A Day In The Life

************************************************** From:  patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Thu 4/26/12 1:43 AM Subject: These Are The Times That Try-- Dr. Bob Asten opened Dr. Brackett's office door and let himself inside after a short knock received an invitation to enter. Kel Brackett and Joe Early were in the midst of reading the crisis counselor's notes. Quincy and Lt. Frank Monahan were there, too, for other business for when the two doctors were ready to use them. "There you are, Quincy. I've been looking all over the hospital for you." said Asten at his county employee.   "Sorry, Bob. I've been busy. These two, very kind doctors, kept drumming up business for me to do in triage." Quincy said. Asten didn't buy it for one second. "Now that's a line of malarkey if I ever heard one. Triage's been over for hours. Quincy, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were stooping to some really transparent bald face ly--" "I'm not lying. I'm still on the clock... as an advisor and confidant now instead of just as a forensic investigator. And for a very different kind of triage situation. Isn't that so, Dr. Brackett?"

In the back of the room, Quincy was silent and very thoughtful. "We pushed them too hard, too early, Frank. That wasn't good." "Who asked you?" Frank said. "You're in enough hot water as it is for risking your skin back at their fire station." "I didn't know it was a hostage situation. I was looking for a baby!" Quincy said passionately from the chair he slumped in. "And we were busy trying to save a whole city from an angry prison mob! So who was the one who was really overwhelmed here?" he snarled back. Both men instantly retracted their sentiments, recognizing fatigue and long hours as the true barb. They eyed each other up apologetically. "Whoa. Bad night for both of us." muttered Frank. "Hmm, mine by choice." joked Quincy sympathetically. Quincy rose to his feet to gather the hospital autopsy papers that Monahan and Dr. Asten had used to track him down during the height of the riot. Lt. Monahan helped him. "So how is the baby doing?" "She'll be fine. Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early both say she'll be eating orally by morning. And there's no sign of any physical trauma past what she received from her decomposing umbilical cord." "I'll just bet her emotional state is a different story." Frank sympathized. Quincy grinned bravely. "She's very young. She won't remember missing her mother for years. But I hope someone remembers the firefighters who saved her life." "And one particular coroner." "I didn't do anything." he said, picking at the clothes he wore that Station 51 had loaned to him. "Bullsh*t." "Let's go to Danny's and I'll buy you a drink. Dr. Asten's already there." "Best plan I've had all day." Quincy said. "And I mean it this time." "You're on. And I'm sure Sam, your foolishly devoted assistant, will finally agree with you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chet opened his eyes wearily when he felt a light, but warm grip take his fingers.  He blinked in confusion when he saw that the one sitting by his head wasn't still Dixie. It was Mrs. Millicent Fishmeyer, Dixie's ancient, but spiritually bubbly neighbor. "How did you get in here? You're holding my hand." he said without energy. Millicent simply beamed. The wrinkles in her petite but cheerful face, grinned along with her. "You were holding my hand not too long ago. I thought I'd return the favor. And before you start thinking about hitting that nurse button, I'm your nurse. Er,... well, truth be told? I'm their newest candy striper..." she amended. "Of sorts." she said waggling a gnarled set of age spotted fingers. "I don't see any candy here." Kelly grumbled, eyeing up her blue smock and white uniform. "I haven't been eye candy for seventy years, mister." Chet was good enough to blush. "I didn't mean that.. I meant.." "The kind you can digest, I know." she teased back. "Sweets made of sugar." Mrs. Fishmeyer simply patted the back of his hand gently and began guffawing loudly. "Seriously? Candy? On the post I.C.U. floor? Don't make me laugh." "You already are.." Kelly murmured, wincing at the volume of her husky sounding mirth. His eyes eventually glanced down at her mindless ministrations. "Uh,, this is awkward." he muttered. "What is?" Millie wondered. Then it dawned. "Oh. My touching you." she withdrew her contact without any shred of self consciousness. "Sorry, Chester. I'm under orders to take your pulse every