“All right. I'll try and keep your seat warm.”

Johnny glanced down at Brice, seeing the hint of gentle teasing in the man's eyes. It was different than before, when Johnny felt the man was mocking his lack of planning. He answered back with a grinned, “Thanks.”

Moving around helped some, but not much, and Johnny decided to return to his seat after a few minutes of going up and down the steps observing the fans. Their enthusiasm was starting to rub off on him, and he was eager for the game to start. He was happy to see the two empty chairs beside his were now filled. His pace slowed as he spied the beautiful blonde sitting in his spot. He didn't think Brice would really keep his seat warm, and he certainly didn't expect this! How would he get it back? He noticed the woman and Brice sat facing each other, and the paramedic's arm rested casually along the backs of the seats. Something Brice said must have been funny, because she laughed, reached out and touched the arm Brice draped over his crossed knee. Johnny shook his head in disbelief as he proceeded to the seats. He was dying to know who this chick was, and why Brice seemed so comfortable with her.

The woman looked up and gazed admiringly at Johnny. He detected a friendly sparkle in her eyes just before a smile graced her features and turned her from beautiful to stunning. “I'm sorry! I'm in your seat.” She stood quickly and brushed past Brice, stopping in the aisle. “You must be Craig's temporary partner.”

“Yeah. John Gage,” he introduced himself. “Actually, Brice is MY temporary partner.” He grinned and chuckled softly.

The woman grinned and chuckled with him. “I'm Linda Barry. Nice to meet you…Johnny.” The unconscious use of his nickname surprised him. Before he could say another word, she bent at the waist to make eye contact with Brice. “When did you say you're working again, Craig?”

“Not until the Salt Lake match. The holidays are quite busy at the fire department.”

“I can understand that. I'll probably be spending the break holed up in the library or the lab, anyway,” Linda declared with a disappointed tone. “Maybe we can do lunch some time when you're off. I still have the books I borrowed from you. One of them was really fascinating, and I'd love to discuss it with you, if you'd like.”

Johnny's jaw dropped when he saw Brice smile and reply, “I'd like that.”

“Terrific,” Linda grinned. “You have my number, right?”

Brice nodded.

“And, I have yours,” she added. “I better get back to my seat. See you later, Craig. Nice meeting you, Johnny!”

“Bye, Linda,” Brice said as she hurried up the steps.

Craig! She called Brice by his given name and he let her get away with it! Johnny reclaimed his seat, switching his gaze between Linda and the other paramedic. Brice, studying the stats in the sports section again, felt Gage's eyes on him.

He met Johnny's stare. “Something wrong?”

“That... Linda... she used your name....”

Brice nodded as if what had just occurred was totally natural.

“Where'd you meet her?”

“She took a puck in the face at a game last season,” Brice explained. “Bellingham and I were working that night and treated her. As you can see, it caused no permanent damage.”

“So, what does she do when she's not watching hockey games?” Johnny asked with his attention completely on Brice. If the guy had a girlfriend, he was keeping it a secret locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Johnny hoped that maybe he'd find out the details.

Brice answered crisply. “She teaches chemistry at Carson.”

Johnny nodded and grinned. “So..., you two have a little chemistry experiment going?”

Brice blushed. “Linda and I have had coffee together a few times, discussing books and such. That's all.”

“Uh-huh.” Johnny's grin broadened.

“Gage,” Brice declared with a slightly annoyed tone. “There is nothing going on between us.” Brice paused, letting his flaming cheeks cool. “Besides, she already has a boyfriend. He plays hockey for the Sharks.”

Johnny turned toward the ice, where both teams were now emerging from the tunnel. As soon as blades hit the ice, the players pushed themselves forward, the churning of legs propelling them faster and faster around the surface that looked like frosted glass. Three men in vertically striped shirts glided among them and stopped to inspect the nets and glass panels.

“Which one is he?”

“There, number 12, Moreau. He plays center.” Brice indicated the man with a nod of his head.

“Man, he's big,” Johnny breathed. “Shouldn't he be playing football?”

Moreau skated toward the bench and spotted Brice. He nodded at the paramedic in greeting before skating in an arc away from the boards, following the players.

“Was that a threat or a hello?” Johnny asked, unconsciously shivering, but not from the cold.

Brice replied, not quite sure himself about the player's body language. “I think it was a little of both. He knows I don't have any designs on Linda, but....”

Johnny nodded in understanding. He watched the players silently as they went through their warm-ups and drills. A puck rocketed toward them and smacked the glass, causing Johnny to flinch. He blinked, relieved that the glass held it back. Brice sat beside him, unaffected.

