Work Text:
John winced, pulling away from the antiseptic being applied to his cheek with a cotton ball.
"Agh, c'mon, that hurts." He complained to his partner. He almost pouted as he rubbed at the cheek with his hand.
Roy immediately grabbed his hand and lowered it. "Well, if you'd let me finish clean--"
"--yeah, yeah, wouldn't hurt as much." John steeled himself again for the stinging pain, adding a mumbled "except nothing can fix my pride."
He'd much rather it be cleaned in an exam room, away from anyone who could hear him. Why over at the base station!? It had to be some kind of cruel joke.
"So, do I have to ask for the story?" Dixie was watching the two interact, completely amused. She had just sat back down and needed to know the story.
"I'd rather you not."
Roy led in and started recounting the details, speaking over a tired groan from his partner.
It seemed to be just a routine small fire at an apartment building. Small fires happened a lot, since the county had millions of people living in it. Kitchen fires, grill fires, fires from cigarettes. They were just a fact of life.
In this specific case, it was an old lady who had incorrectly attempted to put out a grease fire with water. Oil is heavier than water, and water instantly vaporizes on contact with the grease. The result was a massive flame that was close enough to the roof to catch it on fire.
Luckily though, the old lady lived fairly close to a fire station. Due to a speedy arrival and fast attack, the fire was put out without causing major damage. Unfortunately, the roof needed to be poked and checked for hotspots.
The old lady and her granddaughter, naturally, needed to be helped out and checked for injuries. The granddaughter had alerted John and Roy that her grandmother was getting senile, and might be a bit defensive when she woke up.
A little oxygen later, and she did indeed wake up. With vigor. On her feet, mask torn off, she had pointed a boney finger at Roy and accused him of being a thief and breaking into her home. Odd, because they weren't inside the apartment, they were very much outside.
The next few moments were witnessed by nearly everyone. The old lady had tried to grab at the paramedic, but John quickly hopped in front of Roy to shield him from anything. At that moment, John was punched square in the face by said old lady and sent sprawling to the ground.
"...so, an 80-year-old grandmother, probably weighing no more than 100 pounds, took out junior here." Roy nodded John's way, his partner fully red in the face.
John tried to get out a half-hearted defense of himself, but ended up tumbling over his words. Dixie barely contained her laughter and professionalism.
She leaned forward instead, shooting the paramedic a large smirk. "Well, there's no strength like a senile grandmother."
Roy finished cleaning the wound on John's cheek, wiping it dry before he turned around and tossed the remains. John proceeded to rub the cheek again, obviously embarrassed.
"She had some sharp nails...well, more like talons." He finished with a crooked smile.
The three shared a light laugh. John let out a breath and made a face, slipping his hands into his pockets.
His expression fell. Something was off. His right hand shot to his breast pocket.
It wasn't there.
"Oh, oh no." He finally spoke. "My pen's missing."
At his partner's expression, Roy picked up on his energy and was immediately concerned. Upon John's explanation, he relaxed slightly.
"Well, maybe it fell off in the squad." He suggested.
No, that wasn't possible. John had dropped his pen before in the squad. It had happened enough times that he knew all the potential landing spots. Besides, it stood out because of its green color. He would've spotted it.
Maybe he dropped it at Rampart? He didn't recall having it there either. It had to be...
"Maybe it fell off at the apartment somewhere?" John frowned. That could mean inside or outside.
Roy landed a hand on his shoulder and brought him back to reality, out of his worsening thoughts. "Hey, it's around somewhere. We'll find it."
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The green pen, with the gold clasp. John's staple item at work, religiously carried around. It always adorned his breast pocket, from the time he put on his work shirt to the time he took it off and hung it up.
One wouldn't think a person could become attached to something as simple and forgettable as a plain pen. John, though, wasn't just a person. It wasn't just a pen. It was the pen he had used to sign up for the paramedic training class, all the way back in 1972. He had plucked it from Roy's desk, signed his name, and then proceeded to walk out with it, forgetting to return it.
From then, he just...started carrying it. Then he started using it at work. It had been through three ink cartridge changes. It had been cleaned multiple times. It was very much a part of him.
And now, it was nowhere to be seen.
