Started writing this one over the summer after losing my own dog and seeing a notation on an episode of Emergency on the Wikipedia for the list of E! episodes, saying Boot died in late 1975. Thus was this piece born, and I hope you all find something here that speaks to you.
(Charlie was created for my story 'Somebody to Lean On', which is posted on AO3, and features fairly prominently in it. For more information on her, please read it. This also where the Incident briefly mentioned here happens. You can find me there under xcourtney_chaoticx.)
If Chet was being perfectly honest, he really just wanted to ignore the signs of his scruffy little buddy getting old. Boot was a member of the Station 51 family and getting old meant only one thing for a dog, no matter how much he was loved by his humans. Chet had only ever had a dog once in his life, a bully mutt that followed his then seven-year-old sister Charlotte home not quite a year after their dad died; she called him Buddy. Buddy loved everyone but was particularly protective of Charlie, Chet, and their mother. When Chet was seventeen, Buddy was hit and killed by a car, so he'd never had to say good-bye to a dog in the way people had to when their dogs were too old.
Everyone at 51s seemed to be doing the same as Chet, ignoring Boot's signs of age, even Cap. The men of A-shift tossed around phrases like, "He'll be alright, he's just getting a little older," and "Boot's still eating some, at least," and "He's doing so well! Did you see how much he ate today?" and "Boot didn't have one accident today. Isn't that great?" all trying to avoid the truth that was so clearly staring them in the face… not that the other shifts were doing much of anything about it, either.
When Boot stopped eating for a couple of days in early October of '75, Mike finally suggested that Boot take a trip to the vet, saying, "He could just be a little sick."
"I'll call Charlie," Chet spoke up, "I know she's got the day off tomorrow, so she could take Boot to the vet's first thing in the morning. I'm sure she'd do it. She loves Boot. She could take him home with her for the night to make it easier, too."
"Sounds like a good idea to me, Chet," Roy told him, "That way he gets there even if we're on a run."
A rumble of general agreement went up from the men at the table, so Chet rose from his chair and went into the dorm to make his phone call.
"Hello, this is Charlotte Kelly."
"Hey, Charlie. It's Chet."
"What's up, Chet? Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, it's just-… well, Boot doesn't seem to be feelin' so good lately," Chet explained, "Think you could take him for tonight and then take him over to the vet's as early as possible?"
"Sure. What's wrong with him?"
"We dunno. I mean, I guess he's kinda old. He hasn't really been eating too well for a while now and had some accidents every once in a while, but during our shift the other day he just stopped eating entirely. B-shift said he didn't eat all day yesterday, either, and he had some more accidents. We wanna make sure he gets to the vet and gets checked out, make sure he's okay."
"Aw, the poor little guy. I'll come pick him up later tonight, but I'll give the vet a call now. Which vet do you want him to see?"
"Doctor… uh, Dr. Var-Varnold, I think? Yeah, that's it, Dr. Varnold. He's a good guy. Oh, and we'll reimburse you for any vet bills while you're there, like medicine or anything like that."
"If you insist. I'll call before I come to get him, okay?"
"Yeah. See ya then, sis."
Thankfully, it was a slow night, so everyone was there in the rec room when Charlie arrived at about 2030, carrying a ragged old towel.
"Alright, where's my scruffy little buddy?" she asked.
"I've got him."
Chet sat on the floor, back against the couch, holding the mutt in his arms. Both man and dog looked up at Charlie as she approached, and Boot's tail flopped in a weak show of happiness. Charlie knelt beside them, scratching Boot's ears, murmuring, "Aw, my skinny little old man. You not feelin' good, Boot?"
After a moment she stood again, asking, "Hey Chet, where's Cap?"
"In his office, filling out some paperwork. Why?"
"I just wanna see him is all," she shrugged.
"Sure… uh, just go right in. Open door policy."
xXxXx
"Ah, Charlotte, I heard you were coming in," Cap greeted, waving her in to a chair.
"Come on, CPT Stanley, I've told you to call me Charlie."
"And I've told you, it's just Cap, or even Hank."
Charlie gave a small laugh, sitting opposite Cap, who said, "So, you're gonna take ol' Boot to see the vet for us?"
