It was like he was there but he wasn't. His little body was frail and
impossibly thin. His face was pasty and pale. He was hooked up to more
moniters than Ryan cared to count. He was asleep, yet he looked frightened.
She wondered where Ms. Knox was. Why she wasn't here. It made her angry that
someone could just abandon such a sweet child. Especially a sick one. She
sat down on the bed next to Josh and began slowly stroking his face.
"Hey, Josh. How are you kiddo? I hear you've been sick? What happened?" her
eyes welled up and she bit her trembling bottom lip. "No, no, no. Not now,
Kathleen. Not now," she warned herself. All she could see was Josh laying
there limp and broken. Her eyes welled up even further and Josh became a
fuzzy haze. She sat there until she couldn't take the torture anymore. She
jumped up, giving Josh a soft kiss on the forehead, and headed out to the
hallway in search of a nurse.
The first nurse that would answer her was plump and gray haired. She had a
friendly smile on her face, but when Kathleen mentioned Josh, the smile
quickly evaporated. "You really have no clue as to why he's in here, do
you?" she asked, looking Kathleen up and down with a critical eye.
"No, ma'am. That's why I asked you. Can you please tell me?" she begged.
The older woman looked reluctant.
"Well . . . only if you are somehow related to the child," she said.
"I . . . well I'm . . . actually thinking about adopting him . . ." she
said, and she realized it was true. She loved the little boy, and in the
back of her mind she was unsure she could, or would, ever have children of
her own. She had so much love to give, and no one to give it to. And then
there was Josh. A boy in desperate need of someone to love him. Someone to
hold his hand when he was sick, someone to be by his side.
The nurse's face softened as she pulled Kathleen over to the nurse's
station. "Well, ma'am," the nurse began in a soft voice. "It doesn't look
good for the boy. He was thrown from his bicycle when a car hit the back of
the bike. He cracked a few ribs and punctured his lung and some other organs
causing massive internal bleeding. When we ran the diagnostic tests, we also
discovered he was in the early stages of leukemia," she finished and took a
deep breath, her eyes probing Kathleen's.
"So . . . that's it? He's going to die?" she asked, hoping against hope the
nurse would assure her otherwise. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, she
knew that Josh wasn't going to make it. The thought saddened her and scared
her more than anything ever had before.
"We're afraid he might. We're losing him a little more everyday. I'm
sorry," she said. She gathered up some folders and was beginning her descent
down the hallway when the moniter in Josh's room became louder and louder.
"Code Blue!" the nurse yelled. Suddenly a team of doctors were right by the
nurse's side. They ran into Josh's room shouting orders for one milligram
epi and to push the IV.
Kathleen stood in the doorway as they worked . . . and worked . . .
The doctor called the code and wrote time of death in the log and pulled a
sheet over Josh's head. Before Kathleen had time to comprehend the scene
that she had just witnessed, they began wheeling Josh out of his room. She
let out a little cry and sank to the floor, replaying Josh's death over and
over in her mind. She stood up shakily and allowed the tears to fall freely
and silently.
They rolled down her cheeks like liquid fire, burning her skin. She cried
hot bitter tears. For Josh, for herself, for Wick and Bell. She sat in a
crumpled heap for what seemed like an eternity. She heard Bell's voice, soft
and close. Felt his warm breath on her ear. She looked up and realized he
had been talking. "Wha–?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Come on, Kathleen. We have a call . . . I'm sorry . . ."he pulled her to
her feet and put his arm around her waist. "Come on, you can make it. Let's
go . . ." he quietly nudged her on down the hallway. They stepped in the
elevator and he pressed the buttons. As they descended, she told him about
Josh. About wanting to adopt him, about standing by, watching helplessly as
he died. He cried too, cried because he hated to see her in pain. He cried
because he wanted her to know she wasn't alone in her sorrow.
They stepped off the elevator and he kissed her forehead as he assured her
that she was strong enough to deal with this. She nodded and straightened
up, wiping the tears from her eyes and fixing her wild hair. With his arm
still firmly around her waist, Michael walked out to the ambulance with her
and helped her into the back of the rig. Wick looked at her in the rearview
mirror.
"Is she okay, man?" Wick asked. He had heard about the little boy, and was
concerned. He was also angry. Angry that Ryan was always the one to get
hurt. In the past few months she had suffered worse than all of them.
Although, Bell had been really quiet and reserved. Even more so then usual.
Wick really did care about his partners, even if he didn't always show it.
He loved them. They were the only family he had.
Dispatch had given them a call for a person stabbed. They were all
wondering what that could possibly be about.
Bell sat in the driver's seat, his mind miles away from everything else but
his family. When Josh died, it made him think of his father. And Will. And
Megan. And everything that had been going on in his life. Helping Ryan
through all her problems had taken his mind off his problems. He wanted a
shoulder to cry on. He wanted a chance to let it all out. Oh how he wanted
to tell her and Wick. He wanted them to know everything. How he was playing
secretary for the family. How Megan broke up with him to be with that Dr.
Don, or whoever. The funny thing about it was . . . he wasn't really that
upset about Megan . . .
