This Old House

                                                                                                                                         

By: Kenda

                                      

                         

     *The This Old House trilogy was the grand prize winner in a tandem contest sponsored by Tigger’s E! Site, Junior’s Journals, and Squad 51, Where Are You?  Parts 2 and 3 of This Old House are posted in Kenda’s Emergency! Library.

 

 

 

 

     Johnny Gage slithered on his back across the cool dirt of the crawl space.  There wasn’t more than eight inches of space between his nose and the floor of the ‘handy-man’s special’ Chet Kelly had moved into a month earlier.

 

     Handy-man’s special my ass.  Geez, if Chet was such a handy-man he’d be the one on his back in a tiny, dark space full of spiders and mice, not me.

 

     “Hey, Gage!  Have you spotted that rattler I’ve been tryin’ to shoo out of there for the past couple weeks?”

 

     “What!”  Johnny forgot about his confined quarters as his head shot from the ground.  “Ouch!  Damn you, Kelly!”

 

     The paramedic could hear Chet laughing.  On the heels of the laughter came Marco’s scolding.

 

     “Chet, knock it off.  You know how much he hates snakes.  Especially since he got bit last year.  He’s doing you a favor so put a lid on it.”

 

     Thank God for Marco, Johnny thought as he rubbed the bump on top of his forehead.  When Roy isn’t around I can at least count on Marco to be the voice of reason where Chet’s concerned.

 

     As quickly as Johnny’s anger came over Chet’s joke it left him.  Which was normal for the dark headed paramedic.  He finished slinking to the opening of the crawl space and stuck a hand out into the muggy July air. 

 

     “Chet, hand me that pipe wrench, will ya’?”

 

     “You got it.” 

 

     Metal clanged together in the toolbox, then Johnny felt the heavy wrench being placed in his outstretched hand.  He caught a glimpse of Chet’s face as the man hunkered down on his knees.

 

     “How’s it lookin’ in there, Gage?”

 

     “Dark.”

 

     “Ha, ha.”

    

     “It looks fine.  If you’d lay off with the bad jokes I might actually have this done before the afternoon ends.”

 

     “Really?”

     “Really.”

 

     “I gotta hand it to ya’, Johnny, there’s not much you can’t do when it comes to fixing up a fixer-upper.”

 

     “Funny thing about that, Chet.  I’ve noticed there’s not much you can do when it comes to fixing up your fixer-upper.”

 

     “True. But the beauty of that is, I’m learnin’ from the best, Johnny Boy.  I’m learnin’ from the best.”

 

     Johnny rolled his eyes as he fitted the pipe wrench over the first clamp. 

 

     “Flattery will get you nowhere, Kelly.  However, the promise of a large pizza and some cold beer might convince me to finish what I’ve started.”

 

     “That’s a promise I’ll make.  And hey, Johnny, I really do appreciate all the help you’re givin’ me.  Really.”

 

     “Ah, stow the sentiment, Kelly.  It doesn’t become you,” Johnny said as he worked.  “If you want to thank me you’ll tell me the Phantom got left behind when we moved you out of your apartment.”

 

     “In your dreams, Gage.  In your dreams.”

 

     Johnny barely heard Marco’s stage whisper.

    

     “Chet, if you want Johnny’s help with this place I think the Phantom better leave him alone for a while.”

 

     “I’ll second that!”  Johnny shouted from his tomb.

 

     “Well...considering the circumstances, you and the Phantom might be able to strike a deal, Gage.”

 

     “Considering what circumstances?”

     “That you promise you’ll help me rewire on our next off-shift, then replace the bathroom fixtures after that, then put new shingles on the roof, and once that’s done you could show me how to tile the kitchen floor, and then I’d like to replace all the windows, and after that I’d like to--”

 

     “Kelly, why the hell didn’t you just buy a new house?”

 

     “That wouldn’t be any fun.  I can’t fix up a new house.”

 

     “No kidding.  You can’t even fix up an old house.”