"Yup. He's a good little guy, so I wanna be there to help him. Just…"
Her voice trailed off as she chewed her lip. Cap's brow furrowed.
"What is it, Charlie?"
"Just… are you sure you don't wanna wait 'til your shift is done tomorrow morning and take him to the vet yourselves?"
Cap said nothing, his brow furrowing further. Charlie sighed and scrubbed at her face.
"Look, I… I didn't wanna say anything in front of the guys, especially Chet, but… you have to know there's a possibility that the vet'll say that… that it's time to end his suffering. Boot's a great dog, but even great dogs don't live forever. Chet told me what's been going on with Boot, about him not eating and having accidents and bumping into things and being stiff. Now, believe me, I hate to be the realist here, but it could just be that Boot's getting too old. You know it's a possibility, Cap."
It was Cap's turn to sigh, not looking at Charlie, who let her own gaze fall to her lap. She loved Boot just as much as the guys at 51s, had from the moment they met and sat on the couch together almost two years ago. I don't want Boot put to sleep, either, but if his life isn't of a good quality anymore, it's better to let him go… kinder. She looked back up to see Cap pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I think it's more than a possibility," he said quietly, "It's a probability. We've been tryin' to play this off for too long, even me. Can you believe that? A bunch of grown men, buncha firemen, can't even admit to themselves their dog might-… might be getting too old. See, I can't even say the damn words."
"No one likes thinking about it. Boot's a part of the family. You've spent a good chunk of his life loving him and caring for him. But if his quality of life is so poor… we have a duty to end his suffering," she leaned in, her voice nearly a whisper, "Now, if that's what the vet says we oughta do, I swear, I won't let him do anything without making sure all of you are there for him at the end. I promise."
"I know you will, Charlie. I'm just worried about the guys. I mean, these are guys who potentially deal with death on every shift they work, but that's different. It's different when it's part of your job than when it's in your personal life. Now, we only see Boot while we're working but while we're on our downtime. A grieving fireman is something else, lemme tell ya."
"Well, I can deal with Chet, if it comes to it. Look, I'm gonna take care of Boot tonight, and whatever happens tomorrow is what happens. We shouldn't worry about something we don't know will happen… not even you, Cap."
The smile he offered was small and weary but gentle. Charlie rose from the chair and gave Cap a quick hug before returning to the rec room. Her brother hadn't moved, still cradling the little mutt in his arms.
xXxXx
"Alright, well, I've gotta make sure Boot gets a good night's sleep tonight before his appointment in the morning. Varnold said he could get us in right at 0730, so I'll have him there bright and early."
"Why don't you keep him in the kitchen?" Chet offered, "We've got the tile in there so in case he has an accident it'll be easier to clean."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Was gonna put down some old newspaper, too."
Charlie was sure to give everyone a hug before she wrapped Boot in the old towel and scooped him up. The guys all got up to scratch Boot's ears and tell him goodnight and that they would see him tomorrow. Boot whimpered quietly. Chet remained beside them, still petting Boot's head. Charlie cooed softly at the little mutt, "Don't you worry, Boot. You're gonna see your friends tomorrow, but tonight you're gonna have a good night's sleep away from all these noisy firemen and their loud alarms. We're gonna have a good night, Boot…"
Chet felt a lump in his throat but swallowed it down, not really knowing why it was there in the first place. There was just suddenly a lump and a strange foreboding. He decided to walk Charlie out to her car to help her get Boot settled. The little dog whined softly, and Charlie stroked his head, muttering, "Don't you worry, baby. Tomorrow it'll all be over… one way or another… good ol' Boot…"
She must've thought Chet couldn't hear her, but he did. The words were a punch to the gut. She… she doesn't think Boot's gonna make it. What if he dies overnight at my apartment, away from me and Mike and everyone? What if he dies at the vet's tomorrow before the vet can even do anything? I mean he's pretty old, so what if he dies alone and scared and confused? The lump was back.
"Chet? Chet, what's wrong?"
