixie were exchanging a few parting words with Dr. Early before Brackett almost protectively led her away. 

"I thought you were looking for a phone," Roy said, seeing his partner’s speculative expression. 

"What?" Johnny replied, lost in thought. 

"A phone -- you wanted to call your date."  

"Oh yeah," he said, walking slowly toward the bank of pay phones in the waiting room. Reaching in his pocket for some change, he quietly asked, "Do you think those two are back together?" 

"Who?" Roy questioned him.  

"Dix and Dr. Brackett," he whispered with exasperation. 

"Well, since I’ve never known if they were actually a couple I couldn’t tell ya," Roy answered matter-of-factly. "But I’ve noticed in the last few weeks they’ve seemed a little more friendly toward each other." 

Dropping a dime into the slot, Johnny considered it. The ringing of the phone at the receiving end of the call had him forgetting his brief preoccupation with the possible relationship between Rampart Emergency’s head nurse and it’s ranking physician. There was a explanation to be given to the woman who would answer and he began to prepare his profuse apologies. 

"Hi Robin, it’s John," he said. "I’m sorry but I’m running later than I thought . . .Yeah I’m all right and I’m really sorry if I’ve ruined anything you planned . . . No we just had another run after I called you . . . No, nothing serious but I wanted . . . You understand . . . That’s great!" 

***

 Wheezing, Dixie awoke from where she had fallen asleep on her couch. Pulling her blue robe tighter against a chill, she heard the patter of rain against the balcony while a television weatherman promised that tomorrow would bring clear skies. Turning her head, she saw Kel straightening in the chair he had been nodding off in. 

"Kel, you don’t have to stay and watch me sleep." 

"Maybe I want to," he said, rising from the chair to take a seat next to her on the sofa. 

"Why? It’s not like I have a life threatening illness." 

"Because I love you," he responded, putting a hand against her cheek. 

Dixie bit her lip. The conversation between them she had thought about over the last few days was at last going to take place. "I know you do," she said, her hand wrapping around his. "I love you too. And I missed you so much when we stopped seeing each other. But I had a very hard time believing that you were sincere when you came back into my life." 

"Shh . . ." Kel murmured placing a finger against her lips. "It’s all right Dix. I hurt you very badly and it’s only natural that you’d have doubts about me. You can take all the time you need to believe me when I say I love you." 

Removing the finger from her mouth, she grasped his hand tightly. "For a man with a reputation of having a short fuse, you’ve been exceedingly patient with me Kelly Brackett," she said, tears beginning to spill from her eyes. "While you were in Vegas, I realized that I did believe you and I wanted to welcome you back . . . for it to be special and romantic . . . but then it started to rain and people were getting sick . . . and I caught a cold . . . I’m sorry," she finished with a sob. 

His own gray eyes misting, Kel took her in his arms and kissed her forehead then cradled her against his chest. Raising a hand he began to stroke her hair. Months ago she had offered him a second chance and the promise of it was now fulfilled. "There’s nothing to be sorry about Dix," he told her. "It can wait. You are and were my best friend before we ever became lovers. After my stupidity it’s more than enough to have you back as that." 

The gentle threading of his fingers within her hair calmed her, just as it always had. Dixie raised her head from his chest and brushed the back of a hand across her face. "You’re mine too. But I wanted to show you how much my feelings for you go beyond that." 

"It can wait," he said again. "Tomorrow it’s supposed to stop raining and in a day or two you’ll start to feel better. We’ll find time to go to the beach, eat some seafood then maybe come home and dance to ‘Into the Mystic.’ What happens after that we won’t plan ahead." 

Her tear stained face creased into a smile, her fingers lacing together around the back of his neck. "Sounds like fun," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "And despite what anybody else says, I for one think your bedside manner has improved immensely Dr. Brackett." 

"You’ve become delirious Nurse," Kel grinned, picking her up from the sofa. "It must be time for you to go to bed so the medicine a worried doctor prescribed for you can start to work." 

With a raspy giggle, she linked her arms around his shoulders as he began to carry her down the hall. "I think I can still walk." 

"Not tonight Dixie. Tonight you lean on me and if you need anything, I’ll be here." Although he might spend a sleepless night on the hide-a-bed tucked within her couch, there was nowhere else he’d rather be. 

"I love you Angel in White," he said, sitting her on the bed and pressing his lips against hers.