 

     Johnny didn’t pay any attention to whatever smart aleck reply Chet made.  He was enjoying himself far more than he was letting on, and he suspected Chet knew that.  John Gage had grown up on a ranch.  His father was truly a jack-of-all-trades like most ranchers are.  At a young age Johnny was handing his father whatever tools were necessary to complete jobs that ranged from stringing barbed wire fence to framing up the house the Gage family would eventually live in.  John’s father was everything from carpenter, to electrician, to plumber.  Which was how Johnny found himself in Chet’s crawl space installing new water pipes.

    

     Chet’s two bedroom bungalow was fifty-four years old.  While solidly built, Johnny doubted anything had been updated since the home’s completion in 1921.  The Station 51 A-shift crew had been offering Chet assistance whenever they could.  By virtue of Johnny and Marco being single, they had more time to spend helping Chet than Cap, Roy, or Mike.  Besides, it was Johnny who had the skills necessary to get some of the more detailed work done.  The rest of the guys could follow his instructions, but none of them had the experience he did in such a wide variety of home maintenance areas.

 

     For the next three hours Marco and Chet handed Johnny whatever he requested.  It was late afternoon when he finally emerged through the square opening no larger than a basement window.  He squinted as the summer sun assaulted his eyes.

 

     “Okay, Chester B., that should do it.  Next step after this, - new bathroom.”

 

     “Great, Johnny.  Thanks.  Like I said, I really appreciate your help.”

 

     Johnny brushed at the dirt that clung to the back of his blue, short sleeve work shirt while Marco secured the crawl space’s wooden door over its opening.

 

     “Don’t grovel, Chet.  It doesn’t become you.”

 

     “I’m not groveling.  I really do appreciate your help.  I never knew you could do stuff like this.”

 

     “Stuff like what?”

     “Plumbing, carpentry, electrical work...hell, Johnny, you could take an old house and make it look brand new.  You know, maybe you should think about that.  After all, you aren’t gonna be a paramedic forever.  Maybe you could open your own business.  Even have your own TV show.”

 

     “My own TV show?”

 

     “Yeah.  Sure.  You know...some kind of home remodeling show like you’d see on PBS.”

 

     “Chet, no one watches PBS except the preschoolers who catch Sesame Street every day.  Besides, who the hell in their right mind would wanna sit down and watch a show about remodeling a house?”

 

     “I don’t know. Guys like me I guess.  Guys who want to learn how to do the work themselves.  You could call it...Home Improvement.  Or...Tool Time.  Or how about This Old House?”

    

     “This Old House,” Marco said as he latched the tool box, then lifted it.  “I like that.”

 

     “Me, too,” Chet agreed.  “This Old House with John Gage as your host.  Pretty nifty idea, huh, Johnny?  And then maybe you could even get a sponsor like Craftsmen Tools.  And then you’d get all your tools free, and get free tools for your friends, too.  And hey, me and Marco, and Roy, Cap, and Mike could all make appearances as your helpers.”

 

     “Chet, that’s just about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of.  It sounds about as exciting as spending a Sunday afternoon watching golf.”  Johnny slapped the dirt off the legs of his faded Wranglers, then walked toward the front of the house.  “I’m gonna get washed up, then you can make good on that pizza and beer you promised me.”

 

     “Sure, Gage.  Sure.”

 

     Chet took the toolbox from Marco.  The two men headed for the one car garage that sat at the back of the property. 

 

     “You know, it is a good idea,” Chet said.  “I bet a lot of guys would watch something called This Old House.”

 

     “Probably.  But evidently not Johnny.”

 

     “Geez, just when I have an idea that’s bound to rake in the bucks Gage goes and ruins it for me.”

 

     “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself there, Chet.  A good idea is one thing. Selling it to a TV show producer is another.”

 

     “Still, it had potential.”

 

     “I guess.  But for now let’s just worry about your old house.   And if you want any more work done on your old house you’d better feed Johnny.  You know how he gets if he misses a meal.”

 

     “Yeah.  Downright unbearable.”

 

     “Exactly.”

 

     The two men exited the garage.  They headed for the back door intent on doing exactly what Johnny was, washing up before going out for supper.

 

     “Hey, Marco, you got thirty bucks you can loan me?”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “I’m a homeowner now, man.  It’s not like I’ve got a lot of extra cash layin’ around you know.”