His sister was wearing a gaze their mother used to wear: her brows pinched together slightly, her mouth barely a frown, her eyes flicking between his like she was searching for something. Chet couldn't hold her gaze for long before he had to duck his head to avoid it. He realized he was shaking and probably pale and that damn lump was becoming harder to ignore.
"What's wrong?" she repeated, softer.
"Just… just-just take good care of Boot tonight," Chet stammered, "See, uh, he hasn't been away from the-the station for that long in a few years, so I, uh, I wanna make sure he's okay."
"You know I'll take good care of him. Shit, I was even gonna sleep in the kitchen with him so he wouldn't be alone. And I'm gonna make sure you all see him tomorrow."
"Why do you say it like that? That we'll see him tomorrow? Not that he'll back tomorrow, but we'll see him tomorrow. You… you don't think he's gonna leave the vet's tomorrow."
It was not a question. Charlie sighed.
"Look, Chet, it's a possibility. Somewhere deep down, you know that, and it's why you're so upset," she explained quietly, "Everyone in that station knows it's a possibility and has been for a while now. Tell me, how many times a day would you watch Boot while he was sleeping just to make sure he was still breathing?"
He had no response for that, so he changed tack, asking, "Is that what you talked to Cap about?"
"Yes. I just wanted him to know that if the vet decided it was Boot's time, I wouldn't let him do anything until you were all there to say goodbye. I wouldn't take that from you," she replied.
She took his arm and gripped it gently, reassuringly. Chet ducked his head again and sighed. She was right, of course. She's probably being generous by making sure everyone can be there… I was the only one Boot really liked. He'd heard from the other shifts that Boot tended to make himself scarce when A-shift wasn't on. Mike once said that when Chet had been out for a shift with an injury, Boot was nowhere to be found until dinner.
"Um, why don't you, uh, get one of my old t-shirts for Boot to sleep on?" Chet offered softly, "He might like the familiar smell. That's something dogs like, right?"
"I'll get one out of the laundry. I think saw one with plenty of holes."
Charlie gave her brother a peck on the cheek and bid him goodnight, to which Chet found he could only mumble a reply. Still, he watched the baby blue Impala until the taillights disappeared around the corner, and even then he hung around outside, not wanting to go back in just yet. He sucked in a shuddering breath, almost wishing he smoked to give himself something to do. He jumped when a hand laid on his shoulder and turned to see who the hand belonged to.
"Everything's gonna be alright," Mike told him reassuringly, his voice quiet and steady as he was, "Boot's gonna be alright overnight."
"It's not overnight that I'm worried about."
Mike's hand squeezed briefly, his fingers twitching against Chet's shoulder. He all but whispered, "Come on, let's go inside. Your sister's gonna take good care of Boot, so let's just go back in and worry about tomorrow when tomorrow happens."
His presence was calm and comforting, and he didn't try to rush Chet back inside. Mike just stood with him for a long moment, giving Chet plenty of time to compose himself before they went back in together.
xXxXx
Mike watched Chet slump off to the bunks much earlier than usual, feeling bad for the younger man. Everyone could see that Chet clearly had the strongest bond with Boot, and honestly, Mike had been putting on his optimism for his friend's benefit. Mike and his siblings had a number of pets when he was younger, and he knew when it was time to consider that maybe Boot would be better off not suffering anymore. I'm sure the other guys have been doing the same. Hell, Johnny grew up on a ranch. I can only imagine how many animals he's seen put down. He probably had to do it himself once or twice. Marco had a bunch of cats, and just last year, Roy had taken in a dog. Mike recalled Cap saying they'd had to put their dog down just a few months ago.
As a matter of fact, Cap was still in his office, which was odd because he'd usually finished his paperwork by now to relax with the guys a bit before turning in. Mike went to the open office door, rapping softly on the wood to get Cap's attention. His captain picked his head up from his hands, his face weary, though he tried to hide it from Mike.
"Come on in, Mike. What can I do for you?" he asked, gesturing to the empty chair before him.
The engineer took the offered seat, but not before closing the door behind him almost all the way. Enough to let them know I don't wanna be disturbed but that it's not serious. Cap lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. A guy usually only closed the office door when he was worried about the others hearing something he only wanted Cap to hear. Tonight, Mike closed the door for Cap's sake, bluntly asking, "Are you alright, Cap?"
