Author's notes: This is a tag for the pilot episode of Emergency, The Wedsworth Townsend Act in which John and Roy meet and become partners. I've written it from different points of view in first person, which are labeled as POV's throughout the story. The story begins from the end of the episode where Dixie and Brackett drive away and the rescue of the trapped miners is complete. If you've seen the episode you will note that a lot of rocks fell on John and Roy during the rescue. That had to hurt, right? Also, I loved this episode for another reason, I'm a sucker for stories where people care genuinely for others and when Roy called John, Junior, I just melted. There will be three chapters and you'll get my take on what happened after they guys regroup at the station. I hope you like it.

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JOHN'S POV:

Roy points his finger at me and then to the passenger side of the squad as Doctor Brackett and Dixie pull away from the caved-in mine. I get in without argument and look in the side door mirrors as he starts the engine. We leave behind a trail of chaos and death but right now I'm on a high despite a headache from taking a falling rock to the temple when I had to take my helmet off to peak through a hole for victims.

We saved people today.

It's dark as we drive back to my new station. My head is pounding. Roy keeps glancing sideways at me. He does that after we go on a particularly bad rescue. I'm getting used to it. I remember him telling me at training that if I played my cards right he just might let me work with him at fifty-ones. I joked to Doc Early that he needed me. At the time all I could really think was why would he want me? And I dismissed it as the joke I thought it was. Roy was after all the best, one of the driving forces behind signing guys up for the paramedic program. So, I put that out of my mind but sure enough, once I graduated from the training program I got a call about a transfer to fifty-one and here we are.

I'm not exactly a boot. I've been a rescue man for a year now at another station but I'm the youngest and most recent to join fifty ones. This position earns me the dish duty more often than I care to admit because I'm not up on the guy's card games yet. I don't know their poker faces. And, yes I'm terrible at cards.

The new position also puts me in a place I've never been before, under scrutiny. I mean sure, I've been scrutinized for my abilities during training and tests but I'm talking about a different kind of scrutiny. One I'm not sure I know what to do with.

Roy and I climb from the cab of the squad. He rolls his shoulders left and right and his neck makes a little cracking noise. It always does that after he's hunched over for long periods of time. I don't need to worry about that but he's limping a bit too. I'll have to keep an eye on that.

"Gettin' old there, Pally," I tease as we make our way to the locker room. But I spoke way too soon because when I bend to untie my boots pain shoots up my side. I suck in my breath hoping Roy didn't hear me.

"Yeah, and what's your excuse, Junior?"

"What me, nothing! I'm fine. I'm good. Just great. Never better." Now if only I could straighten up.

When I finally manage to get myself upright, Roy stands in front of me with his hands on his hips. I hate when he does that. I keep my head down when he tells me I can take the first shower. I can feel some dried blood in my hair near my temple and I don't want him to see it now that my helmet's put away. I'll clean it up after I get a shower. I can feel his eyes follow me. So, I suck in a breath and walk tall instead of the bent over caveman walk I feel capable of right now.

The hot water feels really good. It pools around my feet, having nowhere to go as bits of mud and debris clog the drain. I slosh my foot around over the silver grate and the water begins to swirl again only this time it's tinged pink. Great. I'm bleeding. With the wet mud and sweat it must have stopped when I was in the mine and the warm water started it up again. The shampoo stings as it passes over my face when I rinse. Gritty sand trails down my chest. I suck in my breath and tilt my temple into the spray. My fingers find fine pebbles of gravel embedded in the wound. I squint my left eye, plucking at them; thankful that I wasn't looking up when we were showered with rocks several times.

"Gage, leave some hot water for the rest of us," Chet yells.

I make sure all the soap is out of my hair and step from the shower with the towel wrapped firmly around my head. I know that's how ladies do it but I don't really see a choice here. If Roy sees this … Well, I just started here. I don't wanna blow it.

Chet's an odd one. He treats me like a boot, water balloons in my locker, eggs in my helmet, that sort of thing. Nothing malicious though, just annoying. He follows me from the shower stall to the locker room.

"Shouldn't you be stealing the shower right about now?" I ask him.

Chet's just starting to grow a mustache and I must say it's at that awkward stage, where it mostly looks like a shadow or a chocolate milk mustache. His head tilts slightly and his lip quirks up. I swear he's like a hound that's just caught a scent. He reaches for the towel on my head.

"Cut that out, Chet. Go take your shower before we get another call."