They pulled up at a little house and knocked on the door. A little child of
about five or six answered the door. "Are you here to help Mommy?" he asked.
His little face was red and swollen from crying and his voice was hoarse. He
looked absolutely terrified.
"Where is your Mommy?" Kathleen asked the little boy. "Can you take us to
her?"
The boy nodded and began walking through the house until they reached a
large room that they assumed to be the bedroom. Kathleen had noticed the
blood trailing from the kitchen to the room they were now standing in. A
woman in her mid-thirties lay on the bed, a large wound in her stomach was
pouring blood onto the bed. A huge burly man stood by the closet holding a
bloody knife.
Wick and Bell began taking the vitals and Ryan got on the headset. She had
no sooner turned on the radio when she felt the man ease up next to her. He
held the knife to her throat, and she could feel a mixture of cold metal and
the woman's warm blood.
"Don't you dare," he growled. "I'll slit your throat right here, right
now," Kathleen stayed as still as she possibly could. Maybe it was because
she didn't want to make any sudden moves, or maybe she was just paralyzed by
the fear. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and her head was spinning.
She was faintly aware of her partners standing in front of her, slowly
backing up behind the man.
Before she even knew what was happening, she felt the knife move away from
her throat and the man stand up abruptly.
Wick yelled and rushed at the man. His head was unclear, but his heart knew
what he had to do. He lunged at the man from behind, knocking him off of
Ryan. She scurried across the floor and grabbed the radio and yelled into it
requesting backup from the police and fire services. The man stood and
rushed at Wick. Before he had time to move, or even think, the knife was
plunged through his stomach.
All he was aware of was the pain. The pain and the blood. Oh, God, so much
blood. He was moderately aware of Ryan screaming and Bell yelling. Bell
jumped on the guy from behind, sending the knife flying across the room.
Ryan grabbed it and raced to find some supplies. She grabbed a few towels
and some bandages from the trauma bags. She heard the approaching sirens and
thanked God. She leaned over Wick and tried to stop the bleeding while
Michael checked on the woman.
"She's dead," he called. "How's Wick?"
"He's losing blood fast. His BP is dropping, and his respirations are
shallow and infrequent," she said. ‘Oh, God, Wick. Don't you dare leave us.
Don't you dare!"
****
It was 6:30pm and there was still no word on Wick. All of the ‘77 had
assembled in the ER, anxious looks on all their faces. A few of them were
actually crying, including Carla, Bell, Ryan, and even Bridges. Everyone was
testy and they were getting on each others last nerves.
"Ryan, it is not your fault Wick is in there," Carla assured her. "You
didn't stab him,"
"I might as well have," she said from her seat next to Captain Durfee. She
looked around at all the firefighters. They were all giving her sympathetic
looks. She hated their pity. She didn't need it. Wick did. She knew deep
down that it wasn't her fault, but she couldn't help thinking that maybe if
it wasn't for her, Wick would still be okay.
"Listen to me, Ryan. This is NOT your fault. That guy very well might have
killed you," Durfee said, grabbing Kathleen's hands in his own.
"Well, I'd rather it be me than Wick. I . . . hate . . . I hate this," she
said, her voice trembling. She had told herself she wouldn't cry. Crying
never helps. Her eyes had welled up, but she'd choked the tears back.
Michael walked up to her chair and squatted down in front of her. Durfee
released her hands and Michael grabbed them.
"Come on," he said, "let's take a little walk," he pulled her to her feet.
She protested for a brief second, but gave in. Walking hand in hand they
made their way to the cafeteria. There sat none other than Megan. Kathleen
quickly dropped Michael's hand as if it was on fire. "I have to talk to you
about something," he told her. "Let's sit over here," he pointed to an empty
two-seater booth. She willingly followed.
"Uh, Ryan . . . Kathleen . . . I . . ." he didn't know how to tell her. He
didn't know how to say that he'd been keeping a major secret from her.
"Spit it out, Bell," she demanded playfully. Well, as playfully as someone
can get after they almost kill their partner, she thought somberly. Michael
locked eyes with her, sending shivers down her spine. He looked so grim that
he actually scared her.
"Well, I don't . . . know how to say this . . . but . . . there's something
I haven't told you. Something big," she looked up at him expectantly, so he
continued. "Quite some time ago, my father had a heart attack," her eyes
widened in shock. "That's not all . . ." he trailed off. She cocked her head
and gestured for him to continue. "Then he had a stroke. They don't think
he'll ever be the same, so I'm helping out with the business . . ." she was
now shaking her head, and he couldn't tell if it was out of sympathy or
disbelief, or anger . . .
"Is there anything else I've missed?" she asked, staring him dead in the
eyes. It was his turn to shiver.
"Well . . . uh . . ." she looked at him in disbelief.
"There is?"
"Well, yes. Megan and I . . . well we broke up . . . some time ago," he
told her. Her face softened into . . . relief. Then her gaze hardened again.
"Why?"
How could he possibly tell her it was because both he and Megan were in
love with other people? Her with Don, and him . . . with Kathleen. "She was
cheating on me," he told her. It wasn't a lie . . . he just left out the
fact that he didn't care.