Cap simply looked at Mike for a long moment, and Mike knew he was deciding whether or not to tell the truth. He certainly wouldn't be upset if Cap decided to lie, but they both knew the engineer would prefer the truth. Cap's brow knitted, the lines around his eyes becoming more apparent.
"It's just tough, Mike," he said at last, "You know that. We just… we all tried to ignore how bad Boot was getting. We wanted to pretend he was invincible, that he would be around just as long as we would. Even me, when we had to put Smoky down just back in July. Buncha twits…"
Mike snorted quietly, then said, "I think people always think that about their pets until it comes time for this kinda thing to happen. Pets are like family, and it's never easy to know that a member or your family is nearing their end. It's kind of weird, but I always thought pets had it pretty good. When they're too sick and suffering too much, someone ends it for them. Humans don't get that."
Mike had seen his aunt waste away from cancer when he was about seven. He remembered asking his mother why Champ had been put to sleep for his cancer but not Aunt Agnes. His mother simply told him things didn't work that way, wearing a strange look on her face. A similar expression now sat on Cap's face.
"I swear, Mike, you're about the darkest person I know," Cap shook his head, then sighed, "I suppose we all knew this day was coming."
Mike simply nodded, so Cap continued, "And Chet… I mean, good lord, did you see the look on his face when you suggested calling the vet? Boot was basically his dog. For this to happen… I just feel like things would be simpler if the little mutt had died in his sleep."
His last sentence was so low Mike barely heard it. The engineer tried, "Maybe Boot'll be alright. Maybe-"
"Oh, don't lie to me to make me feel better, Mike. You're an awful liar, especially to me. We both know what that vet's gonna say tomorrow."
Mike averted his eyes briefly. Charlie had known it, too, the second she saw Boot in person. Another realist. We're everywhere.
"It's… it's what's best, I think," he spoke up after a moment, "You've seen him. Boot's been having incontinence, been bumping into things, probably got arthritis, too. He's not in a good way, and ending his suffering is gonna be what's best for him… and he won't be alone when it happens."
There was a pause.
"Why are you always right, Mike?"
Mike shrugged. Cap sighed again, saying, "Well, I'll never finish this tonight. Suppose I'll just come out and sit with everyone. Chet out there?"
"No, he turned in early."
"Alright. Listen, Mike, would you… would you go check on him for me? Seems to me like you have a pretty good grasp on all this, and I know you've helped him out a lot in the past… and to tell the truth, I'm not sure I'd be much help just now."
The engineer nodded and left the office, heading for the dorm. Chet was already curled up under his covers, sniffling and pretending to be asleep. Mike remembered with a jolt that Chet's mother had died of cancer back in '71. Did he get to say goodbye to her? He decided to turn in a bit early himself. He didn't really feel like sitting with the rest of the guys.
xXxXx
Chet would have liked nothing more than to go on a run that morning to keep his mind off everything, but there was no such luck. Charlie called before she left for the vet's, and Chet was sure it was just to let him know Boot had survived the night. He jumped when the phone rang at about ten of eight. Marco answered, "Hello, Station 51. This is Lopez… Hi, Charlie… yeah, he's right here… Hey, Cap, Charlie wants to talk to you."
"Thanks, Marco. I'll take it in my office."
Marco returned to the table, offering Chet a fresh cup of coffee he gratefully accepted. The guys were being extra nice to Chet this morning, far too nice, though he wasn't unappreciative. He sipped at his fresh coffee, his stomach giving an uncomfortable flip as Cap exited his office. Their captain's expression was one of attempted stoicism… 'attempted' being the key word.
"Well, everyone, that was Charlie," he announced quietly, "I'm… look, I won't mince words here. The vet said it would be best for Boot if he were put to sleep. Charlie told me Dr. Varnold doesn't usually wait to do that, but she explained to him how much Boot means to all of us, and he agreed to hold off until we arrived… so we could all say goodbye. I'll let everyone make arrangements as needed. Now I know this isn't the outcome we were hoping for, but it's what's best for Boot so he isn't suffering anymore."
