Not in the Job Description

By Ziggy

Oh, God, what did I do? lamented Hank Stanley. What did I do? The lean captain of Los Angeles County’s Station 51 stood on the threshold of the open kitchen door and, facing the busy boulevard that crossed in front of the firestation, stared at the rushing traffic that passed by. The sun was beginning to rise. Unable to sleep at all during the night, Hank had finally given up trying to catch some shut-eye a couple of hours ago, pulled on his bunker pants and boots, then crept out of the dorm, away from the soft snores of his men. He needed to be alone.

Alone with his thoughts.

Alone with his guilt.

Hank knew, as every firefighter knew, that Death was always lurking, waiting to snatch, at any moment, the life of those men who worked this dangerous profession. As careful as they tried to be, it was inevitable that one of their own would be hurt or even killed “just doing his job.” Knowing that these brave men willingly risked their lives in service to others didn’t make it any easier when something happened; but what had happened this time was just plain and stupid--being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

What had started as a routine fire hydrant check had turned into disaster…

“Okay, men, that’ll wrap it up,” Hank stated, shucking his heavy gloves and tossing them onto his seat in the engine’s cab. He peeled off his turnout coat and returned it to the peg by his seat. Hopping down from the running board, he eyed the small Mom & Pop grocery store that was adjacent to the parking lot where the gleaming Ward-LaFrance was parked.

“I’m going to run in and pick up a couple things for dinner,” Hank told Chet Kelly as the younger man stowed some gear into one of the engine’s many compartments.

“Making your famous clam chowder tonight, Cap?” Marco Lopez queried hopefully, coming up next to his fellow firefighter.

The captain smiled, “Only if you twits behave yourselves.”

As he turned and walked towards the small store, he heard Chet remark, “Now, why would he think we wouldn’t behave ourselves?”

The bell over the door chimed merrily as Hank entered the small convenience store. Though lacking the superior variety of the bigger grocery stores, the homey atmosphere of the place was appealing. The store had what the captain needed, and the owners were strong supporters of the fire department, to boot. As he passed by the counter before the single cash register, he waved at the grandmotherly-type clerk. “Hi Emma.”

“Hi yourself, Hank,” she returned with a generous smile.

Hank made his way down one of the aisles and quickly located the items he needed. He started back up the aisle, pausing as he contemplated the articles in his arms. He ran a mental check to make sure he had everything he required. It wouldn’t do to screw up his well-liked recipe. His men would never let him live it down.

Hearing a commotion near the front of the store, Hank raised his head, then started back towards the cash register. As he approached the front, he noticed a dark-haired youth standing there, gesturing sharply at Emma. She glanced up briefly and met Hank’s questioning gaze. She shook her head briefly, her fear-filled eyes flicking to the youth in front of her. Alarms went off in Hank’s head as he approached quietly, the row of shelves keeping him partially hidden from the young man. From his slight angle, Hank could see the revolver in the teen’s hand. He could also see how the gun shook slightly. Damn, this kid is nervous. It wouldn’t take much to set him off.

Figuring it best not to upset their unwanted visitor, Hank didn’t move. Better to allow the teen to get away with the money than to risk a life. Emma had just finished stuffing a brown paper lunch bag with the register’s contents when the handi-talkie in Hank’s hand sounded, “Engine 51, what is your status?”

The teen whirled at the sound. Panic clearly registered in his face; he whipped the gun around to point at the new threat. “Who are you?” the youth demanded, the revolver wavering slightly, but not straying from its mark dead center in Hank’s chest.

“Easy, pal,” Hank soothed, raising his arms slightly to show the youth that he was unarmed. “I’m just a customer. Nobody to worry about.”

The glint of Hank’s badge caught the boy’s attention. “You’re a cop!”

How in the hell could you have missed seeing Big Red parked near-by? Hank inanely thought for a moment. Trying to keep the tone of his voice even and non-threatening, he answered, “No, pal, I’m just a firefighter. Take it easy. No one’s going to hurt you, all right?”

“Engine 51, what is your status?” The dispatcher’s voice repeated through the HT.

The young man jumped at the voice. He let the gun momentarily dip to Hank’s waist before bringing it back up to once again cover the captain’s chest. He waved the weapon threateningly. “Move! Go!”

Hank carefully tucked his groceries and the HT onto the shelf at his left before allowing himself to be herded next to the counter. He glanced at the frightened clerk. “It’ll be all right, Emma,” he commented soothingly, hoping his words were correct.

“Shut up! Put your hands on the counter!”

Hank did as ordered, being careful not to make any sudden moves. He tried to slow his racing heart. Fires, he could deal with. Hysterical people, he could deal with. A nervous teen with a gun? This was never in the job description, he thought. “Listen, pal, just take what you want, but don’t hurt anybody, okay?”

“I ain’t your pal, man!” the youth shouted. He reached out and snatched the sackful of cash. He gripped the weapon tighter, keeping the muzzle trained on the captain. When the clerk shuffled fearfully, he nervously swung the gun towards her.

At that moment, the door opened, the bell jangling loudly in the tense silence. Mike Stoker stepped partway into the store, his gaze falling directly on Hank. “Hey Cap, everything all—“

Everything seemed to happen at once. The startled thief glanced in Mike’s direction for a split second. Taking advantage of the distraction, Hank quickly grabbed the youth’s gun arm and pulled it downward to the side, at the same time tackling him to the ground. As they fell, he heard the gun go off. Ignoring the echo of the report in his ears, he knocked the weapon away, rolled the teen onto his stomach and pulled his right arm behind his back. He settled his knee and part of his weight on the bent arm to keep the squirming suspect on the floor.

He looked up at the clerk. “You all right, Emma?” he asked, his brow furrowing when he saw the horrified look on her face. Following her shocked gaze, Hank saw his engineer sitting on the floor, slumped back against the door, hand pressed against his abdomen as blood seeped between his fingers. There was a look of total shock on Mike’s face as he raised his head to stare at his superior.

Good God! Mike!

Hank froze for a second, then he automatically began to rise from his kneeling position to go to his engineer. The young thief, taking advantage of the sudden loss of weight across his back, pushed himself up and spilled Hank onto the floor. The teen didn’t bother picking up his gun or the bagged money. His terrified gaze fell on the wounded firefighter for a split second as he dashed out the door.

Hank picked himself up and made his way to Mike’s side. Kneeling down, he noted the spreading bloodstain on his friend’s left side. “Easy, Mike. Take it easy, everything’s going to be all right,” he assured routinely as his training kicked in.

“Hurts, Cap,” Mike grimaced, “Hurts bad.”

“I know, pal, just take it easy.”

For Mike to admit he’s in pain, he’s really got to be hurting! Hank looked around for his HT before remembering it was on a shelf. He directed his gaze to Emma, who was still behind the counter. She seemed frightened and unsure of what to do. “Emma? Can you get my handi-talkie? It’s on the shelf over there.” He nodded in the general direction of the shelving unit.

The captain redirected his attention to the injured man beside him. “Let’s get you all the way on the floor, okay, Mike?”

