Chapter 6

Dealing with Consequences, Lessons Learned and Roommates

Ooops, sorry. I got my time off a little and Trish caught it, this sentence should read : Chet turned to Einin who watched solemnly from the corner. He shrugged helplessly and looked at the clock. It read 22:45. Nearly four hours left in the deadline.

Chet lay on his hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. But his sight wasn't on what his eyes saw, rather it was turned inward, watching as his mind rewound the horrible scene at the fire. He again saw Johnny's body arch upward, expelling his spirit then collapsing slowly down, deflating as breath and life left it. For two days now he'd laid this way. People came and went from his room but he ignored them. He'd told the nurses when he first got there that he didn't want any visitors but at first, they had come.

The first was his captain who tried to get him to talk. Then Marco had come by. A nurse had wheeled him using a wheel chair. Marco laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and tried to talk to him, but Chet kept his eyes closed, his breath purposely even as if in sleep. Finally Marco stopped speaking and began praying in Spanish. 'Don't!' Chet wanted to scream at him, "Don't pray for me! I've Damned myself with my own selfish actions. Pray for yourself. Pray for . . . for Johnny. That his soul finds the peace I wouldn't let him have here.' Marco shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his breath coming out in a grunt of pain.

Chet sneaked a glance at his friend but couldn't look him in the eye, knowing he'd bargained with his best friend's life. He could see the bruises, the stitches on his friend's face, the arm in a cast. They all bore a silent screaming testament to his folly. They could have all died, thanks to his over-inflated ego. Instead, Johnny had sacrificed himself . . . no. He closed his eyes, fighting the tears that filled them. Soon a nurse came again and wheeled Marco away and Chet slept.

Next it was Roy—that was the hardest. The senior paramedic looked haggard, his eyes filled with sorrow.

'Of course,' Chet berated himself as he observed the paramedic from the corner of his eye, 'I killed his best friend.' Roy was speaking but Chet wasn't really listening.

"Not your fault . . . didn't tell us about . . . . structural weakness caused the ceiling . . .. As a firefighter we know the risks. . ."

'Yeah, we know the risks in a fire. But we expect our mates to have our backs in dangerous situations. And what did I do? Coward that I am, I turned my mates over to the danger. I offered up my so-called friends instead of myself.' Chet chastised himself.

". . . just a bad fire. The Department is investigating it. There'll probably be charges." Roy inhaled deeper and looked down at his hands. "Chet, I know you don't believe this but . . . I . . . I think I'm right when I say that Johnny . . ." He took another breath. "Johnny wouldn't want you to be doing this. There was nothing you could do to get to either him or Marco. You were pinned."

A pain stabbed Chet deep in the chest as he heard Roy mention Johnny. His eyes filled with tears yet again but he refused to allow himself even that little bit of release from his agony. 'Johnny. God, Johnny. . .'

Roy was continuing, his voice cutting in and out of Chet's hearing like a faulty HT, " . . . any fire can turn deadly and well this . . . . . . several others injured besides you guys . . . still in the hospital, he's doing better each day, the doctor's are encouraged . . . his funeral will be tomorrow . . ."

Something squeezed Chet's chest, making it suddenly hard to breath. Funeral, God the funeral! He hadn't even thought about that! His breath came in choked gasps and Roy was immediately standing up, his hand on the call button.

"Chet? Chet! What's wrong? Are you in pain? Chet, relax, slow down your breathing. Come on now, slowly, take deeper breaths." Roy tried to help his shiftmate. Just as the nurse rushed in, Chet looked up at him and for the first time since the fire, made direct eye contact with another person. Roy blinked at the naked agony in those hazel eyes, looking more green with the amount of unshed tears in them. "sorry. . ." he murmured. Then Roy was pushed back as the two nurses worked. "I'm sorry, you'll have to leave now. Mr. Kelly needs to rest." One said as she guided him out the door.

It closed in Roy's face, leaving him to stare at it, his mind on the pain he could see in his friend's look as well as the pain in his own heart. Then with a heavy sigh, he dropped his head. He had another friend to visit, then . . . then he had a funeral to prepare for.