Tears immediately filled Chet's eyes, and he willed them not to fall, not there in front of everyone. He retreated from the kitchen into the bay, waiting for B-shift to leave the locker room. Marco followed him, saying nothing but simply leaned against the wall beside him, close enough for their shoulders to barely touch. When B-shift was finally ready, they went into the locker room together. Chet took his time changing into his civvies, making him the last one left in the locker room, only half-dressed. He was finally pulling on his t-shirt when Mike poked his head in to tell him, "I think we're gonna carpool down to Varnold's office 'cause that lot's so small. If you wanna ride with me, I think Cap's wagon is full."
Chet swallowed around the lump in his throat, saying, "Yeah… thanks, Mike."
Riding with Mike would be best. He wouldn't bother Chet by asking if he was okay or trying to get him to open up or talk about memories of Boot. He got the feeling that this was by design, likely Mike's own, and he told himself to thank Mike later. For now, Chet wanted to be selfish.
Charlie was waiting for them outside Varnold's office, sitting with Boot on a patch of grass and scratching his ears. She looked serene. Chet made a beeline for the two of them, seeing Boot's tail wag weakly. He almost cried as he scooped the mutt into his arms. Charlie explained, "Dr. Varnold is really great. He was just so polite and understanding when I said I wanted him to wait until all of you could get here to say goodbye."
Boot whined softly, and Chet clutched him a bit tighter. They must've looked a sight trooping into the waiting room, six grown men and one young woman there for one little mutt. Charlie led Chet back into one of the exam rooms, following a vet's assistant. The others held back.
"You deserve some time alone with Boot," Charlie whispered, "but I'll be right here in case you need me."
Chet carefully set Boot down on the table, his eyes wet, forcing himself not to cry. By all standards, Boot was his dog. For someone who'd only ever had one dog in his whole life, Chet got on famously with Boot. They would sit together on the couch in the rec room. Boot would watch him clean, eat with him, would lick his face after a bad run. On chillier nights in LA, Chet had even woken to find Boot curled up beside him on the bunk or found him sleeping there waiting for them to return from a run. Boot was his. The guys came in after a few minutes along with Varnold, who offered his sincere condolences and explained the procedure in simple terms. There were two separate injections. The first was a drug that would help Boot relax, and the second was to quickly and painlessly end his life.
Johnny and Marco said goodbye first, having never been favorites of Boot's, though both received a weak tail wag. Cap and Roy got a wet nose against their fingers. Mike leaned down, petting Boot gently and muttering something to him no one could hear, and he got his palm licked in response. He then found a chair for Chet to sit in by the table. Chet put his face close to Boot's, letting the dog lick at his face one last time.
"I'm going to give him the first shot now."
It worked quickly, and that was when it really hit Chet that this was real. A choked noise escaped him at hearing, "And here's the second shot," his tears ready to fall. Without thinking, Chet began to speak, talking to Boot in his final moments as if it was just another day. Words spilled from his mouth, a murmuring stream of consciousness that barely made sense but seemed to comfort Boot. He never took his eyes off his precious little mutt. He watched him breathe his last, watched the light leave his eyes. His words trailed off into a choked sob.
The world seemed to slow, like it was somehow acknowledging his pain. The word doesn't stop turning just because someone you love dies… Four strong hands descended on his back. The fifth came to rest at the back of his head, at the base of his skull. All were comforting, not that he was entirely comforted. Cap and Varnold spoke in low tones above him, but he wasn't listening. He really couldn't care less what they were talking about. He wasn't sure how he got outside, but there he was getting put in Mike's truck, Mike and John carefully pushing him onto the bench seat. Chet realized his face was wet. John stood close by, his hand snaking around the back of Chet's neck, whispering, "You're gonna be alright, Chet," and shushing him gently. Mike was beside Chet on the bench seat, a hand squeezing his shoulder, saying, "Boot's alright no-"
"No he's not!" Chet burst out, "He's not alright! He's dead!"