Mike’s brown eyes, filled with pain, gazed at his superior. He bit his lip as he nodded in understanding.

Hank gently positioned a hand on Mike’s shoulder and his uninjured side. Carefully, he shifted Mike to one side before slowly lowering him to the floor. The engineer winced at the pain, but not a sound escaped his lips. By the time Mike was lying flat, Emma had retrieved the HT and held it out to Hank.

“Thanks, Emma. Could you find some blankets and possibly some large bandages or gauze pads, something to help with the bleeding?”

“Of course!”

Hank lifted the HT and spoke into it. “LA, this is Engine 51. We have a Code I at 548 Wheeler Boulevard. We have a firefighter down with a bullet wound. Request a squad, ambulance and police at our location. Suspect has already fled the area.”

“Engine 51.” The dispatcher’s steady voice answered.

“HT 51 to Engine 51.”

“Engine 51,” Marco’s calm voice responded a couple of seconds later. “Cap, Chet’s already on his way with the first aid kit.”

Thank God for a crew that’s on the ball! Hank thought proudly. Sounds like Marco’s managing to keep it together, if the sound of his voice is any indication. They’ve got to be worried after hearing my transmission to Dispatch.

“10-4, Engine 51,” he replied. Though what the hell more we can do than try and control the bleeding, I have no idea!

As he set the HT aside, Hank could hear the dispatcher calling out Squad 51 and the other requested units. Emma returned with the requested items and set them near the captain. Hank folded one of the blankets and tucked it under Mike’s feet to elevate his legs. He then gently opened Mike’s shirt and pulled up the undershirt, peeling the bloodied clothes away from the wound. He grabbed a couple packets of gauze bandages, ripped them open and placed them on top of the wound. He picked up Mike’s hand and placed it on top of the bandages.

“Can you hold that, Mike?”

Mike nodded.

Hank swiftly laid a heavier wool blanket over Mike. He lifted the blanket and placed his hand comfortingly on top of his engineer’s. Hank could feel the warm stickiness that was Mike’s blood on his hand. He met his engineer’s gaze. There was complete trust, as well as distress, in Mike’s eyes. “How ya doin’, pal?”

“Hurts like hell,” came the soft-spoken answer.

The captain tried to smile, but he knew it was forced. “I know. Try to hang on until the squad gets here, all right?”

Mike barely managed a nod.

“I know you will, pal,” Hank said encouragingly. “Just take it easy.”

Chet rushed into the store. In his haste, not realizing the two were right by the door, Chet almost tripped over the hunched figure of his superior. He caught himself just in time and quickly sidestepped around his captain. “We heard your call on the engine's radio. What the hell happened?!" he asked as he took in the sight of Mike lying on the floor.

Marco appeared seconds later. His eyes widened at the sight of his captain kneeling beside an injured Mike; except for mumbling a quick prayer in Spanish, Marco gave no other indication of the shock he was feeling at the sight.

Hank glanced at the kit in Chet’s hand. “Get the bandages out of that first aid kit, would you, pal?”

Marco took the kit from Chet’s hand and knelt by Mike’s other side. He opened it, extracting what few bandages there were inside. He ripped open the sterile packs and, without removing the dressings from its packaging, offered the gauze to his captain. When Hank pushed aside the blanket, Marco could see the blood seeping between Mike’s fingers. He watched, transfixed, as Hank raised Mike’s hand for a moment so he could slap the clean bandages over other, already bloodied, dressings.

Marco glanced at Hank’s serious expression then redirected his gaze to his friend’s face. Mike was pale, his eyes half-closed; the engineer was desperately trying not to give any outward appearance of how much the wound hurt him. But Marco, having had another friend die from a gunshot wound, knew how painful the injury was. Not knowing what else to do, the Latino firefighter put a comforting hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Mike, you’ll get through this.” I’m not going to lose you, too, Mike!

Mike managed a slight smile, then winced. He was beginning to have a hard time concentrating; the world about him was starting to fade in and out. He was acutely aware of his captain’s presence, of the barely controlled anxiety emanating from his crewmates, but everything else was secondary. Even the pain seemed to be fading into the background. Is this what it feels like to die? He thought.

Hank cocked his head. “I hope that’s the squad coming.”

Seconds later, they could hear the sound of approaching sirens. Chet went to Emma’s side. “Let’s go over here, out of the way, okay, Emma?” he suggested, steering her to the other side of the counter. She complied without complaint.

The squad pulled up in front of the store. As 51’s paramedics jumped out of the cab, Hank caught Mike’s eyes. “Calvary is here, pal.”

“Good.” Mike’s answer was little more than a murmur as his eyes slid shut.

“Mike?” Hank felt his engineer’s hand loosen on the bandages. “Mike!”

Hauling the biophone, drug box and oxygen, Johnny and Roy entered the store. Marco automatically stood up and moved back to give the paramedics room. As Johnny set down the equipment he was carrying, he asked, “What have we got, Cap?” Then he caught a glimpse of the victim’s face. “Jesus, Mike?!”

Roy, in the process of setting up the drug box, paused. His concerned glance moved from Johnny to Mike to Hank and back to Mike. The hesitation lasted but a second or two before his professionalism took over; he finished opening the black box and pulled out the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. He slid into position beside his captain and started taking Mike’s vital signs.

“I was getting stuff for dinner,” Hank explained. “This teen came in and held us up. Mike interrupted the robbery.” Mike got shot because I had to play hero, he berated himself. I couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“We heard LA wanting to know the engine’s status, Cap,” Chet stated.

“Yeah,” Marco added, “we thought maybe you’d accidentally switched off your handi-talkie when you didn’t respond. Mike volunteered to see what had happened.”

“Who would have expected a robbery attempt?” Chet remarked, then added softly, “Not in this quiet neighborhood, anyway.”

Hank nodded vaguely, but his attention was on his engineer’s pale countenance. He heard Johnny and Roy as they uttered expressions associated with the job: BP, respiration, pulse, pupil reaction. He was aware of his junior paramedic contacting Rampart via the biophone and relaying the information, but the words had no meaning. The sound of his name, however, blazed through the fogginess that had invaded his mind.

“Cap?”

Hank blinked, raised his head to regard Roy.

“How long has Mike been unconscious?”

The captain thought for a moment. “Since you guys pulled up.”

Roy nodded. “Can you scoot down a little, Cap? I need to see the wound.”

Hank complied. He lifted his hand, gently placing Mike’s limp hand on the floor. He saw that the bandages were all soaked with blood again. He watched as Roy checked the wound, then applied more layers of gauze to the injury.

“He’s bleeding pretty heavily, Johnny,” Roy announced, then to Hank, “Cap? Help me to lift him.”

Hank shifted his weight slightly, then helped Roy carefully roll Mike onto his right side so the paramedic could check for an exit wound. When they were finished, they gently lowered Mike back to the floor.

“No exit wound.”

“Rampart, victim is bleeding heavily from the wound,” Johnny relayed to the doctor on the other end of the line. “There is no exit wound.” He listened for a moment, then repeated the instructions as he jotted them down in his notebook. “IV, Ringers lactate, wide open. O2. Monitor vitals. 10-4, Rampart.”

