Title: And It's Morning, Always

Characters/Pairings: Johnny Gage, Roy DeSoto

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1613

Summary: Facing his own mortality, Johnny turns to his partner with just one question. An ambiguous death fic (because we all know Johnny has nine lives. I mean, if he can beat an unknown monkey virus and a high speed pedestrian-struck, he can handle a little fall!) Non-slash.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Emergency! characters or Station 51….. but I wish I owned a fireman.

Mangled limbs. Crushing injuries. Internal bleeding. Roy closed his eyes with a shudder, the words still failing to sink in. Somehow, there must be a mistake. This couldn't possibly be a reality…. Because he was still breathing, and life was still going on around him.

The voices had been drowned out as the sound of blood rushed through his ears, but one voice came back insistently. "Can you hear me, Roy?" Dr. Brackett's tone, grim but eerily gentle, invaded his thoughts. A hand reached out to steady the senior paramedic as he swayed. "We have him on stand-by for the O.R. and should be able to take him up shortly, but…" The chief surgeon stopped, needing to prepare Roy for the outcome, but not wanting to voice what they all already knew.

De Soto understood. Once the mast suit was removed, his partner would most likely bleed out on the stretcher. And if by some miracle Gage made it up to the O.R. bay, the injuries were just too extensive. He had already gone into v-fib once on the ride over; his body didn't have the strength left to endure the hours of surgery it would require to repair the damage. Brackett was trying to tell him that they were out of options – that his friend had run out of time.

He shook his head in acknowledgement, blinking rapidly, and on his other side, Dixie squeezed his arm.

"Give us a minute while radiology finishes, and then you can go back in." Brackett said, motioning to the charge nurse with his head. They walked to the nurses' station to examine Johnny's chart, and Roy let out his breath shakily, finally sparing a glance for the other men of 51, who stood silently nearby.

"Roy," the captain began, but was interrupted as the handie-talkie in Stanley's hand called another station out on a run. "I'll put a call into dispatch, see if I can get the squad stood down for the rest of the shift. But if they find a replacement partner for you, we can at least make you available from Rampart, until someone else can wait with Johnny."

"There is no one else, Cap," Roy's eyes looked up, hooded with fatigue and shock. "It's just Joanne and me, and you know it." Bitterness trailed in his voice and hung in the silence after his uncharacteristic outburst.

Stanley sighed, and laid a hand on the paramedic's shoulder, choosing to overlook the insubordination. "Maybe C shift's paramedics can come in early. I'll see what I can do."

With an abrupt clang, the radiology technician opened the door to treatment room 3, and pushed the portable equipment through. Roy lifted apologetic eyes up to his captain, and turned to re-enter the room.

His partner lay on the examining table, the mast suit covering his lower extremities. Dark bruising scattered across his torso and right shoulder, and Roy quickly averted his eyes, his stomach rolling. Drawing up a stool, he sat down near the exam bed and studied his friend. A large gash was open but cleaned above Johnny's right eye, and the orbital area was blackened and swollen, causing the younger man to peer up at Roy with a glassy, dazed expression. Johnny was still lucid, and although he made no audible sounds, Roy could gauge the level of pain his friend was experiencing by the tight, drawn look in his partner's dark eyes.

Roy's own eyes narrowed. If Johnny was in hospice care, his last few moments would have been peaceable, medicated to dull the pain and ease the passing. But Brackett was taking no chances, holding out for an O.R. spot and a fight to hang onto this particular life. Roy wasn't sure if he was grateful for the doctor's obstinate refusal to give up, or angry at the unbearable pain he could read on his friend's face.

Sliding the stool closer to the bed, leaning his body slightly to offer warmth and comfort, he took the younger paramedic's cold hand in his, and met Johnny's eyes, finding a smile from somewhere inside to give his friend.

Johnny attempted his infamous crooked grin, but his eyes fluttered with waning consciousness. Roy's heart ached, realizing how much he would miss that brash smile. His mind quickly flashed back to events earlier in the evening. His partner's arrogant grin, tossed ahead at Roy as the senior paramedic scurried in front of his partner, the rescued victim flung across his shoulders in a fireman's hold. Then, a shifting of the floor, a loud rumbling down the corridor, and Johnny was gone, disappearing through the floor in a moment.

