Color You In (EMS Station 1, #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

Friday, March 31, 5:35 P.M.

My kingdom for coffee.

Gus Dawson stared at the station’s coffee machine like it held the secrets of the universe. Not that he needed anything particularly existential from the thing as it sputtered and hissed; he just wanted to feel marginally more awake.

His cup filled, he settled at one of the canteen’s tables and pulled a pencil and small drawing pad from his shirt pocket. Before he could begin sketching, a tug on his pant leg had Gus leaning over and peering at the small black cat messing around with his bootlaces.

In practice, Princess Lemonade Small Void Kitty belonged to Boston EMS Station 1 and the crews and admin staff cared for her as a team. But Gus had been the one to rescue her from a flooded-out basement and give her a home, and everyone knew she was really his. Gus paid Lemonade’s vet bills and made sure she was well groomed and had toys and snacks she liked, and the bed-slash-box she used for sleeping sat in the corner of the changing room next to his locker.

Lemonade was just as attached to Gus, haunting him like a playful shadow through the station, her orange eyes aglow as she rode on his shoulders or perched atop his right foot when he sat, almost like she understood he was metal and plastic from knee to toe on that leg and impossible to injure.

“Quit it, you,” Gus chided her, unsurprised when Lemonade ignored him, but then a casserole dish of burritos appeared before Gus, all luscious and cheesy. Gus worked hard not to drool as his friend Connor plunked down in the seat opposite.

“Help me eat these,” Connor said amiably. “Judah used sweet potato and re-fried beans and the chipotle cream sauce you like.”

Gus’s stomach let out a yowl he was sure could be heard from space and he happily helped himself. “You are a prince among men,” he said, “and please tell your man thank-you from me.”

“I will. Your new partner starts tonight, yeah?”

“Yup. Walters from Station 5 in West Roxbury. He’s been there since he finished the Academy program.”

“Another rookie, huh?” Connor smiled at Gus from beneath his thick beard. “You ready to shape another young mind, Coach?”

“Sure. As soon as I’m more awake.” Smirking, Gus stuck more burrito in his mouth. “Honestly, I’m hoping this rook doesn’t need his mind shaped.”

Gus was counting on it, actually. He liked working with rookies and the last two he’d had under his tutelage, Lucky Guzman and Amaya Monroe, were not only outstanding EMTs but had become friends. Walters was a different kind of rookie though, coming to Boston EMS after several years riding trucks in King County, Washington. Station 5 was far enough south of downtown that Gus couldn’t remember having ever seen Walters at a scene, but on paper the guy had more experience in emergency medicine than Gus. That was a stroke of luck Gus hoped meant he’d spend less time training his new partner and more on preparing him to take Gus’s place on Ambulance A1.

Because Gus had his own plans to progress his career and would take every advantage to make it happen.

Someone nearby cleared their throat and when Gus glanced up, there was an absurdly attractive human looking right at him. Beautifully chiseled features. Dark hair lying in soft curls. A small smile that hit Gus square in the chest.

Happy Friday to me.

“Hi,” the hot human said, expression warm. “Are you Dawson? I’m Madoc Walters.”

Gus stopped chewing. This hot human was his new partner. And here Gus probably had burrito on his face.

Wiping his mouth with his napkin, Gus stood, accidentally dislodging Lemonade in the process. He muttered a quick apology she dismissed with a glare, then looked back up at Walters—literally, because the dude was several inches taller than Gus’s own five-foot-eleven, had very pretty blue eyes, and was built like a brick shithouse.

Gus thrust out his hand and smiled. “Gus Dawson, and welcome, it’s good to meet you.”

They sat down, Walters taking the empty seat between Gus and Connor, who extended his hand over the table.

“Connor Devlin,” he said. “I’m on P1 with Lieutenant Parks.” His shy smile widened when Walters set an insulated lunch bag on the table along with a travel mug emblazoned with a glittery rainbow-striped pony. “I know a little guy who’d be all over that mug.”