As his paramedics worked, Hank stole a glance at the others. Marco and Chet were both watching, worried expressions plastered on their faces. Emma had her right hand over her mouth as if she was trying to keep from crying; her left hand clung tightly to Chet’s arm. Marco reached out to take the IV bag from Johnny.

“We’re ready to transport,” Johnny remarked.

Startled, Hank raised his head. So intent had he been mentally trying to will his engineer to hold on that he hadn’t heard the sirens of the incoming ambulance and police car. A young officer stood just outside the doorway with the ambulance attendants.

Roy was rechecking Mike’s blood pressure. He lifted his eyes to his partner. “Pressure’s dropping!”

Hank felt the cold touch of terror grip his heart when he heard the urgent inflection in his paramedic’s voice. He dropped his gaze to take in the injured man’s face. Clenching his teeth to keep from screaming in frustration, he urged, “Come on, Mike! Stay with us!”

Johnny snatched up the biophone. “Rampart, Squad 51. BP’s dropping.” He caught Marco’s gaze. “Marco, get the anti-shock trousers.”

Marco nodded soundlessly as he rushed outside to the squad. He returned momentarily with the requested item, passed it to the paramedic. Hank helped them fit the suit on Mike, then sat back on his heels as Roy again took the engineer’s blood pressure.

“BP’s holding steady,” Roy declared.

Though the announcement was a positive one, the grim countenances sported by the paramedics did not make Hank feel any better. He cleared out of the doorway to allow the ambulance attendants to wheel in the gurney. Mike was lifted onto the gurney and rushed outside to the ambulance.

“I’ll go in with him,” Roy offered as he placed the drug box and biophone in the back of the ambulance. He nodded to his partner then he climbed in after Mike.

Johnny closed the ambulance doors and pounded the back. He glanced at each of his remaining shiftmates. They all know how serious this is. Reassurances would be empty words to them. Instead of uttering words nobody would believe anyway, he said, “We’ll let you know as soon as we know something.” He gave his captain one last glimpse before trotting over to the squad.

Hank wasn’t even aware of Johnny’s statement, nor did he see the squad pull away from the curb. Hank’s full attention was on the ambulance that had just left the scene…

~*~*~*~*~

Now, here he was, little more than half a day later, trying to erase the memory from his mind; unfortunately, all he could see was Mike sitting against the wood door as his blood escaped from the bullet wound. A bullet wound he, Hank Stanley, had put there. Yes, it had been an accident, but Station 51’s A-shift captain blamed himself for what had happened. It had been his choice to take the thief down, his actions that had put the gun muzzle in its deadly position and, in all probability, his meddling that had made the thief pull the trigger.

Hank rubbed a hand across his weary face as he continued to stand and stare at the dawning day. The events after the ambulance had pulled away were fuzzy. The first officer who had responded to the call had shown little compassion that the gunshot victim had been Hank’s own man and had relentlessly questioned him and Emma about what had happened. The suspect could still be in the area, they were told, and the police needed to know what he looked like. Marco and Chet, though still in a state of shock over Mike’s injury and angered by the persistent questions forced on their obviously shaken captain, had stayed by Emma’s side, making sure she was all right.

Hank had been about to let his anger erupt and start yelling at the policeman, when Officer Vince Howard had shown up. He had quickly dismissed the younger officer and taken over the questioning. After a few minutes, he had put away his notebook, telling Hank he could get the rest of the story later, when things had calmed down. They had enough of a description to get an APB out on the teen and that was a start. Hank had nodded gratefully then turned his attention to Emma. He apologized to the older woman, who quickly broke away from the relative protection of the two firefighters and hugged him…

~*~*~*~*~

Hank recalled how she had thanked him for his help. I force her to witness a man getting shot, and she thanks me! She certainly seemed to recover from the situation quicker than I did, he thought, remembering how Emma had led him to the back room so he could wash the blood off his hands. Mike’s blood. Hank shuddered at the memory.

When he had cleaned up as best he could, she had then gathered up his few groceries, put them in a bag and insisted he take them without paying for them. Hank had taken the sack, thanked her, then left, still too stunned about what had happened to argue. Her parting words of “Let me know how young Stoker does,” were almost his undoing and he had to fight back the heartache that had threatened to overwhelm him.

As the only one qualified to drive the engine besides Mike, Hank climbed into the cab behind the steering wheel and took them back to the station. As much as he wanted to follow the ambulance to Rampart, he knew he had to get the engine back into service. Roy and Johnny would let them know the prognosis as soon as they could.

Engine 51 remained out of action, however, until a replacement engineer arrived. Mark Weigel was an excellent engineer who had subbed for Mike before and therefore fit into the routine that was Station 51’s A-shift quite easily. The report from the paramedics was that Mike had been rushed into emergency surgery as they were leaving the hospital. Later, Dr. Kelly Brackett had called to tell the worried crew that the bullet had grazed Mike’s spleen, causing heavy bleeding and requiring a splenictomy. Though stabilized, Mike had slipped into a coma. The news had thrown the men of A-shift into a somber mood.

~*~*~*~*~

Hank continued to gaze at the awakening of Carson until he heard the wake-up tones sound. He ducked back inside to the base station and called in the acknowledgement. Good. Another hour and I can get the heck out of here. The silence of the previous afternoon and evening after Mike’s injury had been almost too much. Not that the crew wasn’t solemn after anybody else got hurt, but Hank really noticed it since he was feeling it much more personally than other times. He’d spent most of the time brooding in his office, though he knew he should have made himself openly available to the others. Marco had offered to fix sandwiches for dinner; Hank, unable to stand the thought of making clam chowder, had gratefully taken him up on his suggestion. The captain had actually welcomed the two times they had gotten toned out: the first, a trash fire; the second, a structure fire. There had been no other calls since the engine had returned around one-thirty that morning.

Hank crossed the apparatus bay towards the dorm. He noticed a spot of dried mud on the back fender of the engine. Not something Mike normally misses, he reflected offhand before he realized what he was doing. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Why can’t all this just be a bad dream? And why can’t I wake up from it?

Before he could enter the dorm, the rest of his crew shuffled out into the bay towards the day room and their first cup of wake-up coffee. Pulling his suspenders over his shoulders, Roy was the last one out. He paused when he spotted Hank, allowing the others to continue without him. He gave his superior a tentative smile. “Mornin’, Cap.”

“Roy.” The toneless quality to Hank’s voice wasn’t lost on the paramedic.

“Any news on Mike?”

“No,” Hank answered. He was unable to admit that he was terrified the phone would ring at any time with somebody from Rampart calling with bad news.

Roy nodded. He realized that his captain was taking the situation pretty hard… harder than the rest of his crewmates put together. “I know we’ll hear if his condition changes.”

“Yeah.” The captain blew out a heavy breath.

“Hey,” the paramedic nudged Hank on the arm, “how about we get some coffee before the others drink it all, huh? Mark’s probably on his second cup already.”

“No, I think I’m going to hit the shower before anybody else thinks of it.”