Roy blinked rapidly, knowing he would never be able to forget the look on Johnny's face or the lurch in his heart as his partner vanished in front of him. He forced his mind back to the present, and buried the memories for the time being. In his heart, he knew these were the last moments he would have to spend with his best friend, and he wanted to remember every sound, every breath, while Johnny was still alive.

Johnny remained silent, the brown eyes intent on Roy's face, and the older man sat quietly, holding his friend's hand tightly, greedily observing his partner's chest rise and fall.

"R-Roy?" Johnny broke the silence, forcing the syllables out through cracked and blistered lips.

His friend was instantly alert, leaning forward to allow Johnny to see his face easily. "Yeah, Johnny, what is it?" he murmured quietly.

Gage attempted to lick his lips, and Roy lifted the O2 mask up just enough for the words to be audible. "What…what d'ya suppose it will be like?"

Roy's heart broke at the whispered question. Everything in him screamed out in denial, that this scenario could not be happening to them, but the beeping of the cardiac monitor and the packed red blood cells dripping into his friend's IV were stark, physical reminders that this was not merely a nightmare. For a moment, he gnawed his lip and considered pretending that he did not understand the question, but the brown eyes looking up at him were waiting… and scared. It was the fear in those eyes that prompted him to find his voice and answer.

"Well," his voice wavered, and he stopped to clear his throat. "I think it will just be like," he cleared his throat again, "like falling asleep, you know, kinda quiet and restful." The dark eyes rested on him, watching through a pained haze, intent on every word. "And then…. And then you wake up, and it's morning, always, and more beautiful than you could have guessed." The dark eyes had slid shut, but he knew Johnny was still listening, and he squeezed his hand tightly. "But it's not your turn yet, partner," Roy continued in a gentle, firm voice. "I'm not ready to let you go." There was a slight pressure to his hand in response, and though the eyes remained closed, a brief flitter of an attempted smile crossed the younger man's face for a moment.

"Because, man, you know," Roy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, desperately needing to tell his partner what he felt in his heart, but unsure how to say it, "You're the best friend I've ever had, and the best partner I could have wished for." His gaze left Johnny's face, and dropped to the tiled floor, "And I have to tell you, I…. Johnny, you know that I –" he stopped, blushing furiously, unable to speak of what had always been felt but never said between the two, as if vocalizing it would somehow make Johnny's fate sealed. He chose another route. "I'm not ready for a new partner, Junior. So you'd better lick this thing quick."

A small puff of air was Johnny's attempt at a laugh, but a solitary tear leaked down the side of his bruised face. Roy squeezed the hand tighter, his own heart aching past endurance, and the younger paramedic clung to his hand with surprising strength, as if that life-line were the only thing keeping him from slipping away into the beyond.

They remained so, silently lost in their memories, clinging to that one link, until an orderly from the O.R. noisily opened the door and pushed a stretcher through, followed closely by Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early. As they transferred Gage to the stretcher and began loading the portable monitoring equipment and IV bags, Johnny continued to cling to his partner's hand, and no one made any attempt to dislodge it.

As the staff were raising the side rails and unlocking the brakes in preparation for transport, Johnny found his voice enough to attempt a whisper. Immediately attuned to his friend, Roy signaled with a look to Brackett and raised the O2 mask, leaning close to his partner's face to catch the words.

"Roy, if…. If something happens during surgery, tell…" his breathing was becoming labored, "tell Joanne and the kids, I love 'em. And, partner -" brown eyes met blue, and the weak voice suddenly faltered.

"Yeah," Roy answered huskily, "I know." Johnny's eyes fluttered closed, and Roy grasped the hand for a moment, watching as they wheeled his partner out of the room, gazing at his friend's face for the very last time. As the door swung closed, the shock and disbelief engulfed him and he stumbled backwards, hitting his hip against the steel exam bed behind him. He heard the noise of shattering glass, and suddenly, many voices buzzing in the room, but was only dimly aware of being pushed into a chair before the world darkened and he knew no more.