Chuckling, Walters patted his cup, his cheeks flushing adorably. “It was a birthday gift from my daughter,” he said. “Valerie loves anything rainbow and sparkly, and this year she’s been really into these ponies.”

And ho, that was interesting. Because Walters wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so maybe it wasn’t too much to hope this big, beefy dude was a single dad who also happened to play for Gus’s team.

“Of course, Val also wanted a pony cup for herself,” Walters said. “So, her mom had to buy two.”

Well, boo.

Gus bit into his burrito and figured it was just as well. He was off men at the moment, thanks to his asshat of an ex and, as senior tech on A1 and Walters’ supervisor, keeping things professional was in both their best interests.

Still, why were the hot ones always straight?

Conversation at the table stopped dead when the station’s alert system sounded.

“Ambulance A1.” The dispatcher’s voice echoed through the speakers overhead. “Person down at Devonshire and State. Male, early twenties, experiencing dizziness after a possible blow to the head during an assault. 32-B-1, patient is alert and talking. Code Two, just lights.”

Gus caught Walters’ eye. “Pony up, Rook—it’s time to go.”

They quickly gathered their stuff and took off for the ambulance bay, Gus calling back a thank-you to Connor for feeding him.

“You want to drive?” he asked Walters as they jogged into the garage.

“Happy to,” Walters replied. “I live in the Seaport and I know this neighborhood.”

Fancy .

The Boston Seaport sat less than a mile from the station in South Boston’s Waterfront district and was one of the city’s more expensive neighborhoods. Walters could also walk to work, unlike Gus who’d battled ten miles of horrendous traffic tonight between his sister’s place in Hyde Park and Downtown.

After confirming with the dispatcher they were en route, Gus crammed the remains of the burrito into his mouth while Walters raised the garage door and eased them out onto Purchase Street. They zipped past the massive firehouse that sat next door, and Gus raised a hand to the cluster of firefighters washing the big engine truck in the drive, smiling at the shouts he got in return.

“Sorry we didn’t get to cover anything,” he said to Walters. “But this is probably as good a way as any to get to know each other.”

“True.” Walters guided the truck onto Pearl Street. “So, you know I’m not a rookie, right?”

“Yeah.” Gus glanced out the window on his right. “That was for Connor, really,” he said. “You’re not the first probie I’ve been partnered with, and he likes giving me crap about shaping the next gen of EMS.”

“Got it. But I’m not a probie.”

“Except you are.”

“Um, no.”

“Um, yes,” Gus said. “All Academy recruits remain on probationary status for the first year, regardless of prior experience.”

He watched Walters’ right eyebrow rise and bit back a grin. Gus really was uncommonly fond of being a pest and among the crews he’d worked with, to tease was to love. But sadly, his new partner didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor because the big lug actually rolled his eyes.

“That’s just a technicality,” Walters said.

“Agreed,” Gus replied. “A technicality that is still totally happening.”

“Except it doesn’t have to. Technically , I have more experience than you and I don’t need you treating me otherwise. I got enough of that from the fossil I was stuck with out in West Rox who acted like I was a damned toddler.”

Now Gus was the one raising his eyebrows. The ‘fossil’ Walters had been partnered with at Station 5 was Billy Lord, a guy with twenty years of service and a talent for guiding new recruits. He’d missed the mark with this probie, however, who thought nothing of mouthing off to a supervisor he’d known for less than an hour.

Turning to the Toughbook tablet mounted on the truck’s dash, Gus looked over the call details. He didn’t have time just then to figure out what had crawled up Walters’ ass and died and instead thumbed the talk switch on his radio.

“A1 on scene,” he said as they turned onto State Street.

This section of the city was old with crooked streets and wonky intersections already clogged with evening traffic and pedestrians, not to mention piles of dirty snow left over from a series of blizzards that had buried the city only a month ago. But there was no missing the police cruiser parked outside the landmark Old State House, and Walters eased the ambulance up behind it.