“Oh, okay,” Roy said and began backing away slowly. “If you need us, we’ll be in the day room.” He gestured casually behind him.

Hank knew his paramedic was offering his services to listen if needed. The captain was grateful for the offer but didn’t feel up to talking. He just wanted to get home and try to get the haunting image of Mike Stoker bleeding to death out of his mind. He nodded noncommittally before ducking into the dorm area.

Roy watched his superior disappear into the back room and frowned. Hank Stanley had always been there for his men. Roy only hoped Hank Stanley would allow his men to be there for him.

~*~*~*~*~

Hank exited the office and headed towards the locker room. His footsteps echoed in the empty apparatus bay. B-shift had gotten toned out almost as soon as they had finished roll call and, since he had hung around trying to finish up some paperwork, the rest of A-shift were probably already long gone. Hank knew he was kidding himself. Paperwork wasn’t the true reason he had hidden in his office as the others got ready to leave.

The truth was, he didn’t want to face his men. Not yet. He didn’t want to hear the questions into his well being, and questions he knew there would be. Hank knew his crew was concerned about him, but he wasn’t prepared to handle the barrage of queries and comments into his own feelings. How can I expect to con them into believing I’m doing fine when I can’t hide my feelings under the best of circumstances?

The door to the dorm had been left open. As he stepped over the threshold, he heard voices and a locker door close. He paused, remaining in the doorway, out of sight of the lockers and whoever might still be there.

“I mean, jeez, Marco, think about it,” Chet remarked incredulously, “That could be you or me in that coma instead of Mike.”

“I know,” Marco answered solemnly. “I feel guilty, though, that it was Mike and not me. I can’t help thinking how different things might have turned out, ya know?”

“Survivor’s guilt,” Chet stated knowingly. “I feel the same way.”

“Yeah.” There was a pause, then, “I wanted to go in and talk to Cap about it, you know, see how he’s handling it, but he seemed so out of it, I was afraid to bother him.”

“That’s understandable. After all, he was there. It must have been bad enough getting held up by that kid, then to have Mike get shot. He’s probably shell-shocked. I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

Don’t be too sure of that, Chet, Hank thought, feeling a pang of remorse that Marco hadn’t felt comfortable enough to talk to him. He prided himself on being available to his men at all times, no matter what they needed, job-related or not, and he had failed in that task.

Marco’s voice cut into his silent self-recrimination. “Yeah, you’re probably right. He just needs a couple of days. We’re all still in shock about this, too.”

“Pick you up around one?”

“Think they’ll let us in to see him?”

“Who knows? We can try.”

“Right.”

Hank quickly backed into the apparatus bay as the two firefighters walked past the doorway on their way through the locker room to the back door. Now totally alone in the big fire station, he stood and stared at the empty bay. Yeah, Stanley, you’re really batting a thousand here, aren’t you? First you fail to be there for Mike, now you fail to be there for the rest of your crew.

It was a long time before he could get up the gumption to finish his trek out to the back parking lot.

~*~*~*~*~

Another shift came and went for Hank Stanley’s crew. There was no change in Mike’s condition. Still dealing with a double-dose of guilt because he thought he’d failed both his engineer and his men, though in different ways, Hank stayed in his office most of the time, except during runs and at mealtimes. Separately, the members of A-shift approached the captain and tried to get him to talk about what happened. Each man was rebuffed with a curt “There’s nothing to discuss.” In Hank’s mind, there was nothing to discuss. What had happened to Mike was his fault. End of story.

The men under Hank’s command were concerned about their captain’s mental state. It had to be more than just shock and concern over Mike’s injury. They were at a loss as to what the problem could be. Unfortunately, none of them were sure how to approach him; however, when they were toned out, he managed to do his job with the same efficiency and leadership he had always possessed.

By the beginning of their next shift, they realized there was another problem. The five were putting the finishing touches on their uniforms for morning roll call when Chet asked, “Any word on Mike?”

“Still the same,” Roy answered, buttoning up his shirt.

Chet glanced around to make sure their captain wasn’t around, then he leaned over and spoke in a quiet voice, “I was talkin’ to the guys from the other shifts, and they say that Cap hasn’t gone to see Mike.”

“What are you talking about?” Johnny demanded. “Cap’s always gone to see any of us when we’ve been laid up in the hospital. Why wouldn’t he go see Mike?”

“I don’t know. I’m just tellin’ ya what I heard.”

Roy paused in pinning his badge on his shirt. “Well, you had to have heard wrong,” he stated a little forcefully.

“Ya gotta admit, he’s really been out of sorts since the shooting incident,” Marco added as he closed his locker. “Short-tempered and touchy.”

Mark voiced his agreement. “Yeah, it’s surprising. I mean, everyone knows he runs a tight shift; but even still, he’s known as one of the most easy-going captains in the department. This isn’t like him at all.”

“Well, can you blame him?!” Johnny defended. “One of his men is lying in a coma, for cryin’ out loud!”

“Of course we don’t blame him, Gage!” Chet replied, straightening. “But answer me this, have any of you seen Cap at Rampart?” When the others just glanced at each other without saying anything, he nodded knowingly. “See? There’s something wrong.”

“Maybe he’s still in shock over it,” Marco suggested. “I’m still having trouble believing it happened.”

“Yeah, but I think he still would have gone to visit Mike,” Mark put in.

“This is just so unlike Cap. He’s always there for us, no matter what.” Chet remarked to no one in particular as he started towards the door to the apparatus bay. Marco and Mark silently followed him.

Johnny finished tying off his shoes, then closed his locker door. He gave his partner a long, pensive look. “I just can’t believe he wouldn’t have gone to see Mike.”

“There’s one way to find out,” Roy told him. “Let’s take a trip to Rampart for supplies and see if there’s anything we can find out there.”

“Good idea.” Johnny nodded.

~*~*~*~*~

“Hi, guys,” head nurse Dixie McCall greeted as the two firefighters approached the desk near the hospital’s base station. Dr. Kelly Brackett looked up from the chart he was perusing and also greeted the two.

“Hey, Dix, Dr. Brackett,” Johnny answered.

“What can I do for my favorite paramedics today?” Dixie asked with a smile.

“Well, we have a rumor going around the station and we’d like to find out if it’s true,” Roy told her, his voice totally serious. Kel closed up the chart and set it on the counter as he gave his full attention to the obviously concerned men.

“I’ll see if I can help, but you had to run all the way over to ask? You guys ever hear of the telephone?” Dixie smiled slightly, but it faded quickly as she noticed the grave expressions on their faces.

“We didn’t want to take the chance of our call being overheard.” At Dixie’s questioning gaze, Roy continued, “Do either of you know if Captain Stanley has been in to see Mike Stoker at all?”

The nurse’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I haven’t seen him, but I assume he’s been here. He never fails to visit when one of you is laid up in here.” She glanced at Brackett, who also happened to be the physician in charge of Mike’s case. “Kel?”

He thought a moment before answering. “Now that you mention it, I’ve seen you two, the guys from the other shifts and everybody else from A-shift, except for Hank Stanley. That’s pretty unusual. I’ve never seen a fire station captain more dedicated to his men than he is.”

