Work Text:
Not the Same Old Thing
An Emergency! Slash Story
by Amedia
Johnny stood sputtering in front of his locker door, his face covered with shaving cream. "Chet!" he yelled.
At the next locker, Roy rolled his eyes. "Not this again."
Chet emerged from the next room, his clothes soaking wet. Rivulets of water ran down from his hair. "Gage," he said wearily, "another bucket on the door? Really, I expected more from you."
Johnny pointed at the locker. "Another spring-loaded pie in the face? Can't you think of anything else?"
"You know," Chet sighed, "this petty bickering is getting us nowhere." He pulled out a towel and began scrubbing at his hair.
"I agree, Chet," said Johnny, wiping the shaving cream off his face. "It's the same old thing every time."
Chet towelled the last of the water from his hair and gave a final futile swipe at the back of his neck. "I propose that each of us devote his energies to coming up with a single prank--something truly startling and original. Outrageous, even. We've got three days off now; let's see what we can come up with on our next shift."
Johnny grinned broadly, wicked possibilities already racing through his mind. "You're on."
"Gee," said Roy, "I'm almost sorry I won't be here to see what you two come up with."
"I'm sure we could wait until you got back, Roy," said Johnny helpfully.
"I said almost, Johnny. I'd actually be quite content if you both got it out of your systems by the time I return from vacation."
"You're such an optimist, Roy," said Chet.
"Hey, a guy can dream, can't he?"
********************
Johnny arrived on time for his next shift, only to find that his temporary partner had already arrived and was performing a calibration with Rampart over the biophone. "Good morning, Gage."
Johnny sighed. "Morning, Brice," he said. "You're here early."
"I always allow extra time in the morning, in case traffic problems or other unforeseen factors delay my commute. I believe it's important to develop good habits, don't you?" said Brice.
"Sure, Brice," Johnny mumbled. He went to the locker room and began changing into his uniform. Even Brice couldn't ruin his good mood; he hummed to himself as he thought about all the possible forms of havoc he could wreak on Chet this shift. Reluctantly turning his thoughts back to work, he called, "Have you checked the drug box?"
"Already done," came Brice's answer. "And I have an alphabetized list of the supplies we need in order to replenish it. I've also checked all our other equipment and secured everything for transport."
"You mean you locked the compartments. Brice, we've talked about this in the past...."
"Wrong, Gage." Brice came into the locker room and stood a few feet from Johnny, hands on hips. "I've discussed this with DeSoto in the past. I abide by his decisions when I work with him because he is senior to me. You, however, are not; thus, when we disagree, the rulebook should prevail."
"The rulebook doesn't say to lock the compartments."
"No, but it says to take all appropriate precautions."
"Then it's a matter of interpretation," said Johnny, ready to argue the issue. "Locking the compartments isn't appropriate when it delays us in getting treatment to the victim."
Brice actually stopped and thought about that for a minute, tapping a finger against the bridge of his glasses. "I appreciate that you are thinking about the welfare of the victim for once, Gage, rather than your own convenience. Maybe this shift won't be so bad after all." Something close to a smile flashed across his face. "I will consider the issue further."
Johnny turned back to his locker so that Brice wouldn't see him rolling his eyes. I'd better savor this--it's the closest thing to a victory I'll get all day, he said to himself.
*******************
The first rescue of the day was a "dangler," in this case, a thrill-seeker who was trying to climb up the side of a high-rise with mountain-climbing gear, chutzpah, and total inexperience. As Johnny prepared to go over the side after him, he cast a nervous glance back at his temporary partner. This was a situation in which trust in one's partner was absolutely essential, and he had never worked this type of rescue with Brice before.
Johnny was relieved to find that Brice was dependable. The ropes were steady and the responses prompt. Johnny quickly reached the erstwhile thrillseeker (now trapped, injured, and terrified), prepared him for transport to the roof, and sent him up. After the victim had reached the top safely, Johnny braced his feet against the building and, gripping the rope, walked himself back up.
There was a low railing around the edge of the roof, and a row of decorative marble tiles underneath. As Johnny neared the edge, his foot slipped on the shiny tile and he found himself scrabbling helplessly for purchase. "Lopez!" he heard Brice call. "Make Gage's line fast. Kelly, stay with the victim." Brice appeared at the edge of the roof, his safety belt anchored to the railing. He reached over the edge, grabbed Johnny by the safety belt, and hauled him up.
In the few times that they had worked together, they had simply never come into physical contact. Now Johnny was startled. As Brice pulled him onto the roof and he stumbled against Brice's body, Johnny felt muscular resistance, surprising strength, and a further sensation, as if he had suddenly grabbed a handful of live wires. Johnny was sure the other paramedic felt it too; Brice was breathing hard as he set Johnny back on his feet and released him.
"Thanks, Brice," said Johnny.
"All part of the job, Gage," said Brice, leading the way back to the victim.
Chet handed him the biophone. "I've got Rampart standing by," he said.
"Excellent, Kelly," said Brice, handing the phone to Johnny. "Gage, I've already begun taking the vitals; you relay them to Rampart."
Johnny would ordinarily have protested Brice's peremptory tone, but he was still shaken up.
********************
The rest of the morning went remarkably smoothly; Johnny was beginning to feel that although he would never actually like Brice, they could at least reach a modus vivendi. A noontime call, however, changed his mind.
It was an ordinary cardiac case until Dr. Early ordered lidocaine. Johnny reached into the drug box. He and Roy kept all the standard drugs used for cardiac patients together in one corner. Johnny pulled out the bottle and held it up, checking the label as a routine precaution.