They grabbed the jump bag and gurney from the back cabin before Gus led the way over to a knot of onlookers who’d gathered.

“Hi, folks, Boston EMS,” he said. “Can we get in here, please?”

People peeled out of the way until it was just a young man on the ground and a cop squatted beside him. Officer Don DiChico, a grizzled veteran Gus knew well, looked up at Gus’s and Walters’ approach.

Gus exchanged a nod with him. “How we doin’, Don?”

“Gus, this is Adrian.” DiChico straightened up. “Says he got jumped by some other kids coming off the train. He’s got a goose egg on the right temple and some scrapes, and he says he’s not feeling too hot between the headache and dizziness. He doesn’t think he lost consciousness.”

Gus took a knee beside his patient on one side, Walters the other. Adrian was a good-looking guy with medium-brown skin and curly hair, and he appeared younger than dispatch had reported, probably only in his late teens. The abrasions along his right cheekbone and outer edge of his eye were clearly fresh, and the bump on his temple bloody.

“Hey, Adrian.” Gus kept his tone easy. “I’m Gus and I’m an EMT, and this is my partner, Walt.”

Walters cocked his ridiculous eyebrow again. “It’s Madoc,” he said, frowning slightly at Gus’s shrug.

Sorry, not sorry.

“Can you tell us where you’re hurting, Adrian?” Gus asked.

Adrian eyed him warily, knees hugged to his chest. “My head aches like hell.”

“Okay. You just chill and we’ll take care of you.” Gus caught Walters’ eye. Time to figure out how well this guy knew his stuff.

They checked Adrian’s pulse and pupils while Gus asked him questions, and though the kid responded readily, his gaze stayed down and he tensed up whenever Walters touched him or the police officers got close.

Gus frowned to himself. Maybe Adrian didn’t like uniforms. Specifically, being surrounded by white guys in uniform. Especially a dude as big as Walters, whose biceps bulged under his jacket as he worked and?—

Focus, Dawson.

“You’re not in trouble, Adrian.” Gus kept his voice low. “We just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I know.” Adrian let go of his knees and sat cross-legged, hands in his lap, and that was when Gus spotted the Pride pins on his jacket.

Setting his right hand over Adrian’s, Gus made sure the braided leather cord he wore on his wrist was visible, its rainbow-striped clasp facing up.

“We’re here to help,” he said. “The officers, Walt, and me.”

Adrian exhaled slowly through his nose. “I know,” he said again, but this time he didn’t look away. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Let’s get you up.” Gus patted Adrian’s hand. “You ever been on an ambulance before?”

“No.” A doubtful sound came out of Adrian. “Head feels swimmy, y’know? So, if I puke on you, you can’t be mad.”

Gus chuckled. “How about you vom on my partner and not me, since I’m wearing new boots?”

That earned him a glare from Walters, but the moment felt lighter as they eased Adrian to his feet. Until Walters moved to grab the gurney and the color fled from Adrian’s face.

Gus had just enough time to brace himself before Adrian bent over and emptied his stomach onto Gus’s feet.

Fuck this fucking day.

Madoc stepped back, his own stomach churning as Adrian vomited. Hearing people heave always made him want to puke too, despite his years on the job.

Adrian let out a pitiful groan. “Oh, shit.”

“Nah, that’s barf, dude,” Gus teased gently. “Ooh, you got me good.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, hon. Just hang on to me while Walt grabs the gurney.” Gus snapped his gaze to Madoc’s and Madoc got his ass in gear.

His new partner was very different from Billy Lord, who’d carried a steady, low-energy vibe that paled against the charisma practically crackling off Gus Dawson. On paper, the dude had far less experience than Madoc, but he clearly knew his medicine and was incredibly composed, seeming unbothered as he managed the heavy jump bag and a patient several inches taller than himself, all while wearing puke on his boots.

“Don’t be upset,” Gus said to Adrian, his voice soothing as the cops and Madoc helped him get Adrian settled on the gurney. “I’ve been barfed on plenty and I’m sure Walt has too. All you need to do is chill while we take care of you and talk to Officer DiChico about how you got hurt. You think you can do that?”

