McBurney's Point

"The only sure things in the world are death and taxes," observed Joe Early.

"How profound, did you make that up yourself, Joe?" growled his department head, Kelly Brackett, from amidst the disorganized pile of paper on his desk. "Do you mind, I’m really sort of busy here."

"It’s not like you Kel, to wait until the last minute to file your return. I sent mine in months ago. Got my refund back already."

Kel shot him a withering glance. 

Undeterred, Joe asked, "I thought you had a accountant that handled stuff like this for you?"

"I do."

Overcome by curiosity, Joe circled around the desk and looked over Kel’s shoulder. "Then why isn’t he doing your taxes?"

"Because she had a baby."

"Shouldn’t she have known far enough in advance to plan ahead?"

"She delivered prematurely. She wasn’t due for another six weeks. Mom and baby are fine but some things didn’t get finished."

"Well, surely she arranged for some qualified person to complete the returns."

"She did, and he looked all of eighteen years old. I don’t care if he’s a certified CPA, I’m not trusting my income taxes to someone how looks barely old enough to shave, let alone drive." He dug around for some Tums^TM buried under the papers. Popping two in his mouth, he encouraged Joe out, "Do you mind?"

******

Coming out of treatment room 1, Kel Brackett ran into Mike Morton. "Hey Mike, how’s your possible MI?" Brackett fell into step with him as they both headed towards the base station.

"MI? Ha! Our heart attack is, in reality, an anxiety attack brought on by too much caffeine and a futile, last minute effort to finish his income taxes," Morton continued as he arrived at the desk, unaware of the increasingly uncomfortable expression on his boss’ face. "Idiots, leaving things like that to the last minute. That kind of stupidity…" He trailed off, picking a chart from the rack, flipping it open and scowling at the contents. He closed it, tucked it under his arm and with a nod to Brackett and Dixie headed back the way he had come.

Brackett, however, was examining his shoes. The pain in his gut was back. He straightened and winced in the process.

"Kel," Dixie tried a reassuring smile. "You okay?"

"Just peachy." He turned and headed back to his office, but not before stopping by an empty treatment room for a stronger antacid.

******

"Squad 51, apply sterile sheets and saline solution. Start an IV with D5W TKO and transport."

"10-4 Rampart," John Gage’s disembodied voice acknowledged the orders.

Brackett ended the transmission. "Dix can you get 4 ready and notify Dr. Hazelwood that we have a burn patient coming in. I’ll be in my office if you need me."

She stopped him before he could leave. "Are you absolutely sure that you don’t want me to help you?" Dix offered. "I did mine in no time."

"I thought we covered this over breakfast."

"You didn’t eat breakfast."

"Like I said this morning, I wasn’t hungry…"

******

"Dix, you wouldn’t have believed it. It was incredible. This guy had strapped two big, ol’—"

Kel blundered in, "Dix do we have batteries?" cutting Johnny off in mid-rant.

"Batteries?"

"My calculator’s dead," he said, shaking it.

"Sure, we have some for the tape recorders." She opened the door to the base station and leaned in to retrieve a couple of batteries from one of the drawers.

"Hey Doc," Johnny offered.

Brackett nodded at them absently.

"Here," she offered, "just what the doctor ordered."

"Thanks." Kel turned and, while attempting to remove the defective batteries, stepped on Johnny’s foot. Distracted, he offered a "Sorry." Then, noticing them for the first time, "Hi fellas, you just get here?"

Attempting to forestall the inevitable, Roy countered with a simple "Yep."

Johnny, true to form, plowed ahead, "Doc we’ve been standing here the whole time. Didn’t you see us? Something wrong?"

"Dr. Brackett is endeavoring to finish his tax returns, " Dixie added helpfully.

"Doc you mean you haven’t gotten those done yet? Man, even I got mine sent in…"

Splendid. "You’ll excuse me then, " Kel said gruffly and headed back to his office without waiting for a reply.

Roy nudged Johnny with the HT. "C’mon Junior, let’s get back to the station."

Tossing a wave at Dix, Roy headed out. Following along, Johnny asked him, "What’d I say? All I said was that even I had my taxes done."