Roy glanced at his partner. Johnny picked up the explanation. “Rumor at the station is that he hasn’t been in to visit Mike. Cap’s actually been out of it himself since the shooting. He’s doing his job, but…“

“Not being his usual self?” Dixie finished when the junior paramedic faltered.

“Exactly,” Roy replied.

“He’s about as far from being ‘his usual self’ as anyone can be,” Johnny added. “His not being in to see Mike just adds more mystery to this whole thing.”

Kel raised his right hand to his chin as he contemplated what Roy and Johnny had told him. “That’s too bad. Having you guys come in and talk to Mike while he’s been in the coma has helped, I’m sure; but it could mean just a little more hearing his captain’s voice. I know Mike respects Hank very much. It could make a difference.”

“Are you saying that Mike might come out of the coma if he hears Cap’s voice?” Johnny asked.

“I’m not saying it’s a given, just that it certainly couldn’t hurt. Besides, whatever it is that has Hank acting this way, it’s certainly not normal behavior for him. You should try to get him to talk about what happened, find out what’s bothering him so much that he refuses to see his own man.”

“We’ve tried,” Roy commented in frustration. “Believe me, we’ve tried. He’s made it quite clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“You may have to force his hand, discreetly, of course,” Kel answered. “That, or suggest he get some counseling, especially if you think it may end up affecting his work.”

“Yeah, we may have to,” Roy agreed.

Johnny shook his head. “Man, he won’t go for that. Not at all. The minute we even say the word ‘counseling,’ he’ll have a fit.”

“Gentlemen,” Kel stated seriously, “You may not have a choice.”

~*~*~*~*~

The rest of the shift was busy, with either the squad or the engine out solo or both called out together, so there was no time for the crew to talk to their captain. Unlike the last shift, Hank left the station as soon as his replacement showed up. He didn’t even bother to change into his civvies before leaving; and once he was gone, so was the opportunity to talk to him about whatever was on his mind.

The five remaining members of A-shift stood in the locker room as they changed into their civilian clothes. A couple of B-shift’s crew, curious for any news concerning both Mike Stoker and Hank Stanley, joined them.

“Last we heard, Mike’s condition hadn’t changed,” Roy informed the two. “Somebody from Rampart would be sure to let us know if anything happened, one way or the other.”

“And Captain Stanley?” Antonio Tedesco, B-shift’s engineer, queried. “How’s he doing?”

“The same,” Chet remarked, pulling on his civilian shirt.

“Actually, I think he’s gotten worse,” Johnny corrected. He pointed a work shoe at Antonio. “That rumor about him not going to Rampart to see Mike--it’s true. Nobody at Rampart’s seen him there!”

“Johnny, that’s not fair,” Roy defended.

“But it’s true!”

“Yeah, maybe,” Marco stated, his voice tinged with anger, “but the way you said it makes it sound like Captain Stanley doesn’t care.”

“Hey, we all know he cares!” Johnny shot back. “He just won’t talk to us about it, that’s all.”

“He’s had a lot on his mind, I guess,” Roy added diplomatically.

“So,” Antonio said, looking from one man to another, “You didn’t get the chance to find out what’s wrong, I take it?”

“Nope,” Mark stated simply, buttoning his shirt, “And I really think we need to, guys.” A-shift’s temporary engineer met each man’s eyes. “I like Captain Stanley as much as the next guy, but if this starts to affect his command decisions...” He let his voice trail off to allow each firefighter to draw his own conclusions.

“It hasn’t so far,” Chet commented, somewhat defensively.

“But Mark’s right; it could,” Johnny said, thinking back to the conversation he and Roy had had with Dr. Brackett. “What can we do?”

The tones going off interrupted the paramedic. Antonio wished his stationmates good luck as he and his fellow crewmates scrambled for the engine. Seconds later, the squad and engine were on the way out of the station to a structure fire.

“It’s obvious what we have to do,” Chet remarked, closing his locker. “We’ve got to get Cap to talk about what’s bothering him.”

Marco shook his head. “He’s already let us know he doesn’t want us interfering!”

“I think we have to, Marco. For his own good,” Chet stated. “Cap’s got to confront whatever demon he’s running away from.”

Roy raised his eyebrows at his shiftmate’s choice of words. “So, how do you suggest we go about doing that? He’s already kicked all of us out of his office.”

“Well, you could try talking to him off-shift,” Chet pointed to the senior paramedic.

“Me?” Roy demanded. “Why me? Why not you, Chet?” He pointed at the firefighter, then gestured to Chet’s best friend. “Or Marco? Or you?” He nodded at Johnny.

“I think Chet’s got the right idea.” For once, Johnny supported his archrival. “You’re the senior paramedic, he’ll listen to you. He won’t listen to me.

“Yeah, and you expect him to listen to me or Marco?” Chet queried. “It’s gotta be you, Roy. And I think you should go alone; that way he won’t think we’re ganging up on him, ya know?”

“So, you want me to confront a possibly very irate Hank Stanley all by myself? The man’s not going to sit still and let me give him the third degree!”

“You’ll do fine!” Johnny insisted. “Just let us know what you find out, okay?” That said, he closed his locker and quickly escaped from the room.

“Yeah, keep us informed, Roy,” Chet added as he, too, walked out of the room.

“Good luck,” Mark gave the senior paramedic a pat on the shoulder. Softly, he added, “You’re gonna need it!”

Roy watched his crewmates abandon him to his fate. Sighing in resignation, he tossed his work shoes into his locker before closing it. He was surprised to see Marco still there looking at him.

“Any final words before I throw myself into the lion’s den?” Roy asked sarcastically, angry with himself for allowing the others to talk him into this situation. Well, they really didn’t give me a chance to argue with them!

Marco shrugged. “If you want, I’ll be glad to go with you.” Concern was clearly evident in Marco’s eyes. Family meant a great deal to the Latino firefighter; that included his extended family at the station. Mike and Cap’s pain were, to a lesser extent, his own.

Roy smiled his appreciation. “That’s all right, Marco. It might be best if I go this alone. No sense in both of us ending up with latrine duty for the rest of our careers.”

Marco easily returned the paramedic’s smile as he nodded. “If you think it’s best.” He stepped around his friend and then he, too, was gone.

“Not really,” Roy muttered as he followed the others out the back door, “But I don’t have much choice.”

~*~*~*~*~

That day Roy called the Stanley house at least a dozen times. Nobody answered. The paramedic wondered if the family had gone out for the day. He vaguely remembered a couple weeks ago that Hank mentioned doing something with his girls this weekend. Maybe it was a family outing of some sort. It could have been the reason Hank had rushed home after his shift.

The next day, a Sunday, Roy tried calling again. When afternoon rolled around and he still wasn’t getting an answer, he decided to pay his captain a personal visit. The Stanleys didn’t live that far from the DeSotos; besides, Roy was somewhat concerned that something may have happened.