“We're pretty safe here, unless a puck comes from one of the corners and flies alongside the rink. That's how Linda was hit last year.”

“Oh,” Johnny spoke, not sure what else to say.

“Are you still cold?” Brice glanced at Johnny. “You look okay to me.”

“Yeah, you were right. It's a lot more comfortable with all these people.” Brice didn't say anything, just nodded, but Johnny could see the "I told you so" written on the man's face. Despite the uncertain beginning, the night wasn't as bad as he feared it would be.

Soon the players left the ice, and the announcer ticked off the names of the starting lineup for San Diego. Each player took to the ice and suffered a booing that shook the seats. One man with a nasty suture over his left eye glared at the spectators as he worked his gloved hands around his stick handle. He held it like a weapon, as if at any moment he would launch himself into the crowd and beat them senseless with his stick.

The overhead lights dimmed and two large spots of yellow and blue light swung crazily around the arena in time to the pulsating music. Finally, they settled on the ice. A fanfare stirred the spectators into a frenzy of cheering and stomping, and it was difficult for Johnny to hear the names of the LA Sharks. The stands were less than half full, but that didn't stop the fans from showing their support. Johnny figured the Sharks must have been good, because every one of them received a chorus of shrieking, whistles and cheers.

He watched the players as they took to the ice. Moreau stood in the center. From the first note of the national anthem, the big man shifted his weight from one skate to the other nervously. The player beside him slid his feet back and forth. The movement was mesmerizing. Brice said the two teams had a rivalry going. It was obvious from the tense movements of the players that this would be a lively game.

“What's the 'C' on his shirt for?” Johnny asked Brice over the post-anthem din, his gaze on the player standing beside Moreau.

“Danielson is the captain of the team,” Brice answered, yelling to be heard.

Eventually the people settled down, but a low hum of mingling voices bounced around the arena. The referee stood poised between the opposing centers, waiting to initiate the face off. A raucous group behind Johnny and Brice chanted, “Drop the puck! Drop the puck! Drop the puck!”

Brice glanced up at them and muttered, “This is going to be one of those nights.”

“One of those nights?”

“Rowdy. Maybe a lot of fights in the stands.”

“Great,” Johnny muttered under his breath. He liked doing his job, but he wasn't so sure he wanted to deal with the sheer volume of injuries and chaos in a riot.

The referee dropped the puck and the two combatants went after it. Danielson won the face off by scooping the puck in his stick blade and swooping around his opponent and the ref. He made a break down the center. Johnny watched, fascinated with the player's speed and agility despite all the protective gear. A defenseman came in for the kill, but Danielson passed the puck to a teammate just before he slammed his side into the player. The puck flew around the ice, passed so often Johnny could hardly keep track of it. Suddenly, an air horn howled over the din of the spectators. The LA players held their sticks high and slapped each other on the back. At the far end of the ice, a red lamp glowed beyond the glass.

“What happened?” Johnny turned to ask Brice, but his eyes only saw the paramedic's legs. Brice was on his feet with everyone else, and the roar was out of this world. Johnny stood and repeated himself, getting close to Brice's ear in an effort to be heard. “What happened?”

“You didn't see that? It was an amazing goal!” Brice shook his head in astonishment and grinned.

All around them, the crowd chanted. “What are they saying?”

Brice laughed. “They're calling the goalie a sieve because the puck sailed right by him.” He paused and eyed Johnny. “You really didn't see it?”

“No, I didn't.”

”The goalie knelt down, trying to stop the puck, and it went right between his knees,” Brice reported excitedly. “It was unbelievable!”

“I can't believe you saw it. They really keep that thing moving, don't they?”

Brice nodded and sat along with the other fans, the noise slowly dying down. “That's part of the game. You'll get used to it.”

In the first period, Johnny learned more about the game of hockey than he ever bargained for. He was hesitant to ask questions at first, but Brice seemed willing to supply the answers. Maybe the fact that LA was doing well had something to do with it. Brice explained why whistles blew, which happened quite frequently. Eventually, all Johnny had to do was glance at Brice and he would answer.

“That was an icing call,” Brice enlightened him after another whistle. “That's when a player from the one team slams the puck down to the opposite end of the ice and a member from the opposing team touches it first before another one of their players can. But the puck has to go over that line behind the goal to make it icing."

“Huh?”