******

"How’s it coming Kel?" I shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, Joe thought, but he’s always so annoying efficient.

"Well, if I could get more than five uninterrupted minutes, I might get something accomplished," Kel grunted in response.

"Kel, are you okay? You don’t look good."

"Heartburn. Probably just reflux. I skipped lunch."

"Probably stress."

"Really?" Kel replied sarcastically. "You think so?" You don’t think that we should do a barium swallow do you? Or maybe you’d like to ‘scope me?"

"Tempting as it is, I think I’ll leave you to your paperwork."

"Thanks," Kel growled.

"Don’t mention it." Please.

"Joe, everything okay?" Dixie asked.

"Just had a lovely chat with our department head."

"Oh." What she didn’t say spoke volumes.

"You too? I’d think at least you would be immune."

"Joe," she said, making the ‘not-here face’.

That’s right we’ve got to observe the formalities. "He’s like a bear with a sore nose…"

"He’s having a bad week Joe, give him a break. He’s got his hands full with the paramedic advisory committee, and the department budget, and his taxes, and he hasn’t been feeling well lately."

******

He checked his watch. 6:10. He'd been officially off duty for ten minutes. Now maybe he could finish those damned returns. He'd just settled in with the California state form when he was interrupted by a knock at the office door.

"Yes," he said curtly.

Dix peered around the door. "It's only me."

"Sorry. You outta here?"

"Uh-huh." She closed the door behind her and crossed over to the desk, studying its normally organized surface now littered with piles of papers, empty coffee cups and antacid wrappers.

She picked up a half-consumed roll of Tums^TM. "Kel, how many of these have you eaten?"

"A few," he dismissed the question. "Dix, don't worry. It's just a bad case of tax-related indigestion."

"Which has been going on for days."

"Trust me, just as soon as I get this finished, I'll feel better." He hoped she'd take the hint.

She didn't. "How much longer?" she asked.

"Maybe another hour." He stretched trying to work out the kinks in his back and shoulders that had settled there in the last few hours.

"Back hurt?"

"Some."

She moved behind his chair and began to massage his shoulders.

He dropped his pen onto the desk. "God that feels good."

"All part of Nurse McCall's special restorative therapy."

"Really, so what does this therapy involve?" Oh yeah, right there. He cocked his head to the right side.

"Physical assessment, massage, among other things…you’ll probably require several treatments, considering the shape you’re in."

Two can play this game. "Then, of course, there are the issues of maintenance and prevention," he added. Now the left side.

"I can see this is developing into a long-term patient care plan." She pushed him forward, continuing her massage down his back. "Maybe we should continue this discussion over dinner? After all, man cannot live by coffee and Tums^TM alone." Her hands stopped.

"Uhhmm." He waved his right hand at her in encouragement to continue. "Neck," he pointed.

She tilted him back in the chair and began to work on his neck, accompanied by a variety of appreciative sounds from her ‘patient’.

"Kel, you want me to fix dinner?"

He still wasn’t hungry, but she was right. "If you want to, but I could be late."

"That’s okay. The therapy isn’t on a strict treatment regimen."

"I might not be much company."

"Kel, you're not required to entertain me. If you don't want to come over – "

"No, I'd like to." Reluctantly he turned the chair to face her. "Hour and a half?"

"Fine, and if it will make you feel better about being late or not feeling social, I'll let you do the dishes."

"I knew there was a catch in this somewhere."

He stood and walked her to the door. Before she could open it, he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close for a kiss.

"Thanks," he murmured against her lips.

She leaned back in his embrace, "For what?"

"Just being you."

She gave him one more quick kiss, then made that sure she was fully disentangled from his embrace before opening the door.

"Later," she said with a wink and pulled the door shut behind her.

He went back to his desk feeling better than he had all day.

******

She heard the apartment door open and close and the sound of keys being deposited on the hall table.

"Kel, that you?"

There was no answer. She found him lying on the couch. He hadn’t even taken off his leather jacket – or his shoes. His right arm was thrown over his eyes.

She sat on the coffee table. "Get them done?"

"More or less. I’ll recheck the figures in the morning and write out the checks. Sorry I’m late."