half hour." "It's, Chet, ma'am. And the machines can do that." he said, tossing a head at the EKG monitor still tracing activity near his pillow. "They can't judge the quality of it, now can they?" Mrs. Fishmeyer told him no nonsense. "Whether it's weak, or strong,....... or mad." she said, finally frowning. The sudden expression change didn't paint her well. Chet sighed around his nasal cannula. "I'm not mad. I'm just a little surprised that you're here, that's all. I mean, considering that last month we were all doing CPR on you in your rose garden." "Petunia bed, dear." Millie grinned. "Whatever. Look, Mrs. Fishmeyer. I know you probably mean well, even though you're officially authorized.. But why.." Chet finally tamped down politely on his irritation,"..on earth, are you here at MY bedside when there's a whole hospital of patients to pick and choose from all around you?" "I told you. I've been specifically assigned to you to bolster your recovery until your family gets here. By Dr. Brackett." Chet eyed her up thoughtfully with a little defensiveness. "But nobody, past the gang at the station, knows I'm even here." "Your sister does..." Millie said in a little singsong. Kelly threw up what hands he could that weren't hampered by an I.V. line. "Ohhh.. no. Not her. She's gonna fuss and raise a big stink about me being laid up, all for nothing." he whined. "And I'm not even really that hurt this time. Gage and DeSoto told me so." "So she's coming. So what? Who else are they gonna call? She's your emergency contact number with the fire department." Millie said seriously in her deep smoker's voice. Mrs. Fishmeyer leaned forward in confidence. "Would you rather I call in your steady girlfriend?" "What?! How'd you find out about her?" Chet said, nearly levitating off the bed. "Dixie told me to keep me from developing a crush on the man who kept me breathing during my cardiac arrest nightmare, okay?" she replied defensively. That shut Chet up. He sputtered. "You.. have a crush... on me? You're old enough to be my great great--" "Oh, shut up." Millie cackled. "I'm old but I'm not stupid. No, I don't have a crush on you. Dixie set me straight on that a few days ago about telling me about your serious girlfriend." "I don't have one. She lied. And I just lied, too." Millie went on, not hearing him. "A month ago, that was just some artificial hero worship on the first rescuer I happened to notice going lip to lip with me when I was still really really scared inside." "That was mouth to mouth, how did you know some of us even did that? You were unconscious." Chet insisted. "Hellooo!" Millie crowed. "Floating body over the scene thing, seeing everything? Surely you've heard of victims telling you all about that later on during station visits to say thanks." "Ah, no." Chet said firmly. "Really?" Millie pegged him, squinting like a pirate. Then her face grew contemplative. "Huh. Roy and Johnny must be very lax with you fellas about sharing all their life after death stories they hear from patients in the ambulance going into Rampart. I sure told them a doozy then."   Kelly's eyebrows furrowed and he finally relaxed. "So, how are you doing?" "Fine, or I wouldn't be volunteering like this today." Millie shot back. Then she winked. "I should be asking you the same question, Chester." Kelly sighed and lung coughed only once. He was very surprised that all of that ugly pain, was gone. He took back her hand. "Please, call me Chet, Millie. Not Chester. Only my sister insists on doing that and it drives me up a tree." Millie looked at her watch. "Well, she won't get to do that for another four hours yet. Heh. Her plane doesn't land until midnight. So watcha wanna do until then? Play a little parcheesi, checkers? I brought both.. " she dangled. Kelly's mouth flopped open, but then he began to smile softly at Fishmeyer's gangbuster's enthusiasm. "Checkers, ma'am. My brain can't handle anything complex right now. I'm still higher than a kite on all the drugs they've given me." "That makes two of us. So am I. Ninety four doesn't work without a few helper pills every now and then. Checkers, it is, Chet. I'm black. You're red. And I'm gonna kick yer butt in about six moves." Kelly settled back on his pillows and let his caretaker set up the playing board on his bedside tray with a good heart. "I wouldn't have it any other way." he muttered. "You're honest to goodness, Dixie-trained to the core." He let her prattle on excitedly about life after death and everything and kept on smiling in genuine affection.