Chet allowed the nurses to fuss over him and was soon drifting on the sedative ordered by the doctor. A 'no visitor' order was put in place on him. The next morning found him up and staring out the window. The day was bright with a brilliant blue sky barely broken with wisps of whitish clouds. It was the kind of day an outdoorsman would love, crisp and clear, unusual for LA. It was a day made for hiking, camping or fishing. 'All things he'll never do again.' Chet sighed, 'He'd have loved today.' He knew that on this sort of day Johnny would have packed up his gear and headed for the mountains. But instead, thanks to him, Johnny was being prepared for his last ride on the big engine.

He closed his eyes but unfortunately his mind supplied everything he knew was now happening. The rigs would have been polished to a brilliant gleam and black would be draped over the front bay door. Johnny's gear would be set out, his boots, turnout coat and helmet where all could see. The chapel would no doubt be packed; the young paramedic was well-liked even if he wasn't aware of it himself. He could see the gleaming casket sitting in the front, Johnny, motionless and decked out in his dress uniform, lying within. The priests would say their customary words, probably Cap would say something, and—of course—Roy.

Chet inhaled a sob at that, imagining the senior paramedic nearly breaking down as he told the others about what a great paramedic, firefighter and friend Johnny had been. Then the casket would be closed and the honor guard would come forward. They would bear the body of their friend out to be placed onto the bed of the engine. Or maybe, they would put him on the squad's back. He wasn't sure about that; there hadn't been many paramedic funerals since the program was still new. Whichever vehicle it was, he would be placed on the back, with others walking along behind or driving slowly in accompaniment. Then the slow processing to the cemetery would begin. Roy would probably lead with the squad, whether Johnny was on it or not, the reds flashing as he navigated his navigator one last time through the streets they had once protected together.

Chet's mental viewing of the funeral was interrupted by a nurse's arrival. "Good Afternoon, Mr. Kelly! My name is Lisa and I'll be your nurse this evening. And how are we today?"

'I don't know about you, doll, but I'm just peachy. They're putting my friend into the ground right now because of me.' Chet mentally answered. He could feel her cool hand on his wrist, checking his pulse and other vitals but he remained still, his eyes closed.

"Well, Mr. Kelly, things are looking good. How about it? Are you hungry today? The cafeteria fixed lasagna and it's actually good. Should I get a tray for you?"

Chet continued to ignore her. 'Lasagna. Johnny loved lasagna.' He gave a mental snort, 'Johnny loved any kind of pasta for that matter.'

The nurse waited for a reply and when she got none, she charted her information. "Well, then, I'll leave you alone. If you need anything, you have the call button right there next to you." She made sure the button was near his hand, then left.

Chet dozed, not aware of how long he might have been out. He looked back out the window and saw by the sun it must be late afternoon. By now, the funeral was over and Johnny was interred. The wake would have been going on. 'I wonder, do Indians celebrate death differently? Do they have wakes? Do they even celebrate a death or do they just put them up on stick platforms or in the ground and leave them?'

Most of what he knew about Indian culture, he was ashamed to say, came from the books he'd read in the library to get Johnny's goat or what he saw in old movies. Johnny had scoffingly once told the whole crew that both of those were false. Chet knew how riotous an Irish wake was, he'd been to enough of them. Now he wondered how a ceremony for the dead would be done in Johnny's culture. He gave a heavy sigh, too bad he'd not shown any interest in Johnny's culture while he was alive to tell him. Instead, it had just become something more he could harass the younger man over.

A noise at the door brought his mind back from its musings but he kept his eyes closed. The nurse again checked his vitals, charted them then announced, "Mr. Kelly, I know you've been enjoying your peace and quiet but I'm afraid we've had to make some adjustments. You'll be getting a roommate soon. They'll be sending him down from ICU in about another hour or so. I understand he's a firefighter too so maybe you two will have something to talk about."

Lisa waited, watching to see what her patient would do with the information received. She knew he heard her, his eyebrows had twitched into a frown as she'd said he'd be getting a roommate, then raised when she told him the other man was also a firefighter. But, he kept his eyes closed, his body still. With a slight shrug, she left. As she returned to the desk, the elevator chimed and Dr. Brackett walked out, Nurse McCall beside him and followed by a gurney.