"It’s okay. Dinner’s ready. Hungry?"

He wasn’t really. The dull ache in his stomach had lessened somewhat, but he still had no appetite. He also didn’t want to argue about it. He lifted his arm to look at her. She’d changed out of her uniform into jeans and his favorite red sweater. For you and the sweater, I’ll eat. "Sure, " he heaved himself upright, "let me wash up."

******

"Is there something wrong with dinner?"

He put his fork down. "I’m sorry, I’m just not very hungry… The truth is, I feel horrible. I think I’m running a fever."

She leaned over to place her palm against his forehead. "You are warm. Look Kel, you’re exhausted. You tossed and turned all night, why don’t you just go on to bed."

"I thought it was my turn to do the dishes."

"I’ll give you a raincheck." She held up her hand to silence any argument. "You’re shot and you don’t feel well and you’re running a fever. Go to bed."

"I shouldn’t have come over in the first place. Maybe I should just go home."

"Do you really feel like driving home?"

"No, not really."

"Then stay."

"You’re sure?"

"Yes...go on to bed. Take some aspirin."

"Okay, but I owe you. I think I’ll take a shower first." Rising from table, he moved to take his plate into the kitchen. "I’m sorry Dix…"

She stopped him. "Don’t be. Get some sleep."

He leaned over and kissed her temple. "Love you."

******

She awoke to the sound of someone retching. Years of training as a nurse allowed her to recognize the sound subconsciously. Half-awake, she reached towards Kel’s side of the bed and found it empty. Now fully awake, she threw back the covers and hurried from the bedroom. She found him slumped in a corner of the bathroom between the wall and the shower door, his knees drawn into his chest. He seemed to be in pain.

She knelt beside him, "Kel, what is it?"

When he didn’t answer, she ran her hand across his forehead. He was burning up. "Kel, you’re running a fever."

"Fever, nausea, vomiting…."

" – flu?"

He gasped in response, panting and shaking his head.

He continued between breaths, "intense, radiating paraumbilical pain…tenderness of right lower quadrant of the abdomen…"

"Appendicitis?" she offered.

"…maybe…rebound tenderness… I think it might have ruptured Dix."

She started to stand, "I’m calling the Fire Department."

"No!" he bellowed, winced and thought better of that. "No, please. Just help me up. You can drive me to Rampart." He tried to stand. "Ahhh…damn." Overcome by the pain, he collapsed back to the floor in defeat. "Give me a minute."

"Kel, you can’t walk and I can’t carry you. Stop being ridiculous. I’m calling the Fire Department."

"Dix, please don’t. It’s…too embarrassing."

"What?"

He took a deep breath, dropped his head to his knees…took another breath, "…brought in my own ER with appendicitis. I’ve been sick to my stomach for days, everyone knows that…thought it was heartburn…stress. No, give me a minute, I can make it to the car."

Sick, or not. In pain, or not. She lost all patience with him. "You mean to tell me that you’d rather suffer, possibly risk the chance of peritonitis, than admit you’re not perfect and you screwed up a self-diagnosis?!" Her Irish was up now. "Between you and me and your colossal ego, that is quite possibly the stupidest thing ever to come out of your mouth. I’m calling the Fire Department!"

"Dix – " He put an arm out to stop her, only to gasp in pain. "No…We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to keep our private life out of Rampart. The administration…" he trailed off, confidant that she understood his concern.

"…be damned. Kel…"He’d gone from egotistical jackass to chivalrous jerk. "…that’s not important. We haven’t done anything to be embarrassed about."

"I would like to remind you that I am sitting on your bathroom floor in boxer shorts and a shirt reading ‘California Emergency Nursing Association’," he moaned.

While she could see his point, it was no longer relevant. "It could be worse," she offered as she stood up, "…you could be wearing those silk boxers I bought you. I’m calling the Fire Department," she turned and stalked from the bathroom. 

He rested his head against the wall and swallowed, fighting the nausea. Well, looks like the jig is up. Wonder who’ll finally win the ‘are-they-or-aren’t-they’ pool at Rampart?

He heard Dixie giving her address on the phone.

The way my luck is running, they’ll probably send Brice. His stomach heaved and he lunged for the toilet.