Adrian nodded. He was crying now, fat, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as the gurney was loaded into the truck. His hand shook when he accepted a wad of tissues from Madoc, but he seemed more trusting of Officer DiChico who asked Adrian to walk him through what had happened.

With their patient distracted, Gus turned his attention to Madoc. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t say he’s altered, but the memory loss is concerning.” Madoc watched Adrian for a couple of beats. “Add in the vomiting and vertigo, and I’d say concussion.”

Gus nodded. “Same. Let’s get him to Mass General for an eval. You drive.”

For a second, Madoc wanted to balk at Gus taking point without any discussion. He’d treated concussions dozens of times over the course of his career and he could do it again now. But one look at Adrian’s tearstained face and the way he was hanging on to Gus’s hand kept Madoc quiet. Adrian obviously trusted Gus, and Madoc was not going to put his ego in the way of what his patient needed. Especially after already letting his big mouth get away from him.

Heat flashed across Madoc’s cheeks. He’d known Gus had been teasing when he’d called Madoc a rook and a probie—the smile in his eyes had been visible across the truck’s cab. But Madoc hated having to repeat his probationary year when he was already an excellent EMT, and he’d let Gus’s snarking burrow its way under his skin.

“They were calling me a fag, said I was polluting their air,” Adrian muttered. “Then I was on the ground and people were asking me if I was okay.”

DiChico nodded. “I’m real sorry that happened, Adrian—the kids who jumped you are shitballs. I’m going to give your name to the Civil Rights Unit, and they’ll send a detective who’ll talk to you and start an investigation.”

“M’kay.” Biting his lip, Adrian looked back to Gus. “Am I going to be all right?”

Gus gave Adrian’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Yes, you are.”

He kept up the easy patter during the ride, soothing Adrian’s nerves while Madoc did his best to keep the trip smooth.

“They were calling me a fag. Said I was polluting their air.”

Madoc checked the screen on the dash that displayed the surveillance feed from the patient cabin. “How we doing?” he called, loud enough to be heard through the small window behind him that connected the truck’s cab to the back.

“Our boy’s hanging in there,” Gus called back. “Said you have pretty eyes.”

“Dude.” Adrian groaned. “Why you running your mouth?”

Gus laughed. “Because that’s what I do, hon. This is Walt’s first shift working with me, you know.”

Madoc snorted. “My name isn’t Walt.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Ass.”

Still, Madoc was smiling as he guided the truck onto the MGH campus. Until he caught himself thinking that Gus was the one with pretty eyes.

Oh shit, that isn’t good.

Madoc had been attracted to women since his early teens and genuinely liked everything about them. But every once in a while, a guy would pique an interest in Madoc that he didn’t truly understand. He’d find himself considering the guy, even admiring him. A muscled forearm beneath a rolled-up shirt sleeve. Strong, blunt-fingered hands. Broad shoulders or a devil-may-care smile. Eyes shaded rich brown and lit with gold that crinkled a little at the corners the way Gus’s did when he grinned big.

Madoc stifled a grunt. Why did his brain do this to him? And with his new supervisor too, which was just adding a whole different level of problem.

The ED’s managing nurse, Lashawn, waved them toward the back left side of the massive triage space that made up a large portion of the floor.

“Hey, y’all—we’re going to put you in bay three.” She looked toward the nurses’ station next and hailed a dark-haired nurse Madoc recognized. “Mark, you’re with Dr. Thomason.”

Nurse Mark fell in beside Gus at the back end of the survey and the two exchanged a quick smile before Mark turned to Adrian.

“Hey, Adrian, my name is Mark,” he said. “You just hang in there and we’re going to have you feeling better in no time.”

A slim doctor wearing navy scrubs and a stethoscope jogged up as they entered the treatment bay and a whirlwind of activity commenced, the team transferring Adrian onto the bed, bodies swarming in a practiced dance. The doc re-checked Adrian’s vitals, then ordered fluids and pain relief before promising he’d be back soon to check in. He’d slipped back out past the privacy curtain when Adrian reached out to Gus.