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Under the three palm trees, every window of the DeSoto house was dark. Roy DeSoto turned the key in his front door of his small white stucco split level entry rambler and slipped inside so he wouldn't disturb the kids. An Irish Setter greeted him at the door, first barking and then whining instantly when he smelled the invisible but still leftover blood traces on his street clothing. Roy knelt down to comfort him. "Shh,,, quiet Ralphie, you'll wake up Joanne and the kids." he hissed, shoving the dog over from the marble tiles to the wool Persian rug to silence his eager claw sounds as he reared repeatedly in frantic relief. "Your wife's not sleeping." came a voice that hurried into his arms through the warm darkness. Roy embraced Joanne's small form gracefully, kissing the top of her short bobbed red hair. "New coolot?" he said of her long, flowing white and black paisley dress. "Yes. I bought it today to get my mind off things." She kissed him afterwards, then she switched on the hall light inset into the gold foiled wallpaper. "New bruises?" she countered, eyeing him up professionally. Roy kept the smile on his face. "Yeah, a few. We had to tackle those two into submission." She carefully traced the tender, swollen areas of his face lovingly. "I saw the news. Anybody get shot?" "Just Boot. He's gonna be fine." said the war vet in Roy. "Is the house still locked up tight?" "Yes. And your gun locker's not. All set for you." she said no nonsense, letting him go so she could go to the dusty brandy decanter in the elegant living room to pour him a rare drink. Roy let her. The relieved smile on his face faded into a faint pain. "I'm not going to have any nightmares tonight." "I won't let you." she said, returning, and handing him his snifter of Cognac as she kissed him. "The kids are fine. They're sleeping. I didn't let them watch TV all day." Roy set down the drink to hold his wife. "The riot's over. Chet's gonna be fine, too." he volunteered, not knowing the extent of the news coverage that was aired. "Chet?" Joanne muttered in concern. "He was pushed around a little and got lung bruised. It was nothing that Johnny and I couldn't handle." "And how about those two thugs with the gun?" Joanne asked sagely, very near her husband's lips with her own. Roy didn't say anything, because he could no longer talk. He just began loving her with all his heart through his hands and body.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was dawn and Gage awoke suddenly from a cold sweat. Then his nose caught a delicate bouquet of femaleness and he suddenly remembered. Sharon Walters was stretched out beside him, in bed, sans clothes. He smiled as she awoke as well. "You broke my unlucky streak last night, you know." he shared. "I know." Sharon said, rolling over so she could snuggle with him, chin on his bare shoulder. "That was the plan. I've had my eye on you for quite a long time, Johnny." "For real?" he asked, turning all teenager inside. "For years." she said, biting him lightly on his nose. "I was just waiting for you to ask me out but was too old fashioned to do it myself." she said, coyly wrapping a yellow sheet around her bare body. "Sharon.." said Gage. "You're probably the most modern woman I know. Well, past Dixie perhaps." he said, holding her in his arms. "Or Joanne DeSoto." Walters amended, tracing a finger around a deep bruise that she had found on his arm. Johnny pulled his injury away, remember how strong Ice had been during the fight to subdue him at the station. "Yeah, her too." he admitted, trying to concentrate on the normal conversation that she was trying to have. Sharon noticed the leftover clamminess of his skin. "Still cold?" she asked, still part nurse. "Not physically." he told her with a kiss. "Not any more." "Well, how about emotionally?" Sharon asked, laying herself on top of him, chest to chest under the sheets. Johnny went silent and still, despite the temptation to frolic physically. He didn't tell her about the bad dream that had awakened him from his deep, post love making slumber. "Let's just go back to sleep, Sharon. Okay? I'm still really bushed." "Okay." she replied, staring into his eyes in worry. Then she laid her head back onto his shoulder carefully. Walters fell asleep in an instant. But Johnny lay staring at the ceiling of his ranch house's rustic pinewood cabin themed bedroom for a long time afterwards, reliving the hostage hours, over and over again.

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