“San Diego hit the puck down here into LA defensive territory. LA got to it first, so the puck goes back to San Diego's defensive territory for the face-off.” Johnny looked puzzled, so he simplified it further. “The LA offense gets another chance to try and make a goal without carrying the puck from this end of the ice.”

Johnny nodded. “Oh, okay, I get it.”

At the next whistle, Brice explained, “Our man carried the puck over the blue line, but another one of our players crossed it first. That's off-sides, so now they have a face-off.”

Johnny shook his head. “Another face-off? Man, I don't know how anyone can get the hang of these rules!”

“It takes practice. I went to at least a dozen games before I understood half of it, and I still miss some of the calls. You really have to admire the referee and the line judges. With so much going on, they still manage to catch everything.”

“Well, almost everything,” Johnny said. “Didn't that guy just go over the line with the puck after his buddy did?”

Brice shook his head. “It looked like it from here, but I don't think so. If he did, it was really too close to call.”

Johnny heard the voice shouting above the rumble of the crowd before Brice did. He glanced around, trying to pinpoint the location. Over his right shoulder he saw a man in the next section, arms raised and frantically hopping on the step. He noticed he caught the paramedics' attention and yelled.

“Help! My buddy's choking!”

Johnny was already on his feet as Brice pushed himself out of his seat. Johnny grabbed the gear and they ran up the steps to a landing that gave them quick access to the next section. In seconds, they were beside the man in distress and his frantic friend.

“He was getting really excited about the game, and all of a sudden he couldn't breathe!"

Neither Johnny nor Brice spoke. Johnny grabbed the man's arm and between him and Brice, they lifted the man to his feet. Johnny wrapped his arms around the large midsection, gathered his hands into a ball, and thrust them sharply into the victim's stomach. It took a couple of attempts before the lodged food became a missile and sailed in an arc to land two steps below. The man took in a deep gasping breath.

Darcy suddenly appeared at Johnny's elbow carrying a cylinder of oxygen. “Thought you guys might need this.”

“Thanks, Darcy.” Johnny acknowledged her foresight with a smile.

Brice urged the man to sit. “Sir, we're going to check you out now, make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," the man replied huskily as he glanced over Brice's shoulder at the frantic action on the ice.

Johnny noticed the time on the scoreboard. “There's less than a minute left. Let's take him to the station.”

“No, you're not taking me anywhere,” the man huffed. “Are you nuts?”

Brice and Johnny looked at each other. “Okay, we'll wait.”

“I don't want to miss a minute of this,” their patient insisted.

“Fine. We'll just keep you at the first aid station until the next period just to make sure you're okay.” Brice negotiated. “Deal?”

“Yeah, sure.” The buzzer announced the end of the first period and the man stood on shaky legs. His friends held him as he slowly walked up the short steps to the corridor, while Johnny carried the oxygen tank, and Brice took the box.

The first aid station had a relatively comfortable cot in it, and as soon as they entered the room, Brice directed the patient to it. He sat reluctantly, saw the business-like look on the paramedics' faces, and stretched out on the cot.

“Thank you,” Brice said and knelt to check the man's vitals. “BP's normal, pulse a little fast, and the respirations are normal.” He addressed the man. “We'll let you relax here a bit.” The patient nodded.

By the time the second period began, the man was back in his seat with his friends, promising to take it easy. The paramedics enjoyed the rest of the period, which proved to be quite exciting and ended in a 3-3 tie, with no calls for medical assistance.

“Well, this is quieter than I thought it would be,” Brice remarked with a small smile. “Are you picking up on what the game is all about?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I'm still clueless on these calls.”

“That's okay. I don't know all the signals, either.” Brice had an inspirational idea. “Maybe we should go pick up a program, because inside is a chart of all the calls.”

“Next time.” Johnny turned to Brice and smiled. “You wouldn't happen to have a partner for the next game you're working, would you?”

Brice glanced at Johnny and hid his shock with an apologetic smile. “Actually, I do. Sorry, Gage.”

“Yeah. Well, maybe I'll just have to see if Roy wants to go sometime.”

For some reason, Brice actually regretted that he had to turn Gage down. It was the look on the other man's face that did it. He was pleased to see that Gage was enjoying the game and knew that he would attend another if he had a good reason to go. Brice didn't mind the questions as much as he thought he would, and teaching Gage about hockey was a lot more enjoyable than the time he partnered with Bellingham. Bellingham couldn't seem to understand the differences between hockey and basketball, and it almost drove him nuts.