When he pulled up to his friend’s house, he saw Hank’s car parked in the driveway. Roy parked his car behind Hank’s, then strode up to the front door. There was no response to his repeated knocks. Roy glanced around, then followed the walk that led towards the back of the house. The walk ended at a gate that Roy knew opened into a spacious backyard. The hinges squeaked slightly as he opened the gate far enough to let him enter.

His eyes automatically scanned the yard, coming to rest on the figure of Hank Stanley sitting in a lawn chair. The captain’s long legs were stretched out in front of him; the rest of his body was slumped as Hank leaned his chin against his right palm, elbow on the chair’s arm, and stared straight ahead. Roy doubted his superior was even seeing the expanse of grass and trees before him.

“Cap?”

Hank twisted his upper body towards the sudden voice.

Roy stepped further into the yard and over to the brick patio. He noticed the haunted look in his superior’s eyes and the couple days’ worth of stubble on his face. He also noted the beer cans on the ground around the chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s okay, Roy,” Hank answered. Despite the empty cans that littered the ground, he seemed perfectly sober. “Can I get you a beer?”

“Uh, no, thanks,” the paramedic replied, pulling up another lawn chair and sitting in it. “I tried calling, but no one answered.” Roy didn’t bother to mention how worried he was.

Hank’s explanation was only partial. “Elly and the girls are away for the weekend. Some Girl Scout thing.”

Good, thought Roy, then we won’t be disturbed. “I see.”

“How’s Mike?” Hank asked, though he knew that if there had been a change, Roy would have told him already.

“Same. Still in a coma.” Roy decided to get right to the point of his visit. “Cap, some of the guys have been saying that you haven’t been in to see Mike since he got hurt. I can’t believe that you wouldn’t make the effort—“

“I haven’t.” The captain stated tonelessly.

The directness of the statement gave Roy pause, but only for a moment. “Why?”

Hank shrugged. “I doubt my presence would make that much of a difference in his recovery.”

“C’mon, Cap, you’ve always come to see any one of us when we’ve been in the hospital!” Roy remarked, peeved at his friend’s offhand manner. “You’ve always cared enough to see how we’re doing, no matter how bad off we were! Half the time you’re the first one there after we get off-shift! Why haven’t you been in to see Mike?”

The older man’s eyes blazed as he turned fully in his seat to regard the paramedic. “You said yourself he’s in a coma! What difference does it make? He isn’t going to know one way or another if I’m there!”

“You’re wrong, Cap!” Roy shot back, fighting to keep his uncharacteristic anger in check. He was determined to find out what the hell was going on with his captain. If it took getting into an argument with the man, then so be it; however, he still wanted to maintain some semblance of calm. “Even Dr. Early and Dr. Brackett think that coma victims know when somebody is with them, that just talking to them and letting them know you are there can be the difference between the patient coming out of it or just giving up. I know you believe it, too!”

The anger faded from Hank’s brown eyes as quickly as it had risen. He turned away, his shoulders slumping forward; Roy couldn’t help but think his superior was admitting defeat to the whole situation.

Hank studied his laced fingers. “He doesn’t need me there.” Even his voice sounded resigned. “He’s got the rest of the station there at one time or another, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Roy agreed, calmer, “but he respects you, Cap. We’ve all had our say, let him know how much we want him back. Maybe it would make a difference if he heard from his captain. Maybe he needs to hear how much you want him back. It could be the one thing that makes the difference.”

“Why would he want to hear from the man who put him in the hospital?”

Roy hesitated as he processed the words Hank had just thrown out at him. The reason for Hank’s morose mood and reluctance to visit his engineer in the hospital was beginning to become clear. “Put him in the hospital? You didn’t shoot Mike.”

“I might as well have,” the lanky captain replied. “It was my actions that made that kid pull the trigger.” Hank suddenly found the right arm of the lawn chair very interesting as he scratched at it with his index finger. “It’s one thing to send men into a burning building, knowing that one day somebody may not come back out.” He paused. “Getting shot isn’t in the job description. You should have seen the look on Mike’s face--”

“I’m sure he doesn’t blame you for what happened. Nobody does. Nobody, that is, but you, it seems. There’s no reason for you to feel guilty.”

“Isn’t there?” Hank muttered.

“Cap—“

“Discussion closed, Roy,” Hank stated stiffly as he sat up abruptly. He didn’t bother to look at the younger man. “Thanks for coming by.”

Roy sat for a moment, trying to think of something to say. He stood, but didn’t leave right away. “Okay, you want to feel sorry for yourself, you go right ahead,” he answered, his voice clipped with irritation. “But I want you to think about Mike in that coma and how much he would like to know his captain cares enough to visit him while he’s lying in a hospital bed fighting for his life. And if anything happens to him, think how you’ll feel, knowing that you didn’t take the time to see him. You know how he respects you, Cap. Think about what you’re doing.” With that, Roy spun on his heel and left.

Hank listened until his heard the paramedic open and close the gate before he bowed his head into his hands. Oh, God, Roy, how can I expect Mike to forgive me when I can’t even forgive myself?

~*~*~*~*~

Dixie glanced at her watch as the elevator doors opened. She was glad the late night shift had slowed after that influx of car accident victims around midnight. Friday and Saturday nights were always the worst, but this Sunday night had come pretty close. Before going to the lounge for her break, she decided to visit Mike Stoker. She’d promised Johnny and Roy that she would keep an eye on things and give them regular progress reports. Unfortunately, despite frequent visits from his friends and family during the day, there had been no changes since the firefighter had been placed in ICU a week ago.

As she exited the elevator, Dixie could hear the on-duty nurse arguing with somebody. She was trying to keep her voice down, but the sound easily carried down the corridor. “I’m sorry, sir, no visitors are allowed at this time.”

“Please, I need to see him!” A familiar voice pleaded. “Just for a few minutes!”

“I’m sorry, sir, I can not allow it. It’s against policy. You’re not even family—“

Dixie quickened her pace, swiftly coming up beside the blonde nurse, only to discover that the persistent and unauthorized visitor was none other than the captain of Station 51’s A-shift. Hank’s haggard appearance startled Dixie, but only for a moment. The other nurse seemed pleased to see some back-up. “Miss McCall, this gentleman insists on seeing one of the patients! Could you please help me explain to him—“

“It’s all right, Karen,” Dixie assured. “I’ll take it from here.” She gave Hank a small smile.

“But visiting hours were over long ago,” Karen argued.

“I’ll take responsibility, Karen. Why don’t you go back to your station?”

“Yes, Miss McCall,” Karen gave the tall captain one last look before heading back to her desk.

“She’s right, Hank,” Dixie remarked, her voice more amused than scolding. “Visiting hours ended long ago.”

“Don’t you start on me, too, Dixie,” Hank sighed in resignation. The argument with Karen seemed to have taken all the fight out of him. “Are you going to let me see Mike or not?”

Dixie put a comforting hand on his arm as she steered him down the hallway. “Of course I am. I know he’ll be glad you finally came.”

“You’ve been talking to my men.” It was not a question.

“Let’s just say they’ve been as worried about you as they have about Mike.”