Lisa looked at the other nurse, saw her surprise mirrored in the other woman's eyes. "A Brackett escort? Great. What are we getting now?" She grumbled. The other nurse hid a smile as she hurried forward. Brackett nodded to her as he directed the orderlies with the gurney into Mr. Kelly's room. Then he called out clipped orders as the two men transferred the bandaged limp patient onto the bed. Lisa busied herself setting up the oxygen to the nasal cannula he wore and hung the IV from the pole.

Nurse McCall was taking vitals, making sure the patient, who remained unmoving all this time, had handled the transfer well. Once everything was secure and the patient was resting easily, Lisa left, leaving Nurse McCall and Dr. Brackett to look over the two men now rooming together. As one, the two walked over to the door, then looked back at the two firefighters; one blinking lazily at them, the other appearing sound asleep.

"Kel, do you think this will work?" Dixie asked as the blinking eyes slowly closed and their patient's face went slack with sleep.

Brackett looked at his patients, his mouth twitching. "Something had to be done, Dix. He's not eating, he hasn't spoken since he came in, Chet's body is healing but . . ." he shook his head.

"Yes but, putting them together? What with all that Chet has gone through? Will this work?" She was worried and it showed.

Brackett smiled as he nodded toward the patient they'd just placed in his bed, "He thinks it will. I guess we'll know soon enough."

They left not knowing Chet had woken up and heard them. Now he shifted in his bed, trying to get comfortable. In the bed next to him, he could hear the faint hiss of oxygen and the breaths of another person. He kept his eyes closed; he didn't want to see his roommate, or anyone else for that matter. He didn't care what kind of plan this other person, or Brackett, or anyone else for that matter, had made over his recover or lack of it. Then suddenly those same eyes flew open wide and his body shot up from the bed as a soft voice called, "H . . .hey, Ches . .ter B. How . ..how goes it?"

Chet blinked owl-like at the person blinking slowly back at him from the next bed. He shook his head in disbelief. "J . . J. . .J. . . "

Dark eyes twinkled as a grin spread across that well-known face. "Com'mon Ches. . ter. You can . ..say it. Say "Johnny""

"JOHNNY!"

Johnny pulled back, his eyes blinking faster. "Whoa! Down boy! I said say it, not scream it."

Chet's heart raced as his eyes searched the form in the next bed, dark hair tangled and mussed, dark eyes, that cut on his chin stitched now but he remembered it flowing red down the paramedic's neck. IVs ran into Johnny's arms and he wore a nasal cannula. It looked like Johnny, it certainly sounded like Johnny . . .

Chet shook his head, "But. . .but you're . . . dead! I . . . I saw you die. The Banshee wailed over you!"

Johnny's brows rose, "Banshee? Is that what that was? Oh." He smiled softly, "It's me, Chet. Really."

Chet sat back slightly but his eyes never moved from his friend's face. "I watched you die."

Johnny made a face, "Yeeeaaaahh, you did." He rubbed his chest and said ruefully, "Wonderful inventions . . . defibrillators. Sometimes they actually . . . work. Roy said they had to . . . to zap me twice to get me back." He shrugged as he looked into the wide eyes of his friend. "It helped that I had suffocated, . . . that's one form of asystole that you do have a chance of reversing."

He moved in the bed, trying to get comfortable and gasped in pain. Again he touched his chest, frowning, "'course, Roy fractured my cracked ribs with his CPR."

Chet shook his head in disbelief. Johnny. Alive. In front of him. Talking paramedic talk. Alive. Alive! "Was it a dream?"

Johnny looked back at him, then slowly shook his head, "I don't think so, Chet. I bet if you and I compared notes, we've both been through the same thing."

Chet sat back a little more, thinking over what Johnny had said. The he frowned again, "Wait, I saw them working on you and then stop. They were pushing meds and doing CPR and you weren't responding. Even to the defibrillator, you weren't responding."

Johnny kept his gaze on his friend's eyes as he slowly nodded. Chet swallowed the lump in his throat as he continued, "I held your hand, I begged you to come back, to live again. But. . .but.. ."

Johnny sighed, "I heard you. I. . . wasn't sure I wanted to come back."

Chet looked shocked, "You said they only zapped you twice and you were back."