Johnny couldn't believe that he'd asked Brice - Brice! - if he had a partner for the next game. He needed his head examined. But Johnny had to admit to himself that things really were going quite well. Before the game started, the other paramedic seemed put out by having to explain everything, but after awhile he warmed up to the idea and was really interested in educating Johnny about the game. It amazed Johnny that Brice didn't have the overbearing Mr. Know-It-All tone he often carried when he explained things. Maybe it was the excitement of the game that did something to change his usual attitude. Whatever it was, Johnny was grateful. When he first found out Brice would be his partner, Johnny thought it would be a completely hellish experience. How wrong he was.

Johnny watched the players return to the ice and warm up before the start of the third period. He noticed one in particular that skated past with a pained look on his face. “You see that guy?”

Brice nodded and followed the player with a slight turn of his head. “Yes. Armstrong. He took an elbow in the head last period.”

”Yeah. He really got his bell rung. He doesn't look too hot now.”

“Well, if he collapses, the trainers will probably have everything under control, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared.” Brice watched Armstrong more closely now that Johnny said something.

The heat was on with a tie score, making the crowd more boisterous and noisier, the volume rising to an ear-ringing pitch. The action on the ice was less smooth than the previous periods as both teams were tiring and feeling the pressure. Johnny noticed the referees allowed more hits on the players and other minor offenses slipped by.

“Hey, didn't that guy almost trip our man,” Johnny complained.

“Yes, but if the referee or a line judge doesn't see it....”

Suddenly, the puck that was trapped in among several bodies went flying around the corner and sailed into the air. It flew over the glass, past the penalty box, and dropped like a stone. The people in the first row leaned back in their seats, except for one man. Brice and Johnny watched as the puck sliced him across the bridge of his nose.

“Uh-oh,” Johnny muttered. He and Brice were up on their feet instantly. They raced up the stairs to the concourse. Once on level concrete, they sprinted for the section where they saw the injured man.

Johnny glanced furtively at each offshoot as they neared the right area. “Which entrance do we use?”

“It's just a few more, section 218,” Brice answered in a puff of breath. A suit-jacket clad usher waited for them at the entrance.

“Over here, gentlemen!” The graying man directed them with an arm pointing straight to the section, and Johnny and Brice dashed past him. They arrived on the scene to find the man bent over, a white towel stained red. He rocked in pain.

“Let us through, please!” Brice pushed ahead of Johnny making a path. The paramedics flanked him and knelt before him. Brice gently fought to get past the victim's hands as he frantically pressed the towel to his face. “Sir, please! Let me get a look. Gage....”

Johnny firmly took one of the man's wrists and pulled it away as he spoke to him calmly. “Hey, it's okay. We just wanna take a look. My name's John Gage. My partner's Craig Brice. We're paramedics with the Los Angeles County Fire Department.” He sensed the man's grip relaxing. “That's good. Come on, just let us get a peek.”

“You guys need a stretcher or anything?” A jacketed security man in the aisle asked.

Johnny shook his head. “We'll be able to walk him out if we need to.”

“Okay. You need anything, you let us know. Frequency four.”

“Got it.”

The game soon resumed and Brice controlled the man's bleeding. “Looks like you're going to need some stitches.”

“Later, after the game,” the man exclaimed, his eyes focused on the ice and not on the paramedic. He pushed the towel out of his line of sight.

Johnny asked, “Doesn't that hurt?”

“Yeah, but I'll live.”

Johnny shook his head. He could not believe these people! Talk about crazy fans!

“Okay. I'll just bandage this up, and after the game, I want you,” Brice directed his instructions at the woman who sat next to the man with a supportive arm around his shoulders. “to get him to Rampart. He needs this stitched up. Understood?”

“Yes. I'll be sure to get him there. Thanks.” She smiled.

Brice and Johnny quickly stowed their supplies and returned to their seats, just in time to see a Shark goal. The crowd went wild, hopping up and down, some on their seats. It took several minutes for everyone to settle down and allow the game to continue. Another Shark goal soon followed the first.

Johnny and Brice both covered their ears against the din. “This is insane,” Johnny said, but the sound went nowhere.

Brice read his lips and nodded. “I've never seen it like this before. But this is a rivalry.”

“Huh?”

“IT'S A RIVALRY!”

Johnny thought he heard that and acknowledged it with a nod.

Eventually the fans sat in their seats, except for a small group in the corner nearby. They waved a San Diego Mariners flag and chanted something that got lost in the chaos of noise.

“What on earth are they doing,” Johnny grumbled. “Are they nuts?”

“Probably drunk,” Brice commented.

“You think?” Johnny grinned briefly. “They're asking for trouble.”