“Can you stay?” Adrian murmured. “Don’t want to be here by myself.”

Gus took Adrian’s hand. “I’ve got to get back out there, hon. But you’re not by yourself—Mark and the doc will take care of you.” He nodded at the Pride pins on Adrian’s jacket. “You’re in good hands with them until your bro can get here, I promise.

“Also-o-o,” he drew out the word teasingly, gaze sliding over to Mark. “Mark knows where all the best food in this place can be found because he’s worked here forever. So, if you get hungry, just say the word and he’ll work his magic.”

“I am fairly magical.” Mark patted Adrian’s shoulder before he looked at Madoc. “It’s Madoc, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, hi,” Madoc said. “I’m Gus’s new partner.”

“Well, good for Gus.” Mark’s sly expression had Gus rolling his eyes.

“Down, boy,” he chided. “Walt’s got a wife.”

Mark sighed. “Such a pity for our people, Super Gus. Though probably a blessing for you.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not allowed back in here until those smelly boots are clean, by the way—I don’t care how stupid hot your partner is.”

Wish I’d stayed out in the truck.

Cheeks warm, Madoc walked off, aware of Gus scolding Mark though he sounded more amused than irritated. And whatever, Madoc didn’t need to be bros with a new partner he didn’t plan to work with for very long anyway.

Except … he wished he’d corrected Gus about the whole being married thing, rather than ignoring what now felt like a giant-ass elephant in the very small truck.

“Grabbed a few things we always run low on,” Gus called as he approached the truck’s back bumper. “Just give me a minute to get the barf off my boots and I’ll put it away.”

Remorse itched at the back of Madoc’s neck. “I can do it, no problem,” he said, pausing in his efforts to clean the cabin floor. “I’m sorry about the puke, by the way. I should’ve seen that coming.”

“Eh, no worries.” Gus set an armful of supplies down, then bent to untie his boots. “It wouldn’t be a day ending in ‘y’ if we didn’t get splashed with bodily fluids at some point.”

Madoc smiled wryly. Good to know his new partner wasn’t the type to get petty over a little vomit. And Gus’d been so good with Adrian, reaching past the kid’s distress with kind words and a turn of his wrist to show off his Pride colors. Connecting with the same easy candor he was showing Madoc now. Communicating instead of just talking.

Straightening up, Madoc carried the mop back to the closet. “Do you think Adrian was afraid of me?” he asked. “I caught him flinching and wasn’t sure how to take it.”

Gus had taken a seat on the bumper and shot a somber look at Madoc over his shoulder. “You’re a big dude and that might have been a factor, but I doubt it was the only one at play. Being queer can make everyday life tough for guys like Adrian and me, even in places that are supposed to be liberal and open. You learn to keep your guard up and it’s not always easy to know who you can trust.”

“I hate that,” Madoc said. “It bothers me knowing patients are sometimes afraid of the people who show up to help them.”

“Agreed,” Gus replied as he wiped down a boot. “But not everybody’s reality works the same way. And let’s not forget the kid had a head injury so he wasn’t himself regardless.”

After stowing away the supplies Gus had brought back, Madoc exited through the rear doors, skipping the bumper and jumping straight to the ground. Madoc automatically glanced down as he moved though, and that was when he noticed Gus’s socks didn’t match.

The left sock was a standard issue black number that covered Gus’s ankle and disappeared beneath the hem of his dark brown cargos. Gus’s right sock was short, however, stopping just below his ankle which … wasn’t an ankle. Or not one made of flesh and bone anyway but instead fashioned in matte black metal that shone softly under the remains of the day’s light.

That’s a prosthesis.

The thought went off in Madoc’s brain like a lit match thrown into a box of fireworks. And when he met Gus’s level stare, words tumbled out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.

“Jesus, man. Were you going to tell me?”