Hank paused outside the door to Mike’s room. He looked down at her, met her eyes. “I guess I’ve been feeling guilty about the whole thing, like it was my fault. I couldn’t face Mike, believing I was the reason he ended up here to begin with.”

Dixie smiled as she nudged the door open a little bit. “Why don’t you tell Mike that? I’m sure it’ll help you feel much better.” With that, she gestured the captain forward.

Hank took a deep breath then entered the private room. He stood and stared at Mike’s still form on the bed: the IV, nasal cannula and heart monitor hooked up to the younger man. He shook himself mentally. Get it together, Stanley! You’ve seen this sort of thing before! You can do this!

Hank approached the bed. He pulled up a chair on the left and settled himself into it. He nervously ran a hand through his dark hair, then over his tired eyes. “Hey, pal,” he began softly, “I finally made it. I’m sorry I haven’t made it in until now. I guess I could tell you I’ve been busy, but you would know it’s just a line of bull. I’m never too busy for my men.” He swallowed, then continued, his voice growing steadier as he spoke. “I haven’t been in to see you because… well, I’ve been afraid. Yes, even captains get scared,” he admitted. Somehow, it felt good to get that particular confession off his chest.

“I’ve been afraid that maybe my presence would actually make you worse. I mean, it was my fault you ended up here, right? If I hadn’t tried to play the hero and taken that thief down, that gun wouldn’t have gone off and you wouldn’t be here, debating whether or not you want to continue with this life or check out what’s on the other side.

“Look, Mike, I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for this. Hell, I’ll never be able to forgive myself, so I can’t expect you to. I just wanted to let you know that I do care what happens to you, and I hope that you’ll decide to come back to us. If you can’t deal with the sight of me after you wake up, I’ll put in for a transfer, all right? Just come back to us, pal! How can you expect me to replace the county’s best damn engineer?”

That said, Hank lapsed into silence. He reached out and gave Mike’s shoulder a squeeze. He stood, gazing at his engineer’s pale countenance for a few moments. Dixie was right. I feel better. I only hope Mike gets better.

As he started to walk away, he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Hesitating, he looked down at Mike’s left hand. There! His fingers moved, ever so slightly. Quickly returning his gaze to the younger man’s face, he saw Mike’s eyelids flutter, his head move somewhat.

“Mike?” Hank queried. Don’t get overly excited, Stanley! Maybe it’s a reflex thing. Mike’s fingers twitched again. No, he’s definitely coming ‘round! A quick search helped Hank find the call box; he hastily depressed the button.

When Karen entered the room a few seconds later, he glanced at her. “He’s coming out of it!”

Karen redirected her gaze from captain to patient. She gave Hank a quick smile. “I’ll get Dr. Brackett,” she said then disappeared out the door again.

A couple of minutes later, Kelly Brackett came into the room, Karen on his heels. He paused briefly to take in the situation. He pulled out his stethoscope as he approached the bed. “Here a little late, aren’t you, Hank?” he asked, giving the nurse a disapproving glare.

“Don’t blame her, Doc,” Hank defended when he witnessed the glance, “I showed up at this god-awful hour and she did her best to make me leave. Dixie overruled her, though.”

“I see,” Kel said noncommittally. He leaned over the bed, his attentions now fully focused on his patient. “Mike? Mike, can you hear me?”

Cap? Mike’s eyes blinked open; he turned his head slowly towards the sound, his glazed expression meeting the doctor’s. As his vision cleared, he realized the man standing over him wasn’t his captain. Who…? He tried to voice the question, but no sound emerged. Suddenly, his memory flashed on the panic-stricken teen that had faced him briefly in the store, the sound of the gun going off, the pain... His eyes grew wide with panic. He tried to throw up a protective arm, but for some reason, his muscles refused to cooperate. This frightened him even more, and a frantic cry issued from him.

“Take it easy, Mike!” Kel grabbed at his right shoulder, his other hand holding the firefighter on the forehead in an effort to prevent him thrashing his head. This seemed to panic Mike further, who got even more agitated. “Mike! You’re all right! You’re at Rampart! Take it easy!”

Hank’s joy at seeing his engineer awake turned abruptly to anxiety when Mike began fighting the doctor. Hank’s fear lasted but a split-second. He stepped to the other side of the bed and pulled Karen away from where she, too, was trying to calm Mike. In his best command tone, he barked, “Stoker! Get a hold of yourself!”

Instantly, Mike’s frenzied actions subsided. His head swung to face his superior; the wildness left his eyes as he recognized Hank. Moisture gathered in Hank’s eyes when he saw the complete trust in the gaze focused on him. He swallowed hard, then placed a firm but gentle hand on Mike’s shoulder. “It’s all right, pal. Everything’s going to be okay. You’re at Rampart. You were in a coma, but you’re back with us again.”

Seeing the question in Mike’s eyes, he smiled soothingly. “I’ll tell you what happened later. For now, I want you to let Dr. Brackett check you out, all right?” The nod Mike gave him was minute, but Hank caught it anyway. “And don’t try to talk.” He directed his gaze across the bed. “He won’t be giving you any more problems, Doc.”

“Thanks, Hank,” Kel shifted to let Karen in with the blood pressure cuff. “Why don’t you grab a cup of coffee? Give me a few minutes to examine him, then I’ll let you know how well he’s recovered.” He glanced down at his now-complacent patient. “Though, so far, it looks good.”

Hank nodded. He gave Mike a smile and squeezed his shoulder. “Hang tough, pal. You’ll be driving the rig again before you know it!”

With a final pat on his engineer’s shoulder, he turned to leave. As he started to open the door, he heard a very raspy voice. “Cap?”

Turning back, he ordered, “Don’t talk. Give it time.”

Mike shook his head in what seemed to be a frustrated manner. “Cap… nothing… to… forgive… not… your… fault.”

The captain swallowed. He glanced at Kel, who only smiled. Well, if Dixie knows about my little guilt trip, I suspect Brackett does, too. Returning his gaze to his colleague, he answered, his voice catching slightly, “I appreciate that, Mike, thanks. Now,” he continued in Captain Mode, “you be quiet for a change and let Dr. Brackett look you over!” He smiled to take the sting out of his words. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Hank left his friend’s room and went to the waiting room to get that cup of coffee Kel Brackett had suggested. As he stood by the window overlooking the parking lot, he could see it was raining. What looked like it was going to be another gloomy, rainy Monday in Los Angeles County was turning out to be the best day Hank Stanley had seen in a long time.

~*~*~*~*~

When the men from C-shift made their way into the day room after the wake-up tones sounded, they were pleasantly surprised to find the coffee already made and a big box of donuts on the table. The six men glanced at each other in confusion, nobody fessing up to the deed. Captain Tom Lombard, 51’s B-shift captain who was substituting for the vacationing Captain Hookrader, stepped into the apparatus bay, then circled in front of the squad in search of a mysterious visitor. Movement caught his eye. Looking up, he saw Hank Stanley seated in the engine’s cab, his forearms resting on the steering wheel as he silently contemplated the instrument panel.