 

     “Chet...”

    

     “Come on, just until pay day.  I’ll pay you back then, I promise.”

 

     Marco sighed as he pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. 

    

     “Chet, it’s a wonder you have any friends.”

 

     “At least I was smart enough not to ask Gage if I could borrow money.”

 

     “At least.  I think that would have been pushing it after that little rattlesnake joke and all.”

 

     “Yeah, but the beauty of Gullible Gage is, he probably would have given it to me.”

 

     Marco didn’t consider Johnny nearly as gullible as he considered him big hearted.  Before he had the opportunity to debate that with his friend Johnny came out of the house bare chested and carrying his dirty shirt.  His arms, face, neck, and hands were now free of crawl space dirt.

 

     “Come on, you guys, I’m starving.”

 

     “What else is new?”  Chet wise-cracked.

 

     “Hey, Chester B., I’d advise you to shut your mouth around the This Old House guy unless you really want this to continue to be an old house.”

 

     “Geez, Gage...no Phantom. No smart aleck remarks.  You’re reducing me to just another sissy firefighter here.”

 

     “Maybe so, but at least my life will be calm and quiet for the next few weeks.”

 

     “Yeah, and mine will be boring.”

 

     Before the two men could become embroiled in another round of Gage/Kelly bickering, Marco pushed Chet into the house. 

 

     “Hurry up, Chet.  I’m with Johnny.  Let’s eat.”

 

     “Okay, okay.   I’m hurrying. I’m hurrying.  Geez, Marco, you’d think you were payin’ for this supper or something,” was the last thing Johnny heard as he walked to his Land Rover to exchange his dirty shirt for a clean one.

 

_________________________________

 

     Monday morning found the men of A-shift reporting for duty after their weekend off.  Chet was bringing Roy and Mike up to date on his house when Johnny walked into the locker room.

 

     “And there he is now.  John The Tool Man Gage.”

 

     The remark garnered Chet nothing more than a tight smile as Johnny passed the man on his way to his locker.   Without joining the conversation the dark haired paramedic started changing into his uniform.  He didn’t know how many times Chet hailed him before he finally turned around.  Johnny could tell by the puzzled look on Roy’s face, though, that Chet had called his name more than once.

 

     “Huh?  What you’d say, Chet?”

     “I was telling Roy and Mike that I think you’ve found your calling when you retire from the department.”

 

     “My calling?”

 

     “Yeah.  Remodeling homes.”

 

     “Oh.”

 

     “And hey, what about the idea for the TV show?”

 

     “What TV show?”  Mike asked.

 

     “I had this great idea, only Johnny thinks it’s stupid.  But it’s not.  See, he could...”

 

     God, I wish he’d shut up.

 

     Johnny wasn’t even sure where that thought came from as he put a foot on the bench and began tying his shoe.  Leaning forward to accomplish that job only increased the pounding in his skull.

 

     “So anyway, Gage said it sounds as boring as watching golf on a Sunday afternoon.”

 

     “It does,” Mike agreed.

 

     “No, it doesn’t.  Listen, all a guy would have to do is buy an old house like mine, get a camera crew together and...”

 

     Shut up, shut up, shut up...

 

     “Shut up!  Jesus, Chet, don’t you ever shut your mouth!”

 

     Johnny was immediately sorry he’d released the anger he didn’t even know existed.  Chet looked like a puppy someone had just tossed from a car.

 

     The paramedic heaved a sigh while resisting the urge to massage his aching temples. 

 

     “Look, Chet, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean that.  I just...I’m tired today.”

 

     “Sure,” Chet nodded, though Johnny could hear the hurt and embarrassment in his voice.  “Sure, I understand.  Hey, you did me a favor by working around my place yesterday.  Guess if anyone’s entitled to tell me to shut up it’s you.”

 

     “No...I...”

 

     “Forget it, John.  It’s no big deal.”

 

     But Johnny could tell it was a big deal as Chet left the locker room.  Once again Johnny found himself wishing he was more like the reserved Mike Stoker who never seemed to say or do anything wrong.  The big man gave Johnny a small smile the paramedic couldn’t read before exiting the locker room in search of Chet.  Johnny wished Roy would leave as well, but he didn’t.  A long moment of silence passed before the blond man spoke.

