Modus Moriendi
An Emergency! Slash Story
by Amedia

PAIRING: Johnny/Chet

RATING: This story carries the rating of "PG-13" for homoerotic content.

WARNING: DEATH STORY

Also, this fan fiction story is homoerotic in nature. If this offends you, please exit this website immediately. You must be 18 or over to view pages on this site.

DISCLAIMER: This story is written for pure pleasure and is not intended to infringe on any pre-existing copyrights.

COMMENTS should be directed to Amedia

SUMMARY:
When I saw Emergency's Greatest Rescues a little while ago, I saw the scene I had heard people talk about before, where Johnny and Roy discuss Chet as if Chet were dead. "No!" I said, "That doesn't happen!" In my happily little Johnny/Chet universe they go on bickering together into old age, thank you very much.

I'd been working on an idea for a story called Modus Vivendi in which Chet moves in with Johnny, which is supposed to be light and fun. But I kept having this image intrude where Chet agrees to move in with Johnny, and then is killed in a fire later the same day. And even though that's *not* how it's going to happen, the scene haunted me, and I couldn't think past that part of the story because of it.

So I "exorcised" it by writing it. Now I can go on with the story the way I want it to come out! I wasn't going to share this with anyone, but some friends who like death stories indicated an interest.

So please be warned, the following is a death scene. It's not a whole story, because I can't bear to write the rest of it. But it's not "incomplete," because I never am going to write the rest of it. This is all there is of this extrapolation.

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Johnny dropped to his knees by Chet's side. He could hear Roy's voice in the background, contacting Rampart, listing vitals, requesting morphine.

"Johnny," Roy said in a warning tone. Johnny looked up. Roy put his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Listen to me," he said gently. "Chet's lungs are seared. He's got maybe 30 seconds of consciousness left. But I'm sure he can still hear you."

Roy's words sank in. Johnny turned back to Chet. He pulled off Chet's glove, finding the hand nearly undamaged, and gripped it in his. "I love you, Chet," he said. He lifted Chet's hand and kissed the back of it, and then each finger. "I'm so glad you're moving in with me, Chet. I don't ever want you to leave." He pressed Chet's hand against his cheek. "I want to spend my life with you, Chet." He felt a weak answering grip as Chet squeezed his hand.

After a moment, Chet's grip slackened. Johnny looked over at Roy, who was listening carefully with the stethoscope. Roy shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Johnny," he said, his voice catching. Johnny laid Chet's hand down on his chest, releasing it reluctantly. Roy reached for another blanket, tore open the plastic wrap, and carefully covered Chet's body. He repacked and closed the drug and trauma boxes. "He'll have to be pronounced at Rampart. Do you want me to ask Cap if we can both ride in with him?"

"Yes, please," Johnny managed to say.

He could hear bits of their conversation, "...needs to be with Chet... shouldn't be alone," he thought he heard from Roy.

"--squad from Station 18 should be here in a minute, they can take over at the scene--" that was Cap's voice.

Then Roy was directing the ambulance drivers, who were lifting Chet onto a stretcher as gently as if he could still feel pain. Someone--Marco--was guiding Johnny over to the ambulance, boosting him up next to Roy. There were tears running down Marco's face; he made no effort to hide them.

Sitting in the ambulance next to Roy, Johnny tried not to look at the sheet-covered body. Chet loved to play jokes, he thought. Blotting out the memory of Chet's hopelessly scorched face, the last death-rattle of his breathing, Johnny tried imagining that Chet had enlisted Roy in an immense practical joke, and that when they reached Rampart, Chet would throw aside the blanket and sit upright, whole, undamaged, and laughing.

The image was so vivid he almost believed it. He didn't remember walking from the ambulance to the treatment room, but he saw vividly Dr. Brackett's face as he came in, sorrowful, prepared for tragedy. He half wondered whether the doctor would be angry when Chet sat up, or whether he'd laugh, too.

When Dr. Brackett turned the blanket down, Johnny saw again what he had worked so hard to forget, the undeniable truth that this was no joke. He made a choking, gasping sound and caught at Roy for support.

Johnny felt strong arms around him, and heard Roy murmuring, "It's all right, Johnny. You can cry if you want to." Roy stroked Johnny's hair. "It's all right." Johnny had been dry-eyed since the explosion; now he clung to Roy and sobbed.

THE END

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