Just then Marco smiles, swirls a towel around into a whip and cracks Chet on the small of his back causing him to howl. Marco then slides slyly into the shower stall.

"Told ya, now you missed your shower. Now get out of here so I can change ya perv."

But Chet just stands there, rubbing at the small of his back. I'm positive there are several things going on behind those blue Irish eyes of his. One, he's going to get Marco back real bad and I'm gonna get a day off from his wrath. Two …

"Damn it, Chet!" I swear loudly as my head wrap comes flying off.

"Knew it," Chet says smugly and before I can clamp my hand over his mouth he calls for Roy and dismantles a flour and water balloon in my locker before it hits me.

"Your partner's bleeding," Chet says. "I'll get your equipment."

"Listen, I'm fine. A little bandage and I'll be right as rain," I protest as the cut on my temple drips blood down over my lips.

Chet's like the damn town crier. Or the boy who cried wolf. Or something equally as annoying. He's supposed to be getting the trauma box, not the Cap, the engineer and doctor, the baker and the candlestick maker. But that's who shows up to the locker room in tow.

"Don't need an audience, Chester," I spit out.

I don't think I'll ever figure Chet out. He'll jump all over me any time at all but when it comes to work, he's all business.

"You're bleeding, Gage," he points out again unhelpfully as if that explains everything. It explains nothing.

"Scratches do that," I say lamely as Roy turns my head upwards slightly. Either he's shrinking or I'm growing because when we were in training only a couple of months ago, I couldn't look him right in the eyes.

"It's more than a scratch, kid," Roy chastises. He sounds a bit mad. Thanks a lot Chet!

Mike takes my elbow and starts leading me toward the kitchen.

"Wait a second, let me at least get dressed first," I protest.

"Nope. You'll just bleed all over your uniform anyway," Roy says, nodding to Mike to continue.

"Just a sec," Chet says, dashing off toward the dorm and returning with a blue robe in his hands. He wraps it around my shoulders and I tie it at the waist letting the towel fall from my waist.

"There are some things I'd rather not see when he sits down," Chet explains.

Thanks a lot Chet… Like I said, I'll never understand him.

The adrenaline from the day is really starting to wear off and I didn't realize until Chet brought me the robe that I was cold. I'm marched through the bay to the kitchen and sat at the table. Marco finishes his shower and joins us in the kitchen to add to the spectators. Chet takes him aside and they whisper back and forth seriously for a minute then shut up and watch the proceedings.

"Uh, Roy. I'm fine."

"M' hm," is all he says as he shines the penlight into my eyes.

"Ow!"

"Mike, would you mind bringing me the biophone?" Roy asks.

"What for?" I ask in alarm.

Roy doesn't answer me. His mouth is set into a grim line. I've done it now. If Chet hadn't blabbed about this little cut, our first major rescue would have gone off without a hitch. I'd have earned my place with Roy. I glare at Chet from the corner of my eye. He doesn't flinch.

"Rampart we have a male code I still alarm, twenty-two years old with a probable concussion, vitals to follow," Roy reports as I stupidly look around to see who the victim is. I do not have a concussion!

ROY POV:

He does so have a concussion. I knew something was up when he didn't talk my ear off the whole way back to the station. He's a risk taker. Remember that old saying, 'be careful what you wish for'? Well, I wished for him as a partner, even told him during training that if he played his cards right, I'd ask for him as a partner. Now I've got him, I don't know what to do with him. Don't get me wrong. He's a great paramedic and one hell of a fireman, but like I said, a risk taker.

"Rampart, pupils are equal but slightly sluggish," I continue out loud, musing on the inside. John doesn't say a word. That's not normal for him. Usually he complains constantly about stuff like this. I take his arm for a BP reading.

It doesn't take a genius to know that we're going to be in a world of hurt tomorrow from those falling rocks when the mine decided to remind us who was the boss but I waited and waited for Gage to say something; to admit that he was hurt. I don't think he would have if Kelly hadn't ratted him out. How can I look after him if he doesn't tell me when he's hurt? I mean, not that he needs looking after, he was a rescue man before he met me and he's not dead yet. He joked at training when I told him he might be able to work with me that I needed him. I guess he was sort of right. I can't explain it but there's something about him.

I was about to ready to give up on trying to recruit guys for the paramedic program when in walks this cocky young guy on his day off, sans uniform with a huge attitude. Well, he made me defend the program I was about to give up on, made me tell him every single reason we should train and be ready. When I finally got him to sign on the dotted line, he stole my green pen and left.