*****

Johnny and Roy struggled into their bunker pants and out to the squad as quickly and silently as possible.

"Roy, that’s Dix’s address."

"I know, Johnny."

"Acute abdominal pain. What’d you think it could be Roy?"

"I don’t know, anything. It could be something minor…food poisoning…"

"Or not…" Oh man...

******

Just as Roy raised his hand to the doorknob, the door flew open to reveal a slightly disheveled Dixie McCall, clad in jeans and a sweater.

"Dix?" they said in confused unison.

"It’s not me, it’s Kel," she said, stepping aside to allow them to enter the apartment.

"Brackett?" Johnny seemed stunned. Roy nudged him with the biophone. Not now Junior. Putting on their best professional faces, they entered to find Brackett on the couch, his knees drawn up and his arms folded protectively across his chest. He was flushed and sweating and seemed to be in obvious discomfort.

Roy knelt by the sofa, setting the biophone on the coffee table. "Doc, it looks like you’ve got a problem here."

"Thank God it’s you two, I figured I’d get…"

"Kel," Dixie admonished, taking a perch on the arm of the sofa.

The two paramedics exchanged amused glances.

Johnny slipped the stethoscope on and unrolled the BP cuff. "Let’s get some vitals on you Doc." California Emergency Nursing Association? Rampart’s going to have a field day with this. 

"Dix, what happened?" Roy asked.

"He’s been experiencing abdominal discomfort for a few days but just passed it off as heartburn or some kind of bug."

Kel interjected, "I thought…"

"Shush. You just lie there and let us handle this." Dixie continued, "He hardly ate anything for dinner. He felt so lousy and had starting running a fever- his temp is 103 by the way - that he just went to bed early. He woke me about a half-hour ago, throwing up. After some discussion, I called you guys."

"Roy, his BP is 110/70, respirations are rapid and shallow, and pulse is 120."

"Pain pretty bad Doc?" Johnny asked, checking for abdominal tenderness.

"Ow! God, yes! Feels like I’ve been gut-shot!"

"Gut-shot!" Dixie rolled her eyes. "Kel," she said patiently, "When I call your Dad to let him know what’s going on, he and I are going to have a long discussion about the amount of westerns you were allowed to watch as a child." Gut-shot indeed.

Johnny tried not to laugh.

"103, you said Dix?" Roy asked, plugging in the biophone antenna.

"You’re not calling this in?! Guys, all I need is…"

Ever the voice of reason, Roy quickly added, "Doc, in the first place, you can’t treat yourself."

"And in the second place, we can’t treat you without the okay of a physician," Johnny finished. "You see, we’ve got this boss, and he’s real stickler for proper procedure."

"Temperamental too, I’ve heard," Dixie added.

Brackett surrendered. "Call it in… hoist by my own petard…"

Johnny was lost. "Huh?"

"Johnny, just ignore him when he gets like this, I do." Dixie softened her teasing he running her hand through Kel’s hair; he groaned. "Hang on and they’ll give you something for the pain."

"Rampart, this is Squad 51."

"Go ahead 51."

Morton, thank God. He would at least show some discretion. Joe’d never let me live this down, Kel thought.

"Rampart, we have a male, aged—" Roy looked at Dixie.

"Forty-three."

"Forty-two. My birthday isn’t until July."

This is better than the movies, Johnny thought.

"…age 42 complaining of intense abdominal pain. His vitals are BP 110/70, pulse is 120, respirations are rapid and shallow, and temp is 103. Patient has vomited once…"

Dixie held up two fingers.

"…correction patient has vomited twice and is experiencing both rebound and point tenderness of the right lower quadrant of the abdomen."

"McBurney’s point, eh Doc?" Tenderness there is a characteristic sign for appendicitis. You taught me that," Johnny supplied.

Kel sighed. Showoff.

"Rampart, be advised that the patient is Kelly Brackett."

"Could you repeat that 51?"

"Doc, the patient is Dr. Brackett."

"51, start him on two liters of O2, start IV with Ringer’s lactate and give 5mg MS for the pain and transport."

"10-4, two liters of O2, IV with Ringer’s, 5mg MS IV and transport."

