"Wesley Michael Cox, you'd better get your bath now, young man!" Alice Cox shouted after knocking on the door to the bathroom. "If you want to go to the movie, then you'd better hurry."

Hearing his mother's tone of voice and her use of his full name, the seven-year old boy put down his GI Joe and finished undressing, then turned the water off. He was glad that his mother hadn't come in, she would never let him go anywhere if she knew that the water was now only inches from the top of the porcelain tub.

"I'll be done in a little bit, Mom," he answered. As soon as GI Joe had made his a parachute jump into the ocean. He put the rest of his toys into the water, then grabbed his hero and stepped up onto the side of the tub, straddling it with one foot on either side.

"Okay, Joe. You have to go in and save the treasure. Be careful," he told his green hero, who was completely decked out in full army gear and a makeshift parachute on his back. Holding his precarious balance, Wesley tossed the army man up and lost his footing. He beat the action hero into the water, striking his head on the faucet on the way down.

In the hallway, Alice listened to her son give his orders. She shook her head, a smile on her lips. The splash and crash against the tub that followed alerted her to trouble. "Wesley? Wesley, are you okay in there?" she called, coming back to the door. She tried to swallow the fear that started rising in her stomach. She opened the door when she didn't get a reply and she gasped when she saw her son face down and unmoving in the red-tinged water, his GI Joe lying across his back..

"WESLEY!" she screamed and ran to him, turning him over in the water. A large gash spanned his forehead. Alice pulled a towel off the rack over the commode and lay it on the floor, then placed her lifeless son on top of it. Giving him a quick kiss, she ran to the phone and dialed the fire department.

*scene break

"Squad 51, unknown type rescue. 1880 Mockingbird Rd. 1880 Mockingbird Rd. Time out, 845."

John Gage and Roy DeSoto raced to the truck from the kitchen, adrenaline supplying them with energy. Cap acknowledged the call, then handed a scrap of paper to Roy, who passed it to Johnny. Roy put the squad into gear and drove out of the bay. Their race through the streets brought them to a small subdivision. Each house was richly painted, yards held indications of children running rampant through the neighborhood.

A patrol car with its lights flashing was parked in front of the residence they'd been called to. Roy pulled into the driveway. He and Johnny gathered their equipment from the storage compartments and headed for the house.

A distraught woman was waiting for them, "Oh, please hurry. There's so much blood. Don't let my baby die."

"Where is he?" Johnny asked, keeping his voice calm and looking around for the officer as they entered the living room.

"John, Roy, we're in here," Vince Howard, an LA County Sheriff's officer yelled out, hearing the familiar voice.

The woman led them toward the bathroom, her hands clinched hands together. She hoped her husband would soon be home.

The scene was one from a horror movie, though both Roy and John had seen worse. A small boy, his body pale and lips blue, lay on the floor, only a towel preventing his skin from touching the tiled floor. Vince knelt beside him, doing mouth to mouth resuscitaion while ignoring the trickle of blood from the two inch gash on the boys head.

"Vince, let me get over there to the commode," Johnny said, trying to maneuver himself over without stepping on the child or officer. When he reached his destination, he watched as his partner positioned himself at the boy's head and checked for a pulse.

"It's weak and thready. Ma'am, how long was he in the water?" Roy asked, looking up at Alice from his crouched position.

While she explained how she had found her son and what she'd done before they arrived, Johnny checked the boy's blood pressure and heart rate while Vince continued to give life saving breaths.

Roy reached for the biophone and called for Rampart Hospital. "Rampart, this is Squad 51. How do you read?" Getting an acknowledgment from the hospital, Roy went on with his report. "We have a nine year-old male who fell into a tub of water. He's got an approximately four-inch gash to his forehead from hitting his head on the faucet spout. He's unconcious and we are providing rescue breathing at this time. Stand by for a strip, Rampart."

Flipping a switch on the biophone, a print out of the boy's heart pattern went to the hospital ER where the doctor could see the heart was in a slow rhythm.

"Squad 51," the Doctor answered back, "I'm reading sinus bradycardia. Intubate the patient with an esophageal airway. Start an IV with D5W at TKO. Continue to monitor the heart rate and transport as soon as possible."

Roy repeated the orders, then reached for an airway. Johnny connected clear tubing to a bag of fluids, then applied a tourniquet to the victim's arm, looking for a vein. Over the years, the two men had become very astute at guessing what the hospital would order and setting everything up in preparation of the order.

Letting the rhythm of the boy's heart run on the scope, Roy prepared to put the hard plastic tube down the boy's throat. Vince moved back, giving Roy room to work as the paramedic tilted the small head forward. After inserting the tube, he attached a bag to the end of the tube and gave Vince the bag with instructions to squeeze it once every five seconds. Sure his instructions were being followed, he looked over to Johnny who was adjusting the IV flow rate after having inserted a needle into the Wesley's skin.

Roy stood at the sound of the ambulance stretcher coming into the hall. "Okay, John. We need to go ahead and get him to the hospital. He turned to Alice, "We're taking him to Rampart General. You can ride with him."

"My husband is supposed…" A loud bass voice cut Alice off.

"Alice! What the hell is going on here?"

She ran to him and wrapped his arms around her. He looked from Roy to the ambulance stretcher where their son lay, fighting for his life.

"Mr. Cox," Roy started, "your son had an accident. We're doing everything we can for him. We're taking him to Rampart Emergency."