"Michael, I am so sorry. About everything. Your father . . . and Megan,"
she said. Even though she wasn't really sorry. As much as she hated to admit
it, she was in love with him. Everyday when she was on duty, she looked
forward to opening her eyes and seeing him sleeping in the bed next to hers.
She loved to fall asleep to the sounds of his light snoring. And she
especially loved when calls came in the middle of the night and he jumped
out of bed in his underwear.
But it wasn't just the physical appearance that made her love him. He had a
soft heart, and a tender soul. He was a good man with good morals. He was
kind and considerate, and she couldn't have wished for a more respectful
man. He didn't fly off the handle at doctors (unlike Wick) and he hardly
ever lost his temper. No doubt about it: she loved him.
"Don't be. Maybe it was time that Will took over the company. And as for
Megan . . . well, she's not the one I love," as soon as he said it he
regretted it. He didn't want to see her reaction. Didn't want to hear her
laugh at him. But she didn't. She smiled. He was so happy to see that smile.
"So, Michael," she asked in a teasing voice, "who is it that you love?"
Just then Bridges came running into the room. "He's back! He's back!" he
yelled. Kathleen and Michael jumped up and ran out of the room, their
conversation forgotten as thoughts of Wick flooded their minds.
Wick was being wheeled into a room in the ICU. He was still unconscious and
he didn't look too good from where Ryan was standing. Dr. Griffith came into
the hallway and stood in front of the wall lined with firefighters. "I won't
lie to you. He's not good. He suffered massive internal injuries, and he
bled too much for too long. We're keeping him in Intensive Care until the
stitches come out . . . he's probably going to have to have a follow-up
surgery in about six to eight weeks. Assuming he makes it that long," he
gave everyone a tight smile. "I'm sorry,"
Carla collapsed into the arms of a near-by fireman. Durfee slipped his arm
around Bridges, and Michael gathered Kathleen into a comforting embrace. The
rest of the firemen hung their heads and rubbed their tired faces.
"Can I see him?" Kathleen asked. Griffith nodded, so she opened the door
and pulled up a stool beside his bed. "Hey, you," she said. She stared down
at him. Sleeping like an angel. He didn't quite look like an angel, however.
His complexion was almost an olive color, and his face was swollen. The
veins in his arms stood out, and he had many IVs in them.
"The doctors say you're going to be fine. So you'd better not make a liar
out of them, Mr. Lobo. You have to hurry up and get better, or Griffith
won't have anyone to pick on," she teased gently. "Come on, Wick. You're
strong. You can make it through this," her eyes welled up and she could feel
her heart breaking. She felt so responsible.
"You know what? Michael and I are getting so close to actually admitting
our feelings. I don't know if he really does love me, but I'm hoping he
does," she smiled. "So you have to speed up your recovery so you can see us
play house," she laughed at the thought. "You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?"
The door creaked open and Durfee popped his head in. "Ryan, we need you,"
he said. Sighing, she kissed Wick on the cheek and followed Durfee to the
waiting area. There she sat beside Bell and waited for Durfee to talk. He
finally did. "Do you two think you can work in just a team of two for a few
weeks? I'm having trouble tracking down someone to temporarily take Wick's
place," he asked them, crossing his arms over his chest.
Michael looked over at Kathleen who shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, Cap. We
can manage," he assured him. Durfee nodded his head and managed a tight
smile.
"Well, folks, as much as I hate to say this, we need to get back to the
station. So . . . let's go," Durfee said. There were some groans and
protests, but everyone went off to their respective vehicles and drove back
to the station.
"I don't know about you, Michael, but I am beyond ready to turn in," she
said, glancing at the clock. It was almost eight o'clock. She chuckled at
herself. Michael nodded.
"Yeah, I know the feeling. Looks like . . . we have the room to ourselves
tonight," he said. He gave her a little half-smile and grabbed her hand.
"Shall we get ready for bed?"
"We shall," said Kathleen. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to
help take her mind off Josh and Wick. And it was working. They each went to
their respective corners and began stripping down. Michael finished changing
and laid down on his bed at the same moment Kathleen pulled her hair loose
from the ponytail holder.
He watched in awe as her golden hair fell to her bare shoulders. She slept
in a gray midriff top and white boxers in the summertime. He always snuck
glances at her while she was changing. He was just fascinated by her grace
and beauty. "Come here," he said huskily. She smiled and walked over to his
bed. He pulled himself into a sitting position and she sat down gently on
the bed.
"Hold on, one minute," he said. He got up and closed the door. She smiled
and yawned a little. He slid back over to the bed and sat across from her.
He took her face in his hands, putting every feature to memory, even though
he'd already done that hundreds of times. She beamed and touched his face,
running her fingers over his lips.
He leaned in as close as he could without his lips touching hers. He ran
his hands through her hair and locked his hands around the back of her head.
Pulling her face towards his even more, their lips met in a passionate,
long-awaited kiss. They both lost all sense of reason as they surrendered to
each other's embrace. They lost themselves in the kiss. Neither of them
could think of anything but each other, and the hunger they both felt . . .