“Hank?” he queried. He stepped onto the driver’s side running board and looked in the open window at his fellow captain. Hank was already in his uniform, ready to start another shift. “Hank? Everything all right?” When he didn’t get a response straight away, fear gripped his heart. “God, Hank, Stoker—?”

Hank turned his head to regard the man with whom he shared captaincy of Station 51. Hank’s eyes, however, were bright with joy, not grief. “He came out of the coma early this morning. He’s going to be fine!”

“That’s fantastic news!” Tom grinned. He gave his friend a light punch to the shoulder. “Fantastic news! So, I guess the donuts are your way of sharing the great news?”

“Yeah.” Hank seemed to shake himself mentally. He looked around him, as if just remembering where he was. “I, uh, I guess I got lost there for a moment.”

“No, my friend,” Tom said as he hopped off the running board, allowing Hank to open the cab door and dismount. “I think you found yourself.” When Hank slammed the door closed and gave the other captain a questioning look, he added, “We’ve all been out of sorts worrying about Stoker, but I think it hit you hardest since you were there when he was shot.”

Hank thought about what Tom said and the guilt he’d been carrying around for the past week. You don’t know the half of it, Tom. “You’re right. Things are finally beginning to look up!”

~*~*~*~*~

“Hey, Cap, who brought the donuts?” Chet queried as he scooted into line seconds after Roy did for morning roll call. The rest of the crew were already lined up and ready to go. “C-Shift beat it out of here so fast, we didn’t get the chance to find out anything.”

Hank held up a hand to silence the firefighter as he finished talking to Tom. The other captain put a hand on Hank’s shoulder in what appeared to be a comforting way.

“I’ll let you pass on the news,” Tom stated. With that, he gave Hank a couple of pats on the back. As he walked away, he gave the rest of the crew a nod and a grin. “Good morning, gentlemen!”

“What’s so good about it?” Chet grumped. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there!”

“What’s got him so happy?” Marco asked as the sound of Tom’s footsteps receded with the distance. “Everybody knows Captain Lombard hates to work on rainy nights and, boy, did it pour last night!”

Chet regarded his best friend. “You don’t think--?” He eyed Hank warily. Their captain was still contemplating the top page on his clipboard. It was hard to tell by the angle, but Chet could swear Cap had smile on his face.

“Okay, men,” Hank stated, cutting off Chet’s musings, as he turned to fully face them, “I’ve got an announce—“

“It’s about Mike, isn’t it?” Chet interrupted. He pointed at Hank as he accused, “You brought the donuts, didn’t you?”

Hank raised his eyebrows in question; however, he knew he couldn’t fool his men. With news as joyous as this, he couldn’t hide his true feelings for long. Not that he had any reason or desire to do so in this case. “You’re right on both counts, Kelly. Yes, I did bring the donuts and, yes, I was going to tell you about Mike.” He nodded vaguely at Roy, who was already smiling. He paused a couple seconds to let his words sink in, then added, “Mike came out of the coma this morning and Dr. Brackett expects him to make a full recovery.”

“That’s great news, Cap!” Marco grinned. The others nodded in total accord.

“Yes, it is, Marco,” Hank agreed with a smile, “however, we still have work to do.” Making sure he still had their full attention, he started handing out assignments. “And, Kelly,” he finished, “guess what you get for being late?”

“Latrine duty. But, Cap, Roy was later than I was! He barely got in the parking lot in time!” Chet complained.

“Yes, but he made it to roll call before you did. By a split-second, but he still got in line first.”

“How did you see that? You were busy talking to Captain Lombard.” When Hank gave him The Look, he sighed, “Oh, all right” then smiled. He felt so good right now he would have taken latrine duty for a month without a peep of complaint.

Tucking the clipboard under his arm, Hank gave his crew a long look. “Just one other thing. I realize for the past week I’ve made myself damn near inaccessible to you guys. I wasn’t available to you when you needed to talk about what happened to Mike.” He let his gaze linger on Marco for a few seconds longer than he did on the rest. “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior. It was unacceptable.”

“Cap,” Johnny stated, “what happened to Mike wasn’t your fault. We understand why you acted the way you did. Any of us probably would have felt the same.”

“Yeah, you have nothing to apologize for, Cap,” Marco added. “If we’d known that you were feeling guilty about what had happened, we would have ganged up on you or something to make you see reason.”

The thought of his men corralling him in his office and getting him to end the self-imposed guilt trip he’d been on made Hank smile slightly. “I appreciate that, Marco, but I certainly didn’t give you a chance to figure out what was wrong, did I?”

“It’s done and over, Cap,” Chet said. “Forget it.”

“What matters is Mike’s going to be all right.” This from the ever-encouraging Roy.

“What Roy said,” Mark put in.

Hank smiled, the immense pride he felt for his crew threatening to overpower him. “You’re right,” he managed to say after a moment of silence, “all that matters now is Mike making a full recovery.” He looked at his temporary engineer. “Looks like you’re stuck with this nuthouse for a little while yet, Mark.”

“No problem there, Cap.”

“You’re either very brave or very foolish,” Hank muttered, deliberately loud enough for the rest to hear. Raising his voice, he commanded, “Okay, you twits, there’s work to be done, so let’s get to it! After you’ve all had a donut, of course.” He shook his head as Chet and Johnny made a mad dash to the kitchen to snap up their favorites before somebody else did. Marco and Mark laughed at their fellow firefighters as they followed.

Glancing up, Hank noticed Roy looking at him. The two gazed at each other for a long moment. Hank finally broke the silence. “Thanks for the advice, Roy.”

Roy smiled as he removed his uniform cap. “I called Rampart this morning. That’s why I was late and didn’t get the chance to tell anybody about Mike. Dixie told me you had been in to visit him.”

Hank pulled off his hat, ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I’m sure she told you when I went in, too, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” the paramedic answered. “Dr. Brackett thinks you’re being there could be why Mike woke up this morning.”

The captain shrugged. “I’m sure it was just a coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Roy said. He, himself, believed that Kel Brackett was correct in his assumption and Cap’s presence had made the difference. He smiled again. “What say we go grab a donut before Johnny and Chet hoard ‘em all?”

“Good advice.” Hank paused. “Go on ahead, I’ve got a phone call to make.” He started towards his office, then hesitated at the entrance. “Oh, and Roy, tell the men I’ll be making clam chowder for supper.”

“Will do, Cap!”

Hank sat down in his chair and quickly thumbed through his Rolodex before he picked up the phone and dialed. When a voice answered on the other end, he smiled and said, “Emma? Hank Stanley. I just wanted to let you know how Mike Stoker’s doing…”

The End

Author’s note: Special thanks to Dr. Janice Bilby for the medical advice and to Susan Mitchell, my overall Beta-reader. Thanks to you gals, my story is a more accurate and overall better piece of fanfic. Any mistakes are entirely my own.

The usual disclaimers. I don’t own any of the characters from Emergency!; they belong to Mark VII Productions and Universal Studios. I just borrowed them for a bit. Thanks to Randy, Kevin, Tim, Marco, Mike and Michael for bringing to life my favorite firefighters. You guys are truly inspiring!

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