"We’ll be waiting."

While Roy administered the oxygen, Johnny smoothly inserted the IV and added the MS. "All right Doc, this should take care of you."

Muffled voices and clatter in the hallway signaled the arrival of the ambulance attendants. Dixie got up to let them in. "Over there guys."

"Roy, help me slide this table out of the way." They moved aside to allow the attendants room.

"I’ll ride in with him, Johnny. Dix you wanna follow us or ride with Johnny?"

"No," Kel interjected. "Dix you stay here."

"What?"

"You stay here."

"I’m not staying here."

"My money’s on her," Johnny whispered. Roy nodded in silent agreement.

"Dix, people will…"

"Give it up, Kel. I’m not letting you to go in by yourself. Load’em up boys," she gestured to the attendants whom proceeded to transfer Kel to the gurney.

"Dix…"

"No one is listening to you, Hopalong."

"I get no respect…just like at work..." Kel mumbled. The morphine was clearly working. As the gurney cleared the doorway Kel asked, "You fellas see what I have to live with?" Any response was muted by the closing door.

Johnny picked up the trauma box. "Dix?"

She hadn’t moved. "Sorry."

"You want to follow me in or ride along?"

"Could I ride with you?" She was more worried than she had let on in Kel’s presence.

"Sure. Dix, he’ll be okay. Hopalong’s tough."

She smiled at him, shaking her head. "I know… it’s just that Kel never gets sick. I’m just not used to seeing him in pain…" she trailed off. "Let me get my purse."

******

Johnny and Dixie arrived at Rampart in time to catch the end of Mike Morton’s exam. "…Anne, and I’ll also need a CBC and tell the lab to type and cross."

They traded glances. Anne Smith. Of all the nurses to get, why did it have to be Rampart’s answer to Hedda Hopper?

A slightly slurred response floated up from the table, "O-positive."

"What, Kel?"

"I’m O-positive, Mike."

"You’re also the patient. Just lie there and be quiet," Mike said. "Anne," he encouraged the nurse towards the door before his patient could offer any further revelations.

"Of course Dr. Morton." Anne exited the treatment room but not without a smug and vindicated acknowledgement of Dixie’s presence, "Miss McCall."

She received only a glacial stare from Dixie in return. Why does her voice make me think of something lurking in the tall grass?

Noticing the two new arrivals, Morton motioned Roy over towards the door. "Well, we’ve got him on Ringer’s to rehydrate him and we’ve started him on antibiotics. Based on what he told me he’s eaten, or not eaten, in the last few days, he’s probably also hypoglycemic so we’ve also started a second IV of D5W."

"You going to operate Mike?" Dixie asked, hoping that her voice didn’t sound as ridiculously shaky as it sounded in her own ears.

"Well, we’ll get him stabilized and wait for the bloodwork to come back from the lab, but I’m guessing it’s ruptured. We’ve got an OR already available, so I had them go ahead and call in the anesthesiologist and the surgeon." He reached out and patted Dixie on the arm. "We’ll probably take him up in about 45 minutes. You can stay with him until then if you want."

She nodded absently.

"I gotta warn you though," he continued "with the wait, we gave him another shot of MS. He’s probably getting pretty loopy about now. I’ll be back to check on him in a bit. You call if you need anything," he said as he left. 

"Dix, you need us to stay?" Roy offered.

"No. Thank you. Get back to station and get some sleep."

"You sure?" Johnny asked.

"Scram, both of you."

"Okay, but call us if you need anything," Johnny reminded her.

After the door closed behind the two paramedics, Dixie moved over to the exam table. Pulling up a stool, she sat down near Kel’s head to find a slightly unfocused pair of gray eyes watching her.

"How you feeling?" she asked, patting him on the shoulder.

"Actually not too bad," he slurred.

"Mike said they’d probably be taking you up upstairs in about 45 minutes."

"Cannibal."

"What?"

"Resident cannibal. Can’t wait to cut up the boss…"

"Kel, I don’t think…" realizing that it would be pointless to respond to his ramblings, she switched topics instead. "I’ll call your Dad just as soon as they take you up."