Johnny's face was serious as he thought about that then answered, "Time moves differently in the spirit world than in our world. I spent quite a while there."

Chet just nodded his head, not sure what that all meant but assumed it must be so. After all, Johnny was validating what Chet thought had happened.

"You heard me."

Johnny nodded, "You told me about the curse. About the deal you got that Banshee to agree to, or the deal you thought she agreed to." He looked with reproach at his station mate, "Did you really think you could swap your car??"

Chet blushed, "Hey! I love that car! It means a lot to me!"

Johnny yawned widely before he answered drolly, "Uh huh."

Chet looked closer at him, his face suddenly serious. "But it doesn't mean as much to me as you . . . or Marco."

Johnny gave a slow smile, knowing how hard it was for his friend to admit that out loud.

"Johnny. I'm sorry."

Johnny nodded, "We'll talk about that later."

They talk a little more, but Chet could see Johnny was starting to fade. Johnny gave his friend a tired half smile. "Oh, your aunt says. . . she's proud of you."

Chet looked over at Johnny in surprise. "My aunt? Here?" His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Which one?"

Johnny shrugged slightly and blinked slowly, "Don't know. Didn't say." Then a slow grin spread across his face. "Feisty. Pretty green eyes. She said she nicknamed you . . .uhhh buairt . . . means trouble . . ." He gave a faint snicker at that.

Now Chet blinked—in surprise. Only one of his aunt's had green eyes. And only one person had even called him buairt. "You saw my aunt. And she talked to you."

Johnny nodded, "Yeap. Nice long talk." He inhaled deeply then winced, "God that still hurts." He looked back over at Chet. "Oh and your cousin, uhhhh, different name . . . ummm, Nales . .. no, Niall. Yeah. Nice kid." Johnny yawned, his eyes drooping. "Said forgave you . . .long ago. Said, "Stop tryin' repeat. Ancient history." Johnny's blinks were getting slower and his voice softer, more slurred.

Chet was practically sitting upright now, his eyes wide as he stared at his roommate. "You saw them. Talked with them." His eyes narrowed, "Alright Gage, who put you up to this?"

Johnny shook his head, his eyes now nearly closed. "No one. Talked, saw."

"That's impossible! They're dead!"

Johnny rolled his head slightly so he faced Chet and his eyes opened a little more. "So? Dead can talk. Just hafta . . .listen harder."

Chet blinked as he unconsciously leaned toward his friend, "You can . ..see the dead?"

Johnny nodded slightly, his eyes sliding shut. "Sometimes. If they wanna be seen."

"How?"

"Tunkansidan, . . . Ate . . . both . .. spirit talkers. Medicine men, you'd say . . . . Said I was too. . . . Guess . . . so . . . ." Johnny's voice got slower and softer then trailed off, his head lolling to the side, his mouth falling partly open.

Stuck in his bed, Chet panicked. With his legs he couldn't reach his friend and he couldn't see if he was even breathing. "Gage? Gage! You're worrin' me a little here. Gage! Johnny! Are you alright?"

He pushed the call button again and again. "Johnny! Talk to me! Johnny!"

A nurse came up to the door, saw him nearly falling out of the bed as he all but screamed at his companion. The chart had said that these two were friends, station mates. But rumors had it that one didn't really like the other. 'Maybe putting them together wasn't a good idea," she thought as she rushed forward. "Mr. Kelly! Please! Calm down. Now lie back before you fall and hurt yourself." Lisa easily pushed the weakened man back even as he strained against her, his eyes wide and his face flushed.

"Johnny! He's not answering: he was just talkin'. Johnny!" he faced the nurse, grabbed her arm in a tight grip. "You gotta check him; make sure he's alright!"

She nodded, trying to soothe the agitated man, "Alright, alright. You settle down and I'll check him. Ok? But you have to calm down first."

Afraid that time when Johnny needed help was being wasted, Chet forced himself to calm down. 'God! I watched him die once. I don't want to ever go through that again!" he thought panicked. But he settled in his bed and drew deep breaths to slow his racing heart.

When the nurse saw he was calming down, she turned to Johnny but kept her eyes still on Chet. "Mr. Gage?" No answer. The nurse took in the pale face, the slack features. She grabbed up a limp hand, her fingers on the pulse point on his wrist. It was there; slow but steady. As were his respirations. She pulled the blanket up higher and smoothed it over him with a pat.