 

     “You okay?”

 

     “I knew you were going to ask me that,” Johnny said as he turned to get his pen off his locker shelf and stick it in his shirt pocket.

 

     “It’s just not like you to snap at Chet like that.  To snap at anyone like that.”

 

     Johnny couldn’t prevent the surly tone that added itself to his voice.    

 

     “I’m sorry, Mr. DeSoto.  If you want me to write sentences on the blackboard in-between runs I will.”

 

     “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today, but you don’t have to take it out on me.”

 

     Again, Johnny sighed.  He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his fingers over his temples.

 

     “No, I don’t.  And I apologize.  Like I told Chet, I’m tired.”

 

     “Do you have a headache?”

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     “Did you take some aspirin?”

 

     Johnny’s head shot up.  His brown eyes turned black with fury.

 

     “Yes, I took some aspirin!  Geez, Roy, do you think I’m some kind of idiot who doesn’t know when he needs to take...”

 

     Roy held up his hands in surrender as he stood. 

 

     “I can see it’s gonna be a long enough shift as it is.  Why don’t we just call a truce.  I won’t ask you how you’re feeling. if you promise not to bite my head off.”

 

     Knowing his partner as well as he did meant Roy was surprised when his remark didn’t earn him an apology.  Sick or not, it was unusual for Johnny not to be contrite if he knew he was at fault over something that was causing tension between the two of them.  But all he did now was nod his head.

 

     “Okay, fine,” Roy said when he could see this was the only answer he was going to receive.  “You hold up your end of the bargain and I’ll hold up mine.  See ya’ at roll call.”

 

     Again, Johnny nodded.  He was glad when he heard the locker room door shut, the sound indicating he was finally alone.  He sank to the bench on shaky legs and found himself clutching the smooth wood in order to keep from toppling to the floor.  The room spun around the paramedic as a wave of nausea washed over him.

 

     I musta picked that flu bug up from Jennifer and Chris last week when I was at Roy’s house helping him paint.              

 

     Johnny wasn’t certain what kept his breakfast in his stomach that morning, he was simply happy his Cornflakes stayed where they belonged.  Before he had a chance to assemble with the other guys for roll call the klaxons sounded. 

Both the engine crew and the squad were summoned to a structure fire.  As Johnny raced from the locker room he thought about how good it would feel to be back in bed right about now.   He glanced at the wall clock as he climbed into his seat.

 

     Only twenty-four hours to go and we’re off-duty again.  No matter how lousy I feel I guess it can make it through a mere twenty-four hours.

 

     If Johnny hadn’t felt so much like puking, he might have actually found his sarcasm funny.

 

 

_________________________________

 

     Roy watched as his partner ricocheted around Rampart’s supply room.  Dixie glanced up from her clipboard.  The look on her face was no different from the look on Roy’s, a cross between amusement and irritation.

 

     “Johnny, I’ve told you before,” the woman scolded,  “lay off the Coco Puffs for breakfast.  The last thing you need in your system is sugar.  How did your teachers ever get you to sit still in school?”

     “Don’t know,” Johnny replied with a frantic edge to his tone.  He flitted around the supply room grabbing things from the shelves.  Just as quickly Dixie would grab them back.

 

     “Put those down!  You know I have to check everything off before you take it.”

 

     Roy could tell Dixie was rapidly losing her patience with Johnny’s childish antics.  He flicked his head to the door.

 

     “Johnny, why don’t you got track down that nurse you wanted to ask for a date.  I’ll finish up in here with Dixie.”

 

     “You got yourself a deal, Pally!” 

 

     Johnny patted Roy on the arm as he flew past him.  Dixie rolled her eyes after the excitable paramedic.

 

     “He’s sure wound up this morning.”

 

     “Sometimes.”

 

     “Pardon?”

 

     “He came into work crabbier than all get out.  Just about took Chet’s head off, and was ready to have mine for dessert.”

 

     “That doesn’t sound like Johnny.  Well...maybe where Chet’s concerned, but certainly not you.”