"He’s not home," Kel informed her. "Gone fishing with ‘the Joes’."

"With who?" How much MS had Mike given him?

"The Joes. His fishin’ buddies, Joe Diffey and Joe Hart. He’ll be back day after tomorrow. Gone up to camp." His eyes closed. "I liked the massage part better," he muttered.

"What?" Thank goodness they were alone in the room.

"McCall’s special treatment. I liked the massage part better. Morphine and a complimentary peritoneal lavage wasn’t really what I was hoping for tonight."

Dixie sighed in response. Me either Hopalong. Me either.

******

"Miss McCall?"

She sat upright in the incredibly uncomfortable waiting-room sofa where she had been dozing. It was Dr. Arnold, the surgeon on call

"Everything went fine," he told her. "The appendix had ruptured, but the omentum had it sealed off pretty well. We got him cleaned up and he’s being moved into recovery. Someone will be out to get you in a few minutes."

"Thank you, " she said gratefully.

"He’ll be here for, probably, three or four days, just to make sure there’s no secondary problem."

She nodded and offered another ‘Thank you’ as he headed back down the hallway.

******

She slipped into the recovery room. It was amazing, the change of perspective you got when the patient wasn’t just a patient. He looked pale and uncomfortable. After checking his oxygen and IV, she reached out to brush the hair off his forehead.

His eyes opened in response.

"Hey, everything’s okay, " she said before he could ask. "Your appendix had ruptured but Dr. Arnold thinks you’ll be up and out of here in a few days."

" ‘kay…Dix, don’t leave."

She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair again. "I’m not going anywhere."

******

By early afternoon, Brackett was awake, much to the displeasure of the nursing staff assigned to his floor. After an admittedly token attempt to get out of bed, and the sudden and painful realization that he was in absolutely no condition to go anywhere, he tried another tactic.

His nurse was not amused. "Dr. Brackett, I don’t care if you are the head of Emergency, you cannot get of out bed less than twelve hours after abdominal surgery and wander about the hospital."

"Look, I just need to go down to my office for a second. My taxes are due today," he countered.

"You are not going to your office." She crossed her arms across her chest and favored him with a passable imitation of Dixie McCall’s managerial scowl.

He tried his most winsome smile. "You go. The folder’s right there on my desk."

"I’m not going either."

Winsome didn’t work on her either. "Then page Dr. Morton or Dr. Early or Miss McCall. Where’s Dixie?"

"Dr. Morton is not on duty today, Dr. Early is in a meeting and, well, no one is quite sure where Miss McCall is," she floundered. She’s probably hiding out considering the story floating around this place about you two. "She was in earlier to check on you, but she must have left the hospital. She didn’t answer her page. I’m sorry Dr. Brackett, you’ll just have to lie there and wait. I’ll bring you some ice chips."

Frustrated, he settled unhappily and, in truth, uncomfortably back against the pillows. Waiting was not his strong suit.

******

"Where have you been?" Kel shouted, as much as he could, at Joe Early. "I need to get downstairs."

"Kel, you’re in no condition…"

"Joe, my taxes have to be postmarked by midnight. I have to double check the returns and write the checks. Dammit my checkbook is at home. Look you’ve got to find Dix, someone to go get it and bring it back so that I can…."

The rest of the discussion was abbreviated by Dixie’s arrival. "You’re taxes are all taken care of," she announced, crossing to his bedside. "How do you feel, Kel?"

"Nevermind how I feel. What do you mean they’re taken care of?"

"Your taxes are done and mailed."

"How?"

Here we go. "I stayed with you until Joe came on duty this morning," Dixie explained. "Since he was here, and you were probably going to sleep for several hours, I decided to go home and shower and change. I stopped by your office on the way out and picked up the forms. I double checked everything and stopped by your place for checks. Incidentally, I found the number for your Dad at camp. I talked to him and told him what happened and that you’re fine. I convinced him not to come back early. Apparently he trusts me to take care of you."

"But Dix, the taxes weren’t signed."

"They’re signed."

"How?"

She looked sheepishly at the floor. "I signed them for you. Checks too."

"You forged my name on my tax return?!"

"Kel, forged is such an ugly word. Signed is better."