That memory makes me reach down and grab John's a.k.a. my pen from the top of the biophone box to record the BP readings and such. John slaps my hand when I peel the now slightly damp robe away from his knee to get a look at his hip. His eyes narrow and he hand gestures for everyone else to turn around. Cap rolls his eyes but gestures for everyone to turn around.

"I saw you limping too," Gage says quietly. I swear I actually heard Chet's head turn.

"Like you said, I'm getting' old," I tell my younger partner evenly. I poke a little harder into his hipbone than strictly necessary to shut him up. And there it is, the reason he couldn't straighten up. I move the robe keeping his modesty in check. His hip is purple and blue and has to hurt like crazy. I'm amazed he walked out of that mine. But then again, we were all on a high. Orders come from the biophone as I finish my assessment.

"Okay, you heard the man, you're going to Rampart," I tell John. "He said transport as soon as possible." I snap the medical tape off. I made a fine head dressing if I do say so myself, much better than that beauty parlor one Gage put on himself.

Once again, Mike steps forward like a bouncer at a bar or something. I have a feeling it's gonna take some convincing to get Gage to just get up and get this over with.

"He said as soon as possible. It is not possible that I'm ever gonna go into Rampart naked under Chet's robe," he grumbles.

XXXX

CHET'S POV:

Well that's gratitude for ya. Give a guy a robe you clothe him for an hour, lend him a fresh uniform that he never returns you clothe him for a year. So, Gage steps from the locker room flanked by Roy and Mike wearing my uniform.

"Expecting a flood?" I ask. I can't be nice to him, wouldn't wanna worry him that something was really wrong but that head wound looks nasty. I don't think he's gonna be back this shift and maybe more.

"I must've grown since you lent me this one," he grumbles back at me. "If HQ would finally just send me my uniform allowance I wouldn't have to beg, borrow and steal."

"Easy babe, just teasing you," I soothe. Wow, he must really have one hell of a headache because he only glares in return as Mike and Roy push him toward the squad. I'd be mad too if HQ was fooling me around like they are with Gage. It would make me feel … temporary.

OH! Now I get it. Our Gage was worried that if he got hurt real bad he'd be replaced here at fifty-one and he loves it here. After all, I've made it so welcoming it's like a second home. And, I think he really looks up to Roy.

I have some phone calls to HQ uniform division … or whatever department it is to make and some plans to get ready for fruition. That kid, well he's not that much younger than me, but he makes a nice pigeon and I don't want to lose him. And on a serious note, after watching him work today in that mine, I know he's the guy we all want to have our backs and someone we can call family. It's a new station but I think we've found our youngest brother.

XXXX

MIKE'S POV:

Cap stood us down. We're all filthy and exhausted and I'm riding with Gage and Desoto in the squad to Rampart. Usually Marco or Chet get this glory but today, Cap gave it me. Damn it.

I'm not intervening. One of the men is hurt and I'm just doing my job.

I think John thinks Roy's mad at him. I don't know if I should point out that Roy always looks … constipated? when one of us is hurt. I usually don't intervene in situations at the station. Chet sometimes digs himself in real deep and needs a shovel to get himself out but it's usually Marco who hands him one. Sometimes Cap gets fed up with them or with paperwork in general and I quietly knock on his door and hand him coffee. Other times Mama Lopez calls to find out if Marco's okay. She asks for me, not him and he cringes but I just talk to her and reassure her that we all take care of each other. It's the truth. So, yeah, I guess I do get involved … but only when it's necessary and besides, Mama Lopez always sends me extra enchiladas to take home when she cooks and sends stuff in for the shift.

I don't think I'll ever figure Chet out. I wonder if all the guys feel that way. One minute he treats Gage like a boot and the next he's making sure he's okay. I get a kick when Mama Lopez pinches his Irish cheeks and makes a clucking sort of sound followed by something in Spanish about a cheesy mustache.

John manages to squeeze from my grip and flip himself up into the squad into the middle seat as if he needed to prove he's okay. None of us is Superman so I have no idea why my helping him is such a big deal to this kid.

OH! I get it. It is that constipated look on Roy's face. He's mistaking it for anger.