Turning back to Chet, he greeted her with a breathy, "Well?"

"Mr. Gage is fine. His vitals are within range. He's just sleeping. Something I might add you need too."

Chet's gaze went back to his friend's slack face and he shuddered. It looked too much like the face he'd worn while they were working so desperately on him. "He was talking and he just . . . stopped."

The nurse relaxed with a slight smile. "Well, that explains it then." Chet looked at her, obviously confused. She shrugged slightly as she busied herself taking his vitals now. "He's still pretty weak. He just wore himself out if he was talking. He'll be fine."

"You're sure." Chet asked.

She nodded, "I'm sure." Then her face became serious. "While I'm glad to see you talking as well, if having him in here is going to upset you, we can move him. You need your rest too."

"NO!" Chet's voice was sharp and her eyebrows went up in alarm. He took a deep breath, calming himself before he spoke again. "No please. Don't take him away. I . . . It's alright. Really. Leave him here." He shrugged and tried to sound as if he wasn't really concerned. "I mean if he's really that weak, it's probably best he not be moved a whole lot, right? So, just leave him right here." But silently he added, 'Where I can watch him, I just want to watch him breathe.'

"Alright then, Mr. Kelly. But no more of this ok?" She tucked him in with a smile. "Your mother has called again. She wants to see you."

Chet looked up at her, "My Mother? Yes. I . . . I'd like that now."

She nodded, "Alright. You rest now and I'll go call her." With that the nurse left. Chet relaxed into the bed but his gaze didn't shift from his roommate's face until his eyes slid shut in sleep.

The night passed and Johnny slept through it. Each time Chet woke, he immediately looked over to assure himself that the paramedic was indeed sleeping safely in the next bed. The next day passed the same way, Chet finally ate and watched Johnny pick at his own meals as well. The paramedic was still weak and spent most of his time asleep, his body trying to mend from the traumatic events he'd been subjected to.

Chet had been glad to see some of his shiftmates, and Johnny had been awake for most of the visits. No one stayed long, seeing how both men were still recovering but it was plain that they were all happy that their friends were recovering.

Chet found out that the collapse in the building had trapped three other firefighters from the second alarm called in. Two had escaped with minor injuries but the third had died instantly of a broken neck. It was his funeral Roy had talked about that day.

Later that afternoon, with his mother there, both stared at the once more sleeping man in the next bed. "You're right Chet. He does look a lot like Niall." She shook her head, "I never noticed it before."

Chet looked up at her, his eyes big. Earlier he'd confessed everything to his mother. And though she'd gently admonished him for his actions, she knew he'd already been punished severely. "Mom? He said he talked to Einin and Niall. He said Einin said she was proud of me and Niall said that he'd forgiven me long ago."

Mother Kelly looked at her son, her hazel-green eyes intent. "You doubt him?"

Chet shook his head, "No. After what's happened? Not at all. Einin told me his people were spirit walkers. He said something about his grandfather and someone else being able to talk with the dead." He shook his head again, "No. After what the Banshee said, I don't doubt him."

She smiled and smoothed her son's hair back off his forehead. It was a very motherly gesture and for a moment, Chet wondered about his roommate. 'Where was Johnny's family? Why haven't they been in to visit him? Roy's been here as well as Cap, Marco and Mike but no one else.' Now that he thought of it, he didn't remember anyone but nurses or Roy visiting the man any time he'd been hospitalized. He paused; didn't the dark haired paramedic have family? Roy would know; he'd have to ask Roy.

A slow smile came across his face as he realized that now, he would have a chance to ask Johnny things and get answers. And he found now that he wanted to ask him.

"Your young friend was right, Niall's mother told me that he did speak about forgiving you before he . . ." She hesitated. It was still hard to remember the young vibrant life cut short in a foreign jungle just four years ago. It was his funeral that had finally brought healing to the shattered Kelly family.

She looked up to see the same look of sadness in her son's eyes. He looked down at his hands in his lap. "I wish I could've talked to him myself. I wish I'd had that chance." He looked over at his shiftmate, struck with a feeling of relief that this time he would get a chance to correct his mistakes.