Nodding, the man moved over, never letting go of his wife as the stretcher rolled past them. Johnny took over on the ambu-bag, which was aiding in Wesley's breathing.

The parents followed the ambulance and rescue truck to the hospital, neither voicing their fears that Wesley not be coming home. Mr. Cox parked near the doors and both parents ran to the automatic doors, only catching a glimpse of their son being wheeled into a room. The door closing to seal them away from their son.

Minutes seemed like hours as the worried couple watched the clock. Finally, Roy came out of the treatment room.

"Excuse me, but can…can you tell me how he is?" Mr. Cox asked, his voice giving evidence of how worried he was.

Roy shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of how much to tell the father. Roy knew what the parents were going through. Not long ago the paramedic had brought his own son into the emergency department after the boy had been hit with a baseball. If it hadn't been for the fact Roy had known the doctors and nurses at the hospital, he doubted he'd have received much information on Chris's condition. "He's holding on. He's trying to breathe on his on. They're going to take some x-rays now. Doctor Early will be out with you in a minute."

A doctor walked up behind Roy, placing a hand on the paramedic's shoulder. "I'm Doctor Early. I heard you say you were Wesley's father, is that correct?"

Nodding eagerly and anxious for answers, Michael felt the blood drain from his face. "He-He's not dead, is he?"

"No. Right now we are…,"

Roy left Doctor Early and the distraught father, watching as the wife joined them. He walked over to the base station and joined his partner who had been gathering supplies.

"Any word on the kid?" Johnny asked, stacking another bag of IV fluids onto the box of supplies and pushing his partner's hand out of the way when Roy tried to take some of the large bags.

Choosing to bow to Johnny's stubbornness rather than the Murphy's Law, Roy let the younger paramedic to pick up the box. He wasn't surprised when all three plastic bags of fluid fell to the floor.

Roy didn't offer to pick the bags up. Instead he answered Johnny's question, "He was trying to fight the ventilator. Doctor Early says there's a fairly good chance he'll make it. He'll be in the hospital for a while though."

"Well, at least he'll be alive," Johnny finished, giving his partner a glare for not helping pick up the dropped bags.

"Yeah," Roy turned, then stopped as the tones for a call came through on his walkie-talkie.

"Squad 51, man down. Corner of Wilkes and Elizabeth St. Time out: 1002."

"Squad 51, 10-4. Come on, Junior." Roy had no worries about his partner following him. He heard his partner's farewell to Head Nurse Dixie McCall then Johnny fell in step with Roy on the way to the squad.

They arrived at the address given to them, but didn't find a victim lying on the street or side walk. Roy parked the squad then he and Johnny got out, each checking the surrounding buildings for their sick or injured victim.

After asking several people in the surrounding buildings and receiving negatives, they returned to the squad. Taking one last look around, Roy noticed a station wagon with a man behind the wheel, reading a newspaper. Passing the driver off as the one who had made the call, Roy got in the squad.

"Man, it's starting too early. School only been out on break one day and we're already getting prank calls." Johnny pulled his helmet off and hung it on the peg behind him.

"Yeah, I can just see dummies in top of towers and being run over…,"

"And us having to work on them," Johnny finished, his face mirroring Roy's look of disgust.

The squad and engine company responded to several calls, including a girl stuck in a tree. She'd gone up to catch her kitten who'd climbed the tree tried to escape from the neighbors yapping poodle. The kitten managed to climb down when the coast was clear. The girl hadn't been so lucky.

Roy and John made their last run without the engine, only aided by Officer Howard. The hit and run turned out to be another prank. When they arrived at the scene, they found neither victim nor any witnesses to tell them where the victim had gone. After a diligent search, the three gave up, chalking it up to spring break. They didn't see the drab brown station wagon parked a block away.

Roy backed the squad into the bay beside Big Red. As he and Johnny exited, a bright light flashed on from the rear of the building, followed by a voice.

"Today, a seven year-old boy escaped certain death when bath time turned into possible death time. If it hadn't been for the actions of Officer Vince Howard and the two paramedics of this station, Wesley Cox might not be alive today."

Johnny came around, following the light and voice to the kitchen area where a television crew were filming. Stunned, Johnny shielded his eyes from the bright light.

"What's going on here?" Roy asked, looking from his Captain to the film crew and reporter.

The reporter made a motion with his hand, sliding a finger across his neck to the cameraman who turned off the heavy camera. "I'm Dick Patterson with WJMX, TV 3 Action News. When my boss told me about you two saving little Wesley, we decided to do a piece on you."

"Yeah, Roy. Seems Mr. Cox is the manager of the TV station. Mr. Patterson has been here waiting for you two to come back. Said you'd be on the evening news." Running his hand through his curly hair, Chet Kelly smiled as he explained the news crew's earning a glare from his Captain.

Dick Patterson smiled, "I'd like to interview you two now and then we're going over to the Carson station to talk with Officer Howard. Captain," he looked over to Hank Stanley's tall frame, "can we use your office? Then I'd like to get a few shots of all of you working together, OK?"

"Sure, be my guest," Hank answered, wanting to go call his wife and tell her to watch the news tonight. But not until the camera, reporter, and two paramedics left the room.

A dingy hotel had become the Struthers' home in the week after the fire. Daniel had been excused from school while he and his father buried their mother and wife and the charred remains of a three month-old baby.

Exhausted from the day's activities, Daniel lay asleep on one of the beds. His father watched the news on channel 3. When the interview with the men of Station 51 came on, Daniel was awakened by the sound of an ash tray shattering the TV screen.