Gah, I hate getting involved. But … the kid's starting to list, his eyes are getting droopy and I'm supposed to help keeping him talking. Plus, much as I hate to admit it, he's growing on me. I hate getting attached to people in this business. Too many things can go wrong. That's why I'm at fifty-one. I needed a fresh change of scenery after losing nearly my entire company at my last station at a chemical refinery fire. 'Big deal' is sort of my catch phrase. It protects me from caring.

But damn it, I do.

"Johnny, stay awake for us, we're almost there. I'm sure it's just a mild concussion but you don't want old Roy here getting into trouble, do you?"

Which was the wrong thing to say.

"No! It was my fault. Why would Roy get into trouble? Stop the car … squad, whatever. Stop!"

Roy pulls over and Gage is like a wild animal wanting to get out.

"Look, let's just go back to the station. We'll bandage this up and just say it was all a mistake. I'm sorry I screwed up and got hurt. I couldn't fit my dumb head through the hole to check for victims so I had to take my helmet off. I'm sorry, Roy. I let you down on our first real rescue."

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ROY'S POV:

He thinks this is his fault? I'm the senior member here. If it's anyone's fault it's mine.

Mike sighs loudly. I think he hates intervening or getting involved but the sigh sounded like a grumbling volcano. It's ready to go off.

"Okay, I think I see what's going on here," Mike says. "John you had to take your helmet off to check for victims. You didn't break any rules or let anyone down but for God's sake next time you're hurt, tell someone. Roy, you're not clairvoyant. You can't know someone's hurt if they don't tell you. This was an accident. Look, guys, I've tried real hard not to get to know you that well … for a lot of reasons but the truth is, I have. Damn it … I have. I thought when I got to fifty-ones I'd have learned my lesson. Don't get too close. Things end. But looking at you two reminds me that we have to appreciate what we have while we have it. You guys are gonna be the best paramedic team L.A. County will ever see, but for now, let's get Johnny to the hospital. And Roy, wipe that constipated look off your face, I saw you limping too and Chet's already called ahead to have you checked out."

Johnny and I just stare at Stoker as he crosses his arms in a no nonsense manner. I don't think I've ever heard him string together more than ten words at time. It's only now that I remember where he came from. Thirty-six. They lost four guys last year. I think back to the funeral and that's where I knew him from. He drove the casket-laden engine during the processional…

"Besides, Cap says he'll give you two latrine duty for a year if I report any deviation from doctor's orders at Rampart," he says, wiggling his eyebrows like he's enjoying this way too much. Boy, he doesn't intervene often but when he does, watch out. He's a bit of a mother hen, in a quiet way.

I back into the E.R. Bay and limp around to the passenger side to help Stoker with Johnny. I might as well not try to hide the limp any longer. Thanks a lot Chet!

Dixie meets us with a wheelchair and Mike glares Johnny into it. His glare beats my constipated look hands down. I think that glare will come in handy when it comes to this kid we now call brother.

We're making our way down the hall when John's feet suddenly slam down like brakes stopping us in our tracks and nearly impaling poor Ms. McCall with the handles.

"Nuh, uh, I am not being examined by Brackett. That guy hates me. I sort of … um, insulted him at my birthday party. He hates me…"

"He's a pussycat," Dixie soothes while silently shaking her head in Mike's direction.

"Pussycat my ass," Gage cusses. I've never heard him cuss before.

"Apologize in front of the lady, Junior," I scold.

"No, don't. I'm lying. He's not a pussycat. But he's not an ogre either. Give him a chance. Besides, I'll be there with you and I've got a soft spot for you." Dix sure is tough but she can see my partner's worried and in pain.

XXXX

JOHN'S POV:

I pinch the bridge of my nose. This has got to be one of the worst cases of conflict of interest I've ever seen. Brackett does hate me. Called me an amateur. He doesn't even know me. I'd like to see him run into a burning building. But in fairness, I'm never likely to be elbow deep in a guy's guts fixing stuff either.

I can hear it now. What were you doing with your helmet off. As a paramedic you should know the serious head injury you can get from being so irresponsible. Amateur!

"M' not an amateur!" Did I say that out loud?

"What did you say, Johnny? Just take it easy, pal. Everything's gonna be okay," Roy's voice soothes as we reach treatment three's door.

So I did say that out loud then.

"We'll just wait out here," Mike tells me. My eyes go wide as Brackett makes his way down the hall. Roy looks over his shoulder and back at me. My respiration picks up and I feel sort of nauseous.