Fiona Kelly laid a gentle hand on her son's, seeing his look and understanding it. "Niall would have liked that. You know he looked up to you. Before you started to . . . well, before. He used to follow you around so. He tried to imitate everything you and the other older boys did."

Chet nodded, remembering that. How that narrow face with those huge brown eyes seemed to be right at his elbow every time he turned around. The exasperation of a tween boy with a 'child' hanger-on had prompted the prank's beginnings. Then the laughter and comments from the other cousins just encouraged him. He'd never stopped to think about how he was hurting the one who thought so much of him. When the elders of the family had chastised him, he'd became angry and sullen, blaming the unwanted attention of the child for his embarrassment. He'd exacted more than his 'pound of flesh', so to speak, and his actions not only caused the family break-up but brought the attention of the family's otherworld guardians.

He sighed heavily.

"Chet, buchaill. It's over now." His mother's voice was soft.

Chet nodded, "I know. Finally, I understand. I've learned what the Shee tried to teach me." He raised his head, his eyes bright with convection, "And this time, I'll never break my vow again." He looked over as Johnny moved in his sleep, a frown crossing the dark haired man's face before it smoothed back out again and with a deeper exhale, he relaxed again.

Chet clasped his mother's warm hand in his, both of them still watching the sleeping man in the other bed. "The Banshee warned me to remember the price paid. I'll never forget it."

She nodded, her eyes again on the dark haired young man in the next bed. Suddenly she smiled, "Chet. Thanksgiving is in just a few weeks and you're off. You both will be out of the hospital by then. Why don't you invite Johnny to come celebrate the Kelly way." She chuckled slightly, "He's way too thin, and we need to fatten him up with some good ole fashion cooking. Besides," She patted his arm with a knowing smile, "I think we have a lot to be thankful for this year."

Chet tilted his head, "I don't know. I mean, yeah, you're right we do and yeah, I'll ask him. But he usually goes to Roy's. At least he did last year."

"Well, remember? Because of Siobhan's work schedule, we're holding the family gathering on Friday this year."

Chet perked up, "Yeah! That might work! If he goes to Roy's Thursday and comes with us on Friday . . .yeah!"

He reached out an arm, drew his mother close and kissed the top of her head, "Thanks for thinking of that Ma. I'll ask him, no, I'll go over to his house and drag his scrawny hide over." He looked back over at his sleeping friend, "I do have a lot to be thankful for and I'm just really starting to realize it."

Epilog

"So then the wasichu went up to Coyote and said"

"Wasichu? That means white man?" Chet interrupted.

Johnny made a face, "Close enough. So then the store owner went up to Coyote and said, "I understand that everyone thinks you are the greatest prankster of all times. Well, I don't believe it. I know you can't fool me. I've fooled every Indian around this place and I can fool you as well." Johnny's brown eyes twinkled as he related the old tale. He adjusted himself a little straighter in his bed and took a sip of the water on the tray in front of him, pushing aside the remnants of his breakfast with a frown.

Chet watched him avidly, intent on not only his words but the movements he made to accompany the ancient tale from his tribe. "And?" He prompted, finding himself eager to hear this tale.

Johnny grinned at him, "And Coyote looked at the trade-store keeper and said, "well, is that so? Well, I'd love to help you out but I can't right now.' The store owner scoffed, 'Can't or won't?" Coyote made an apologetic move to the storeowner, because he knew the storeowner was a vain man. And then he said, 'can't because in order to perform at my best, I need to have my cheating medicine. But alas, I left it back at my home. I would have to go back and get it and it's a long trip back to my teepee.' Then the storeowner frowned, because he really did want to prove to all there that he was the more clever man and that Coyote, no matter what the Indians said, wasn't anywhere as clever as him. So he said, 'well, how about if I lent you my fastest horse? Then you could ride it back to your home and return with your cheating medicine more quickly."