It wasn't lidocaine. It was diazepam, a tranquilizer that would have killed the patient. "Brice, where's the lidocaine?" Johnny asked, his voice tightly controlled. Brice pulled out the lidocaine and handed it to him. "Put this back," Johnny ordered, handing him the diazepam. Brice looked startled at Johnny's tone, but obeyed.
********************
Johnny was too angry to talk on the way back to the station from the hospital. As they got out of the squad, he finally spoke. "Look, Brice, thanks to your reorganizing the drug box, I almost killed a patient today!"
"But you didn't," Brice said, closing his door and moving to check the equipment.
"No," said Johnny, undeterred. "Only because I read the label and found out that when I reached for lidocaine, I had picked up diazepam."
"And that should be a lesson to you," Brice said triumphantly, pulling the drug and trauma boxes out. "Because you followed the protocols, Gage, nothing untoward happened."
"Yeah, but something untoward could very easily have happened!" Johnny ran the ropes they had used earlier through his fingers, feeling for damaged spots. Not finding any, he began coiling it back up for storage. " It would only have taken one little slip and that guy would have been dead."
"One little slip, Gage? You mean a bad habit of reaching for drugs without looking," Brice said matter-of-factly. He didn't even bother looking up from tallying the drug box.
"It's not a bad habit, Brice," John said, keeping his voice even with effort. "It's a system that works." He slammed the doors to the rope compartment. "Until my so-called partner starts moving drugs around without telling me!"
"I'm only acting in the interests of efficiency, Gage," said Brice, his voice beginning to rise slightly.
"You are not listening to me!" Johnny snapped. "What you did today was inefficient! By replacing a layout that I had memorized with one that was totally unfamiliar--"
"If people always kept inefficient systems in place because they were too lazy to learn the new ones," Brice said, completing a final check of the trauma box, "progress would never be accomplished." He replaced the drug and trauma boxes in their compartments and closed the doors crisply.
Johnny didn't want to head toward the kitchen and continue their argument in the company of the others; he headed toward the lockers instead. Brice followed him.
Once they were fully into the room and the door had shut behind them, Johnny turned. "Are you calling me lazy?"
"Yes, I suppose I am."
"Well, I'm calling you a smug, self-righteous bastard!" Johnny said. "If that guy had died--"
"Damnit, Gage," said Brice, his composure finally snapping, "the patient didn't die! And he didn't die because you did the right thing!"
"You're not getting what I'm trying to say!" Johnny cried, frustrated. He grabbed Brice by the shoulders and slammed him against the lockers. Getting into Brice's face, he continued, "His life shouldn't have depended on my noticing that you had been screwing around with the drug box!"
The physical contact was familiar now. Once again Johnny felt that hard muscular body straining against his, and something like an electrical charge seemed to leap between them. He couldn't stop himself; he leaned closer. Keeping his hands on Brice's shoulders, he completed the circuit, grinding his mouth hard against Brice's.
Johnny's nerves were ablaze; rational thought was impossible. He was aware, however, that Brice was responding with equal force. Johnny felt one of Brice's hands on the back of his neck, and Brice's other arm wrapped around his back, as Brice pulled him impossibly closer.
Neither of them heard the door open.
But they both heard Chet Kelly's startled gasp.
Gage and Brice broke apart. Attempting to regain some semblance of dignity, John began, "Uh, Chet, this isn't what it--"
"Yes, it is," Brice said coolly. "Admit it, Gage, were it not for Kelly's timely intervention we would soon have been performing invasive procedures on the locker room floor."
Johnny couldn't help but grin at Brice's formality at this, of all times. "You mean humping like demented weasels?" he asked.
"Perhaps not the most felicitous turn of phrase, but I'll grant you that it is a vivid and surprisingly accurate simile."
They both looked at Chet to see his reaction. Now that the initial shock had worn off, his expression was one of admiration. "The Phantom is awestruck, guys," Chet admitted. "Gage, when I said startling, original, and outrageous--I had no idea you had such a sick, twisted mind. Or that you could get Brice of all people to cooperate. You are the MASTER." He backed out of the locker room, bowing in homage as he went. "I am not worthy, I am not worthy."
Brice almost smiled. "That was fortuitous. Dare I ask what he was talking about?"
Johnny shook his head. "You don't wanna know." He regarded Brice for a long moment and raised an eyebrow. "Demented weasels, huh. Well? Your warren or mine?"
"Burrow, Gage."
"Huh?"
"Weasels live in burrows. Not warrens."
Johnny tried again. "Your burrow or mine?"
"I imagine that mine is somewhat less pestilential than yours, Gage."
"Pestilential? Whose burrow are you calling pestilential?"
"Yours, of course."
********************
The remainder of the shift seemed to pass very slowly, but it finally came to an end, and the two paramedics rode home together. Brice unlocked the door to his apartment, and Johnny stepped inside. It was exactly as he had envisioned: spartan and neat. "Make yourself at home, John," said Brice.
"Hey," said Johnny, settling himself on the couch. "You called me John."
Brice went into the immaculate kitchenette and returned with two beers, handing one to Gage. "We're off-duty. I see no reason to continue the formality appropriate to the working environment. Ideally, one's behavior should be guided by an accurate assessment of the situation."
"Really, Craig?" Johnny couldn't help grinning. "Then how do you behave in bed?"
To his surprise, Brice smiled back. "Like a demented weasel," he said.
"This I gotta see," said Johnny. And he did.
THE END