As soon as John got back to the station, he bypassed any ribbing from the crew about his takedown by a grandmother. Despite knowing it wasn't in the squad, he checked anyway.
Entering into the bay from his office, Hank pulled up short, stopping at the sight of John…or at least part of John. He was hanging half-out of Roy's side of the squad, his grumbles clearly heard.
He didn't really react, except in mild intrigue with a few confused blinks. It wasn't exactly unusual for John. Heck, he had done much stranger things. Scrounging around the cabin of the squad was mild in comparison to other things.
At this point, over six years in, Hank learned to not ask questions and let it happen. Most of the time. He had once been asked by a fellow captain why his crew were the way they were. His response? "They all share the same few brain cells."
John let out a noise of frustration and wiggled his way out. He looked over his shoulder and flinched slightly at the sight of Hank silently watching him.
"Lost something?"
"Yeah Cap, my pen."
It was said with a hint of sadness, masked by frustration. Hank was about to suggest the paramedic take one of the several pens from the office, until he remembered John used the same one every shift.
John let out a sigh and slapped the squad's door with the back of his hand. "Thought it'd be in here, but no luck. It must've fallen off somewhere at the apartment."
Ah yes. Where Hank's youngest crew member got taken down by an old lady. Given the way John had been forced to the ground, chances were it fell off then.
Said paramedic suddenly jumped slightly, a sign that he had an idea.
"Hey Cap, d'you think we could--"
Hank placed his hands on his hips. "You aren't about to suggest we take the squad or engine and go look for a pen, correct?"
And there went the idea, as John visibly shrunk back down. "Yeah, I guess that...that is kind of a silly idea."
"Well, HQ would also consider that stealing. Sorry pal."
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Shortly after, once he realized the pen was likely to be back at the scene, John had swallowed down any worries and grabbed the most comparable pen he could find. He had plucked it from Hank's office, and though it didn't weigh the same and have the same satisfying click, it would have to do.
His plan was to head over there after work and search as best he could. Trouble was, that was nearly a day away, and anything could change or happen in between then.
Hours after the pen's disappearance, the squad was returning from a run. Kids and their ability to get digits stuck in any object never ceased to amaze the partners, in this case part of the neighbor's fence. A tiny section of it had to be cut to facilitate easy removal, and although the neighbor was upset, he was at least glad no one was seriously injured.
By then, the sun was setting in the county, casting the streets in vibrant reds and oranges. The squad rolled down a street, passing by mixed-use buildings and apartments. John lazily rested on his hand, staring out the window at the passing sights.
The county really did have the best sunsets. It highlighted all the little edges of the building. Cast long shadows of people walking on the sidewalk. Emphasized the odd back roads and--
John removed his head from his hand in realization. If they were on...then the road was...
"Wait a minute. Wait a minute. That apartment is two blocks away from here."
A smile grew on his face as he looked over at Roy. He glanced at John before looking back to the road.
"C'mon Roy, we're passing by. We're already available. If we need to head out, we can head out."
The squad slowed down slightly as it came upon the aforementioned crossroad.
"I'll hold you to that."
Roy turned onto the street and drove halfway down, stopping by the apartment. Part of it was still charred and black, with some of its residents likely displaced from smoke damage. Nothing else had changed, and the only place John could look was the sidewalk and road.
As they fully came to a stop next to the building, John grabbed the handle and practically jumped out of the squad.
"Two minutes, alright?"
"Two minutes."
John flashed his partner a crooked smile and a nod. With that, he was out and onto the sidewalk.
He thought back to the run and where they had taken the two patients. Away from the building, out to the right to avoid the hoses. He had fallen practically into the road, which meant...
John slowly walked along, eyes glued to the ground for any familiar-looking objects. Nothing popped out at him, and nothing was pen-shaped. He went a bit farther, just to check. The light of the sunset moved with him.
Something shined. John came to a dead stop and backed up. It shined again, off the sidewalk and against the curb. He crouched down to get a closer look, getting more excited.
There it was. Dirty, would probably need some cleaning, but that didn't stop its green color from popping out. He grabbed it with his pointer finger and thumb, holding it to his face. He twisted it around in his hand, before lowering it and looking back at the firey-red sunset.
He let out a breath of relief, tension and frustration rolling away. It wasn't a person, but it still mattered to him. No one was to be left behind.