 

     “I could tell he had a headache, but then we got called out to a fire.  He was fine there.  Or at least in the sense that he did his job with his usual efficiency.  But after we were headed here for the supplies he got like he is now.  Hyper.  Like my kids get when they’ve had too much candy.”

 

     “So, do you think he had too much candy?”  Dixie asked with a smile as she handed four bags of Ringers Lactate to Roy.  “Or coffee perhaps?”

 

     “Actually, I haven’t seen him eat or drink anything all morning.  Which, come to think of it, is unusual for Johnny.  Especially where the coffee is concerned.”

 

     “Maybe Johnny’s simply feeling better and this is his way of releasing all that pent-up Gage energy.”

 

     “Maybe.  Gee, Dix, it was bad enough when I thought I was gonna have to put up with a crabby Johnny all shift.  But now? A hyperactive Johnny?  I don’t know if I’ll make it until eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

 

     Dixie laughed at Roy’s hangdog expression. 

 

     “You’ve survived a hyperactive Johnny before.  Somehow I have a feeling you’ll survive him again.”

 

     “I suppose.  But not without wanting to kill him first.”

 

     “True.  But, Roy, it’s your differences that make the two of you such a great team.  And my favorite paramedics.  Don’t do anything drastic to the other half of that team.”

 

     “Would gagging him be considered drastic?”

     Dixie glanced out the glass pane that made up half of the supply room’s door.  She saw Johnny talking a mile a minute to a young nurse.  The look on the nurse’s face said she’d appreciate any excuse to get away from him.

 

     “I doubt Sherry would think so.”  Dixie piled the rest of the supplies in Roy’s arms.  “Here.  Let’s get you guys checked out, then you can collect your partner before my entire nursing staff is hiding in the janitor’s closet.”

 

     “Can I hide with them?”

     Roy’s only answer was a laugh. 

 

_________________________________

 

 

     Johnny paced the kitchen floor as Marco made lunch.  Roy looked up from where he was writing in the log book to see Johnny tugging on the front of his shirt.

 

     “Johnny?  Something wrong?”

 

     “Hot.”

 

     “What?”

 

     “I’m hot.”

    

     “Then get away from the stove.”

 

     “I’m hot.”

 

     “I know.  You already told me.  And I said get away from the stove and you won’t be so hot.”

 

     “I’m hot.”

 

     Marco turned around from where he stood browning ground beef for tacos. 

He cocked a puzzled eyebrow at Roy.

 

     Roy started to stand, only to have Johnny brush by him.

 

     “I’m going outside.”

 

     “Good idea,” Roy said.  He watched until his friend disappeared out the back door.  “A little fresh air might be just what you need.”

 

     As Roy recorded their two morning runs in the log he heard the basketball bouncing on the black top.

 

     Good.  Maybe he’s finally found a way to work off that excess energy.  He’s been driving me crazy ever since we got back here. 

 

     That thought no more than ran through Roy’s mind than Chet stomped through the door.

 

     “What the hell is with Gage?”

 

     “What do you mean?”

 

     “I mean I just asked him if I could shoot hoops with him and he told me to go screw myself.”

 

     “Ah, Chet,” Marco said,  “he was probably just teasing you.”

 

     “No, he wasn’t.  He damn near hit me in the head with the ball.  He would have if I hadn’t ducked.  It was just like this morning in the locker room.”

 

     Before Roy could ask Chet any questions Cap and Mike appeared from the engine bay.

 

     “What was just like this morning in the locker room?”  Hank Stanley asked.

 

     Despite Chet’s anger, he didn’t want to get Johnny in trouble with their boss.  The fire department had a strict code of conduct regarding behavior.  Chet didn’t want Johnny getting written up because he’d been a nark.

 

     “Nothing, Cap.  Nothing.”

 

     Hank looked at Roy who merely shrugged.  When Hank looked at Mike the engineer shrugged, too.  “I don’t know what’s goin’ on, Cap.”  

     “You know, sometimes you guys remind me of my kids when they were little.  You’re ready to kill each other one minute, but heaven forbid you’d be disloyal to one another the next.”

 

     When his men remained silent Captain Stanley let the subject drop.  He walked over to the stove.

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