XXXX

ROY POV:

"Cap told me to keep an eye on 'im," I say.

For a guy who doesn't like to get involved, Mike picks up on my tone right away.

"Yeah, true. Think I'll supervise."

Brackett's still a little stiff with us but I don't think he hates us. Just the same, I'm not going to let him make John feel any worse than he already does. Mike's right, he broke no rules taking his helmet off when victims were behind that wall and he needed to get a look. We'll let him patch up John and leave any firefighting technique discussions to our Captain. Mike folds his arms across his chest at the same time as I do. I think we make our point.

XXXX

BRACKETT'S POV:

Hose jockeys. Do they really think I'll grumble at an injured kid … um, man? What kind of ogre do they think I am? Okay, I mean I really wasn't nice to them at the beginning. I'm entitled to my beliefs, right?

I know I'm in trouble when my patient flinches when I pull his eyelid up to have a look at his pupil responses. Roy steps forward a bit and the other guy grumbles low in his throat. Okay, so maybe I deserve this.

"How're you feeling, John?" I ask.

He cocks his eyes back open and squints under the bright overhead light and contemplates a lie. I step over to the light switch and turn the dimmer down. This earns me a nod of approval from Dixie, an uncrossing of the arms from Desoto and a slightly less throaty growl from the other guy.

"Like a cave threw a rock at me," the kid tells me. I bite my tongue from telling him I would have expected a more medically accurate answer than that from a paramedic who graduated in the top of his class.

"You be nice, Kel," Dix scolds in my left ear as I get out a suture kit."

"What happened?" I ask, turning my query toward the older paramedic.

"A cave threw some rocks at him," Desoto tells me, crossing his arms again and this time, the three of them laugh and Dix joins in.

This does get a smile from my patient and I note a blood pressure change for the better with it. I wanted to be all gruff when I came in here, give lectures about safety, sort of let this hose jockey know I run this program. But you know what? He knows it. All along it's been my problem, and damn it if I don't have a soft spot for him. There's still a smudge of mud behind his left ear that he must have missed in one very painful shower and Dixie's eyebrow raises so high I think her hair ate it when I tenderly clean it away without insult.

I move to help my patient onto his side so I can have a look at his hip. His cheeks stain deep red as he swirls his finger around to indicate for everyone to turn around. I'd roll my eyes but that would mean Dix would hang out the closed sign on her door and I really need a good martini tonight after this. When I turn back around, yes, he asked me to turn around too; the gown we've managed to convince him to put on is wrapped firmly around his privates baring only his left hip.

I palpate the hip joint as gently as I can while still checking for internal injuries to go along with the deep purple and blue bruises that stand out around the deep red and green ones directly on the hip joint. Heat rises from the injury. Hopefully it's only inflammation but I'll get some x-rays to be sure.

Malcolm arrives to take a skull series and hip pictures and I shoo everyone from the room. Something makes me reach out and pat John's shoulder. I draw it back quickly when he flinches slightly. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of being the reassuring and kind doc. Guess not.

Thankfully the x-rays came back negative but Gage is pretty sore from moving around to get the right angles. I prescribe him something for the pain and he takes nine stitches near his hairline above his left temple. If the number of young nurses asking Dix if she needs a break is any indication, I'd say this new small scar isn't going to damage this young man's chances at dates at all. But Dix is protective of this one and his partner and for good reason. They saved her life. I wasn't there for her. You know, I've never actually thanked them for saving her. I can't. Not really. After all, they weren't supposed to.

Something about that realization sends a chill down my spine. And now the reason why I feel like I should give this kid a lollipop and send him home with his mom hits me. He's so young and in most ways, braver than I will ever be. And right then something changes in me. I don't ever want to see these men in here again. I mean as patients. But such is their job I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of this one in particular for some reason. He seems like a risk taker.

I finish bandaging the kid's head and remind myself not to call him kid to his face.

"You have a mild concussion," I tell him, forcing myself to address him and not Roy. My patient is an adult after all. God he looks so young though … "You won't be carrying on with this shift but I think I can let you go home providing someone wakes you hourly. Is there someone we can call to pick you up?"

"Ah, thanks. No. If I can just use the phone? I'll uh, call someone."

Dixie starts helping the young man get dressed and I can't help but smile as he blushes crimson again.

Roy has a quick word with his partner and I usher him and Stoker I think his name is out of the room to treatment two to have a look at Roy's leg. John might as well rest until he's picked up.