“And, they'll no doubt get it.”

The third period became a real battleground on and off the ice. Johnny and Brice watched helplessly while the trainers rushed to attend to a player who was knocked unconscious near the benches. The player's nose bled, and a trainer held a 4x4 to it as they sat the groggy man up. Other players reached for him and helped him stand, then escorted him off the ice.

Johnny stood with the other fans, pressed close to the glass, trying to get a good look at the situation. The player had been hit hard. He could easily have a broken nose. At the very least he would have a concussion, given the fact that he'd been out for several minutes. Watching the two men pull their patient into the bowels of the arena, it was difficult to stand by and not do anything, but their job was to take care of the people in the stands.

As soon as the player left the ice, the line judges converged on the spot and scraped the bloody ice toward the boards with their blades. The referee blew his whistle, and play resumed as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred. There was one difference; the Mariners penalty box held a lone occupant, and the Sharks had a one-man advantage.

In this period, penalty minutes racked up faster than in the first and second periods combined. Players often came to confrontations over minor offenses. They dropped their sticks, and they approached each other, angry expressions on their faces, bodies tensed and leaning forward.

“Hey, I thought they weren't supposed to fight,” Johnny protested the moment two pairs of gloves flew in several directions.

“They're not, but this is the reality of the sport…unfortunately.” One line judge moved in to break up the men, but the first punch hit him directly in the face and he went down hard. Fortunately, he didn't lose consciousness, but he was obviously shaken. The second punch hit its intended mark. The opposing player struck back, and in a matter of a few seconds, they were a blur of color as both players' fists rammed each other hard and fast. Other players got into the mix, and equipment littered the ice.

“Aww, man. What now?” Johnny looked at Brice.

“We're not supposed to go out on the ice, unless....”

Before Brice could finish his sentence, a body fell between them with a rush of air coming from the human missile as his side hit the seat backs. Johnny reached for him, but someone already grabbed the fan and pulled him away. The two paramedics turned and realized that spectators battled each other in bunches all around them.

A half-empty cup of beer sailed over their heads and splattered against the glass, the liquid swiftly rolling down the surface. Brice snatched the drug box to prevent it from being covered in the mess.

“We better take cover somewhere safe until this blows over,” Brice suggested as he ducked more flying objects.

Johnny eagerly nodded his agreement. “Let's go to the first aid station and we'll treat whoever comes to us first.”

As they hurried up the steps, Johnny's long legs allowed him to push ahead and get to the first aid station quickly. Still, he was breathing heavily and sweating from the exertion of dodging fists and flying bodies. He reached out to lean against the wall and heard the roar of noise through the concrete. It was so loud, he swore he could feel the vibrations.

“Man, that was something else, huh, Brice?” There was no answer, and he turned. He was the only one there. “Brice? Where the hell did he go?”

Johnny took a deep breath and headed out into the skirmish. He retraced his steps, sidestepping struggling fans and security. He had no idea where all the uniforms came from. Sheriff's deputies, the place must be crawling with them now. Through a break in the crowd, Johnny spotted Brice a few steps down.

“Brice!” Johnny pushed his way through the tangle of fighting bodies, briefly glanced at the fans and hoped none of them needed his attention now. Fortunately, everyone seemed to be okay, except for the insane frenzy. Johnny found Brice's body angled on the steps, partially on his side, face up. The drug box was on a step and directly under the paramedic's body. Johnny winced. That couldn't be too comfortable!

The churning crowd was too close, and Johnny knew he'd have little time to do more than a cursory examination. He checked for broken bones before he carefully settled the unconscious man on his shoulder. Someone jostled them, teetering Johnny and his cargo, but the paramedic managed to keep himself from falling. With one hand he grabbed the drug box, and the other kept Brice on his shoulder as he slowly forged his way through the thinning crowd. Johnny sidestepped an overturned tub of popcorn and silently congratulated himself on maintaining his balance. But he failed to get out of the way of another beer bomb. It splattered on Brice's back harmlessly and spurred him to move faster.

He didn't stop until they were safely in the first aid station. A couple of people already waited with flowering bruises and cuts, but none of them were unconscious, so Brice was his first priority. Johnny unloaded his cargo onto the cot, a bit ungracefully, but at least he didn't miss.

First order of business was to find and stop the bleeding.... When he picked his partner off the steps, he noticed a patch of dark red on the concrete beneath Brice's head. Johnny left Brice's side for just a moment to get what he needed from the supply cabinet and returned. He quickly pressed a 4x4 to the wound, adding another one when the first one soaked through. No reaction from Brice. That concerned him.