There it was. Chet said it. He felt his lip tremble. His voice was thick and shaky as he repeated, "He-He's not alright-"
A single sob escaped his lips. They were getting harder to keep down, to keep hidden. Mike spoke in usual calm, even tone, "You'll be alright. Look, he's gone, sure, but he's not suffering anymore. He wasn't living any kind of life that was good anymore, so this was best for him, and you know it. I don't know if you believe in an afterlife, but even if you don't, at least he's not suffering."
Chet nodded fiercely, still trying to hold in his sobs. John leaned in, soothing, "It's alright, Chet. You just go ahead and let it out. We're not gonna make fun of you or nothin'. You're okay with us."
Mike squeezed Chet's shoulder a bit tighter, and that was it, the pressure that broke the dam. Chet sobbed out, "I-I'm just gonna miss him so much!" and broke down. He buried his face in his hands, feeling the top of his head connect with John's chest, feeling Mike inch closer on the bench seat. He couldn't even find it in him to feel remotely ashamed of his behavior. He could cry with John and Mike. These men were his brothers and had seen him through some of the most difficult moments of his life. If he couldn't cry in front of them about a little dog, then who could he cry in front of? He just wept, crying just like he had in front of Mike after the Incident.
Scruffy little Boot would no longer sit by him and beg for food or watch TV with him or read the paper with him or curl up beside him in his bunk when LA got chilly in the winter. When he finally calmed down, he managed to pick up his head and wipe at his eyes, sucking in a shuddering breath. John and Mike quietly reassured him everything would be alright and that they would be there for him, John carefully helping smooth out his rumpled shirt. Charlie came over not long after, her eyes red and puffy from crying, though she smiled gently at her older brother.
"Come on, Chet," she said quietly, "Let's go home. We'll get your car tomorrow."
She led him over to her Impala and drove them home, sending Chet right into his room for a nap, telling him, "Just sleep. You'll feel better after a nap."
"I won't," Chet whined, "I'll still be miserable."
He felt his bed dip under her weight and rolled over to see her clearly, curling in on himself slightly. His sister reached down to smooth his hair back from his forehead in a familiar gesture of comfort. After a long moment, she whispered, "I'm sorry, Chet. I know how much that little guy meant to you."
"Yeah… yeah, it was a lot."
"Just go to sleep for now. It'll be alright."
"It doesn't feel like it."
"It never does."
Chet slipped into an exhaustion-fueled sleep, dreaming of a fuzzy warmth slumbering beside him. A month later, Charlie came to Station 51 with a plaque she'd had made to commemorate Boot.
"It's from a poem by Lord Byron," she explained, "He wrote it in 1808 after his Newfoundland dog died of rabies. I tweaked it a little to make it more appropriate for Boot the Firedog because I thought it sounded nice. Here, read it."
She passed it over to the firemen, and Marco read aloud, "At this Fire Station lived one who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, and all the Virtues of Man, without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery if inscribed to remember a human, is but a just tribute to the Memory of Boot, a Dog. –adapted from 'Epitaph to a Dog' by Lord Byron, 1808. Boy, that's really nice, Charlie."
"We'll have to find a spot for this on the wall," Cap said.
"We should put it somewhere Boot liked to be," Roy stated.
"The kitchen," Chet spoke up, "Boot sure did like to eat, so the kitchen would be good. The rec room, too. He liked to sit with me in there."
Mike took charge of putting up the plaque in the kitchen, right by the door into the bay, and it became a sort of 51s tradition to give it a little tap before going out on a run if they were leaving the kitchen.
A year later, Chet wandered into the rec room and stopped, staring at the couch.
"Chet? Qué es, amigo?" Marco asked, stepping up behind him.
Chet just pointed. Marco made a noise of interest. The rest of the shift came in and did the same, stopping behind Chet and Marco to stare at the couch where a sleepy-eyed basset hound had taken up residence while they were on a run. Cap made a comment which set the other guys into a conversation, but Chet just smiled at the dog.
I apologize for any emotional trauma caused by this story and for anyone seeming OOC. I always thought Chet might be a little high-strung and had a potential to get emotional if push came to shove, but maybe it's just me.
Working on some more E! fics, so please (if you like my writing) keep an eye out for those both here and on AO3.
I love concrit, so please share if you have any.