"Dix, that’s illegal. It’s probably a felony."

"Only if you get caught," Joe threw in a helpful two cents.

"Kel, stop worrying," Dixie urged. "The government gets their cut, the signatures on the forms match the ones on the checks - I happen to sign your name quite well, by the way - everyone’s happy."

"Unless you’re audited," Joe added.

Kel looked baleful; Dixie looked irritated. Discretion being the better part of valor, especially when faced with a certain irate nurse, Joe switched gears entirely. "Well, while Dix has been out indulging her more felonious tendencies, and you," he said looking pointedly at Kel, "have been lying around in bed all day. I’ve been out doing damage control for you."

"Huh?"

"Joe, what are you talking about?"

"Kel," Joe began, "how much do you remember about being brought in last night?"

"All of it, I think," Kel answered.

"Do you remember who your nurse was?"

Kel tried unsuccessfully not to make a face, "Anne."

Dixie cut to the chase. "It’s all over the hospital."

Joe nodded. "So, since everyone knows, I just happened to bump into our beloved hospital administrator this morning—"

"You just happened?" Kel interjected.

"Absolutely," Joe reiterated. "I was just making conversation you understand, but I asked if he’s heard about the excitement in the ER last night and he did offer that he had heard a great many things."

Kel sighed. Dixie took his hand.

"The details," Joe said, "at least as they were reported to him, seemed to suggest a close, personal relationship between the department head and the head nurse. Of course, at this point I reminded him that the hospital really had no specific policy in writing prohibiting personal relationships between colleagues within a department. Therefore, if such a relationship were to exist, it wasn’t in violation of any standing hospital policy." Joe looked pleased.

Kel and Dixie looked at one another. This is too easy.

"So," Joe continued, "since no one had complained in the last six years –"

"Joe, you didn’t!" Dixie said.

"I did. You should have seen the look on his face…and since it would be a unfortunate thing to lose one - or both - of you after years of exemplary service, we both agreed that gossip is a terrible and destructive thing and should probably be completely ignored unless there is an obvious and unquestioned deleterious affect on the patients." He waited for the coup de grace, "Except, of course, for the person spreading such rumors."

This was too good. "Joe are you telling me, us, that you suggested that we’d leave if the hospital pursued this?" Kel asked.

"And that you managed to dump the whole thing back in Anne’s lap?" Dixie added.

"Well, I never actually said as much, but I can’t be held responsible for what impressions our administrator drew from the conversation – or what actions he might – or might not - take," Joe beamed. Truthfully, he was extraordinarily pleased with himself. "The bottom line is, Admin seems to be happy to look the other way as long as you two don’t do anything in the hallways to frighten the residents." He reached down and patted Kel on the leg, winked at Dixie, and sailed, smugly, from the room.

Dixie collapsed on the bed. She exhaled the breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. "I don’t believe it," she said.

Kel sagged visibly into his pillows. "Me either."

She studied him. "Kel, you look vaguely disappointed."

"I think I am. I’ve been lying here worrying about my taxes and preparing to do battle with Admin and…’poof’…" he waved his hands.

"Poof?"

"Well, it’s sort of anticlimactic."

"Not for Anne," Dixie exulted.

"Gloating does not become you, Dix."

She straightened his blanket. "If you saw the look she gave me last night on her way out of the treatment room, in front of Mike and Roy and Johnny, you’d change your mind." She reached out and checked the cup on the bedside table. "You want me to get you some more ice chips?"

"No, thanks." He was starting to fade. "Dix, we’re still going to have to endure a little public scrutiny, you know."

"For a while, then they’ll discover that we’re really not all that fascinating and move on to someone else."

"Unless they find out about your, what did Joe call them, nefarious tendencies," Kel yawned.

"Felonious," she corrected.

"Nefarious, felonious, whatever…and I have it on good authority that I can be positively…scintillating, especially when I’m…" he trailed off into sleep.

Dixie smiled to herself. You’re a ball of fire, Hopalong. She gave his blanket one last pat, then picked up the empty cup and headed for the door. I think I’ll go pick up some ice for you and some coffee for myself and see if I can’t arrange to bump into Anne.