When the second pad soaked through, Johnny added yet another and another. While continuing to apply direct pressure, he grabbed a Kerlex out of the drugbox and tore it open. Teeth always did come in handy. He quickly wrapped the pads into place to keep constant pressure on the wound.

“Johnny?”

He turned and saw Linda standing in the door frame, a look of fear and concern on her face. She came into the room, hands clasped nervously in front of her, her eyes locked on Brice's prone body. “Is he okay?”

“He will be.” Johnny answered with assurance in his voice and smile. “He's got a nasty laceration on the back of his head, and he's unconscious, but he'll be okay.”

“Good.” Linda nodded, determination replacing her look of anxiety. “Is there anything I can do?”

As he scanned the room and took a visual assessment of the injured waiting for attention, Johnny hesitated to answer.

“I'm certified in first aid with the Red Cross. If I get in over my head, I'll just pass them onto you.”

Their gazes met, and Johnny's smile registered his relief. “Yeah. Thanks, Linda.”

”My pleasure.”

Johnny focused again on Brice. The paramedic still had not regained consciousness. How long was he out? Maybe a few minutes? Brice's breathing was regular and his pulse was a little fast but strong. Johnny checked his pupils and found them both sluggish but responsive. He continued with a full head-to-toe exam.... Brice moved slightly when Johnny checked his ribs. Johnny again examined the injury and breathed a silent sigh of relief that the bleeding was slowing. He added another couple of 4x4s and some more Kerlex.

It was clear that Brice could feel some pain, but how much? Johnny checked Brice's pupils again. As he pulled away, he wrapped his fingers around the penlight and pressed his knuckles firmly into the man's sternum. That got a better groan, which pleased Johnny. Still not what he wanted, but better.

“Come on, Brice. Wake up, man.”

Johnny took a moment to scan his surroundings and saw that Linda had the small space cleared except for a couple of people she attended. The rest of them waited in the hall. He noted that the walls didn't reverberate any more and silently hoped that things were finally settling down in the arena. He returned to his work, getting a new set of vitals on Brice before calling Rampart. A phone sat on a nearby desk, the cord just long enough to reach the cot. Johnny dialed the number burned into his brain, and on the fourth ring, someone picked up.

“Rampart Emergency, Miss McCall speaking,” Dixie answered the phone.

Even Dixie's working! “Rampart, this is John Gage. I have a male, approximately 28 years old, the victim of a riot. He has a laceration on the back of his head and has been unconscious for about ten minutes.”

“Stand by, Johnny.” She handed the phone to Dr. Brackett. “It's Johnny. He has a victim of a riot.” She looked puzzled.

“A riot,” Brackett remarked with a hint of a smile. “A family argument gone awry?” Dixie shrugged. Brackett spoke into the receiver. “Johnny, repeat your information, please.”

“Rampart, BP is 120 over 70, pulse is 95, and respirations are 18.” He heard a soft moan coming from Brice, and added, “Patient is becoming alert, Rampart. Stand-by.” Johnny lowered the receiver to the floor beside his feet and turned to Brice.

The paramedic slowly opened his eyes and squinted. “What…where am I?” He turned his head, wincing at the pain, and locked onto Johnny. “Gage, what happened? Everything's blurry.”

“You lost your glasses in that riot. Do you remember what happened?”

“I don't know.” Brice brought a shaky hand to his forehead and gently pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ohhhh, my head really hurts.”

“Do you remember the riot?”

Brice turned his head slightly and winced. Not even the pain could help him remember. “Riot?” He moved his head again and winced at the sharp pain. “What happened to me?”

Johnny placed a calming hand on Brice's chest. “Okay, hang in there. You're gonna be all right.” Johnny picked up the phone. “The patient is conscious but unable to recall the event.”

“Ten-four. Administer an IV, D5W, 4 liters O2, and transport as soon as possible.”

“Ten-four, Rampart. Be advised that this is a Code I.”

“Code I? Johnny, is it Roy?”

“Negative. It's Brice.” Johnny continued, “There's an ambulance here, Rampart. We'll be transporting soon.”

Brackett recovered from his surprise and replied, “Ten-four.”

Along with the attendants and a gurney, two paramedics poked their heads into the room. “Hey Johnny, you got lucky to work this freak show.”

Johnny finished setting up the IV as the two paramedics approached.

“How's he doing?”