Chet gave a wolf's grin, suspecting where the tale was now leading. Johnny continued, his own eyes glowing, " So Coyote nodded and said, 'yes, that might work. But I'm not a very good rider and your horse might not let me ride him if he knows I'm afraid of him. What if you lend me your fine clothes as well? Then your horse will think I am you.' So anxious to get the battle of who was the better trickster over, the wasichu said, 'well all right. Here are my clothes; now you can ride my horse. Now go get your medicine. I'm sure I can beat you! So Coyote rode off, wearing the wasichu's fine clothes and riding the wasichu's fast horse leaving the storeowner sitting there waiting, bare assed and foolish."

Chet howled with laughter and Johnny chuckled heartily, sipping again at his water to calm the tickle that wanted him to cough. He was healing well, and knew it; it was just a reaction to him laughing but he didn't want to face the pain he knew coughing would cause him. He looked over at Chet who was wiping tears from his eyes, 'Or the pain my coughing would cause him.' He knew Chet had been watching him closer than an eagle watched her chick over the last day. Part of him was surprised that this was the same man who had pulled all those mean-spirited tricks on him just a few days ago; part of him understood totally.

"That . . .That is the ultimate prank." Chet sighed in appreciation. "What an idea!"

Chet laughed in delight again and Johnny's grin nearly split his face in two. "That's really great, Johnny." Johnny nodded, drinking more of his water. "And you really think I'm like your people's coyote?"

Now Johnny looked at him, his eyes warm and gentle as he gave a firm nod. "You can be, Chet. Coyote might trick the people, but he never sets out to cause real harm. His goal is to teach and to bring laughter. The ones he really uses his most clever tricks on are those who need to be 'cut down to size' so to speak."

Chet sat back watching as Johnny leaned back into his pillows, his eyes becoming slightly unfocused. Chet knew his friend was getting tired again. After all, they'd been sitting up, telling each other stories for nearly three hours now. That was the longest the paramedic had been awake in the last three days.

"I'm getting a little tired, Gage; I think I'll take a nap." Chet suddenly said, knowing the paramedic would never do so.

Johnny nodded as he adjusted his bed downward. "I think that's a good idea." He settled back on his pillow, squirming around until he was comfortable. Chet laid back, folding his hands over his chest as he stared at the ceiling, listening to the comforting sounds of his roommate's steady breathing. Just as he was nearly asleep a soft voice said, "Chet? Ummm."

Without opening his eyes, Chet replied. "What John."

Hesitation then, "ummmm, nothing I guess. G'night."

Chet rolled over slightly so he could see his friend, his face showing nothing but concern. "Are you alright?"

Johnny opened his eyes, "Hmm? Oh. Yeah. I was . . . just thinking . . ." Johnny bit his lip, waiting for the snappy comment he knew that line would bring. When it didn't, he looked over at the Irishman to find he was staring at him, genuine interest in his eyes.

"Ok. What about?"

Johnny inhaled a little and decided to go ahead. "When we were. . . in there. And the Banshee was . . . with me . . . over me . . ."

Chet cringed as he, too, remembered the sight but he encouraged his shiftmate, "Yeah. I remember. What about it?"

Johnny blinked at him, his eyes dark and filled with innocent curiosity. "After . . . I left . . . I could still see her. What was she doing?"

Chet was suddenly struck with a sense of intense déjà 'vu. 'Cousin Chet, tell me about the Banshee?' a small voice asked as large brown eyes blinked up at him. "She was keening you." He went on to explain the Banshee's role during the time of death.

"Oh." Then, "But I'm not Irish."

Chet grinned, "I know, but the Banshee herself said you had the spirit of a Fianna Warrior. No one tells the Shee what to do, they just do it."

"Oh."

Chet waited, knowing that his friend's natural curiosity would get the better of him. Silently he counted, 'Four- three- two-…"

"So Chet, what exactly is a Fianna Warrior?"

Chet settled back in his pillows, a smile on his face as he began. "Long ago in ancient Ireland, there was a band of elite warriors, strong, brave and true. It was their job to defend the Irish coast from any and all invaders. They weren't just typical fighters, no, these guys were the best of the best. Their motto was: Truth in our hearts, Strength in our hands, Consistency in our tongues. Some of Ireland's greatest heroes were Fianna Warriors . . ."

He continued, listening to the steady sounds of breathing in the next bed as he watched serendipitously from the corner of his eyes as those wide brown eyes blinked slower and slower even as Johnny laid there in rapt attention.