"Hey, Bill, Jim," replied Johnny as he went to the sink to wash off his hands. "He'll be okay." "Can you relieve Linda?” asked Johnny. “She's been helping me with these people. In fact, we're gonna get out of here and let you guys handle the rest. Right, Linda?”

"Right," smiled Linda.

“Thanks a lot, Johnny.” Bill snorted as he passed his fellow paramedic and took over Linda's patient. “You're a real prince.”

“So what's it like out there? Sounds like it's settling down.”

“Yeah. It's getting pretty quiet. I talked with a deputy and he said they're counting over 20 people arrested so far,” Jim informed him. “And can you believe it? They're planning on finishing the game!”

Bill turned from his first patient and laughed. “These hockey fans sure are crazy, aren't they?”

“Yeah, tell me about it. This whole thing's been pretty weird.” After the attendants carefully lifted Brice and placed him on the gurney, they moved out.

“You take care of yourself, Craig,” Linda said and gently squeezed his hand. “I'll come by tomorrow and see you, okay?” He nodded as she released him. Looking up at Johnny, she added with a smile, “I know you're in good hands.”

Johnny watched Brice's reaction. The paramedic nodded and met his gaze before the attendants pulled the gurney out of the first aid station, and Johnny followed.

* * * * * * * *

“Hey, Dix,” Johnny greeted the nurse sitting at the desk outside the exam room where Dr. Morton attended to Brice.

“Johnny!” Dixie smiled broadly in greeting. “I thought for sure you'd be taking the day off, spending it with Roy and his family.”

”I would've, except Roy's mother-in-law is visiting.”

“Ah, no need to explain further.” The two shared a laugh. “But, I have to wonder which is the lesser of two evils; Roy's mother-in-law or Craig Brice.”

“Hey now, he's not that bad!” Dixie raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Johnny continued. “Really! He was pretty helpful at the hockey game. If Brice hadn't been there, I wouldn't have known what was going on half the time. It was actually kind of fun…until the riot started.”

Johnny and Dixie conversed for a few minutes until Dr. Morton emerged from the room and approached them. He made a quick note in a chart and placed it in the rack.

“Well, Doc, is he gonna live?” Johnny gave the doctor a crooked smile.

“He'll be fine. Nothing a little rest won't cure. He's very lucky he didn't break anything, just bruised his ribs.”

“What about the head injury?”

Morton smiled at Johnny's obvious concern. "A slight concussion and a laceration. I stitched him up and we'll keep him overnight, just to be sure."

“That's good.” Johnny spoke with a genuine tone of relief that surprised both the doctor and nurse. They knew that ordinarily neither man cared much for the other. He astonished them again by asking, “Mind if I go in?” He pointed toward the door.

“Go ahead. He's just waiting for transport to a room.”

“Thanks.”

Morton and Dixie watched the paramedic, shaking their heads in disbelief.

When Johnny entered the room, Brice heard the soft squeaking of the door and took his attention off the ceiling, carefully turning his head toward his visitor. “Gage. I'm surprised you're still here.”

“Well, I was waiting to hear how you were doing. You, uh, had me worried for a bit there.” Johnny smiled, suddenly feeling awkward. Being concerned about Brice was a new thing for him.

Brice nodded slightly. Any major movement hurt his head. “I suppose you'll be glad to be working with someone else the rest of the evening.”

“Actually, if I have to go back to the game, I'd rather be there with somebody who really knows what's going on. Maybe I'll get lucky, but I wouldn't bet on getting partnered up with a guy as knowledgeable about hockey as you.”

Brice closed his eyes briefly, touched by Johnny's compliment. “I… I really appreciate the vote of confidence, but it doesn't look like I'll be getting out of here in time. Sorry.”

”Yeah.” Johnny thought for a moment before speaking. “You know, I'd still like to go to a game with you.” He grinned and took a step closer to the exam table. “Maybe we could do a foursome, me and Roy, and you and Bob. It'll be fun.”

“Not Bellingham,” Brice moaned and closed his eyes. “Anyone but him!”

“I meant Belliveau,” Johnny answered with a chuckle. “You've been abused enough.” He paused and watched Brice's guarded reaction. “Really, we should do a guys' hockey night. Whadd'ya say?”

Brice eyed Johnny doubtfully. He'd never been invited on any off-duty outings before. It made him feel good to know he was being considered, even if it was only because of his hockey expertise. But he had to start somewhere, so.... “Sure. That sounds like an excellent plan. When I get out of here, I'll consult the hockey schedule and see what will be compatible with our shift.”

“All right!”

Dixie entered the room and smiled at the two men. They seemed to be getting along okay, which she was glad to see. “Craig, we'll be moving you to another room in a few minutes.” Brice nodded gingerly as Dixie turned her attention to Johnny. “And you, the ambulance is ready to take you back to HQ and pick up your new partner.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks, Dix.” Johnny reached out and patted Brice's shoulder. “Duty calls. I'll see ya later..., Craig.”

“Thanks for sticking around, John. Let me know who won, will you?”

Johnny gave him a lopsided grin. “You bet. Later!”

* * * * * * * *

Johnny stared at the man who waited beside the familiar sports car. “Roy! What are you doing here?”

Roy answered with a grin. “I heard you needed a partner, and I had to get away from my mother-in-law. It worked out just great.” The grin widened and a sly look crossed Roy's face. “So, what'd you do to Brice, anyway?”

”Me?” Johnny frowned. “I didn't do anything. He got stuck in a riot! Man, Roy, you wouldn't believe the night we had!”

“Come on. You can tell me all about it on the way to the arena.” Roy had heard how wild the crowd could get at a hockey game, so he was less than thrilled with throwing himself into the lion's den. However, when it came down to spending any more time with Joanne's mother, a stressed-out wife, and two rambunctious kids bouncing off the walls, he figured it had to be safer at the game.

Johnny enthusiastically related to Roy his adventure with Brice at the hockey game. As the tale grew more colorful, Roy looked even less sure about taking on this assignment. Johnny grinned, trying to put him at ease. “Despite all that, I had a really great time. We've already talked about it, Craig and I. We're gonna organize a guys' night out to a hockey game.”

“You're what...?” Roy gaped at him. “Did you get a puck to the head? I thought you hated Brice!”

Johnny winced. “Oh Roy, hate is such a strong word.” His look softened and he continued. “He and I just... well, we have different philosophies about things, that's all. I'm starting to see he's not such a bad guy. He's a real hockey whiz, and he taught me about the rules and stuff.”

“I bet he was real good at that,” Roy declared with an amused tone, then sobered. “There's one thing that would bother me about a hockey night with Brice. He'll educate us about the rules, which is okay with me, but then he'll start spouting statistics and go right over our heads.”

“He didn't do that tonight.” Johnny frowned. “Come on, Roy! Where's your sense of adventure?”

Roy didn't answer. He looked through the ambulance window at the darkened arena. “Hey, looks like the game's over.” He tried to keep the relief out of his voice.

Johnny glanced at his watch. “Well, if they had another riot, there'd still be people here. There are only three periods in a hockey game, right?”

“Don't look at me,” Roy answered. “The only thing I know is that a bunch of guys in goofy looking outfits and wearing knives on their feet, carry clubs and shoot a rock-solid slab of rubber around the ice at 95 miles an hour.”

Johnny chuckled and added, “It's called a puck, Roy. You know they freeze those things before a game? And they keep extra ones on ice until they need 'em.”

“You're kidding!” said Roy in surprise.

“Brice told me that. Keeps 'em from bouncing, I guess.”

Roy shook his head. “Johnny, listen to yourself. You're starting to sound like him with all the facts and trivia. God forbid we get the two of you together again.”

Johnny only laughed and playfully slapped Roy's shoulder. “I guarantee it'll be fun. I mean, if I could enjoy myself with Brice, anybody can!” He grinned.

The ambulance driver opened the door and poked his head inside. “The game's over, so we're gonna get you guys back to headquarters.”

As the ambulance pulled away from the arena, Johnny sighed and stretched. “So Roy, what are you gonna do now, go home?”

Roy hesitated. “Would you mind if I hung out at your place for awhile? Joanne promised me her mother would be gone by ten o'clock.”

“Sure. Hey, maybe we can find a hockey game on TV!”

Roy frowned. “Didn't you have enough tonight?”

“It was fun, except for the fighting.” Johnny suddenly turned thoughtful. “I wonder who won. Guess I'll have to check the score in tomorrow's paper, though it sure would have been nice to see it first-hand. Next time we'll see the whole thing. “ Johnny grinned confidently.

“We? I never said anything about going to a game.”

“Some day, you'll go and you'll see. It'll be a lot of fun.” Johnny opened the ambulance doors as the vehicle came to a complete stop outside headquarters and jumped down. “Trust me, Roy. You'll have the time of your life!” As he sauntered to his Rover, Johnny whistled a tune he heard at the game.

Roy watched him, shook his head, and trotted to catch up with his partner. Johnny could get some strange ideas in his head sometimes, and this one ranked right up there.

The End