EMERGENCY!- UNEXPECTED

Written by: George Glisson

Emergency! And all of its characters belong to Mark VII and universal pictures. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N: I think I may be the only person in the whole world who ships Mike and Marco because there seems to be no fanfiction about them, so I'm fixing that. So, maybe try it on and see if it works? I'm interested to know if you guys think I at least made it believable. (Also ignore my Spanish...it's not my first language, so it kinda sucks and I had to use google translator for the longer sentences. D: )

Tissue warning for chapter 1, it's kinda emotional.

-%-ONE-%-

Let me start off by saying that I never expected any of this...I never thought I'd have the courage to say...well, actually, let me go back to the beginning so you know the whole story.

It all started one slow morning at the station.

Marco and Chet were polishing the engine before B shift got there. I was just finishing up cleaning the day room, Johnny and Roy were out on a run, and Cap was catching up on some paperwork.

I heard the phone ring, and Cap walked out of his office to tell Marco that he had a phone call...I couldn't hear who from, but I remember thinking it was odd that Marco would want to take it in the dorm.

Anyway, about 15 minutes passed, and Marco walked into the day room looking really upset.

"What's wrong?" I asked him. He actually looked so upset that it worried me.

I remember him trying to smile, trying to pretend like nothing had happened.

"Nothing, Mike. I'm alright," He lied. But anyone could see the pain in his eyes.

I decided to stay quiet, because I wasn't really sure what to do.

He got a glass of water and sat on the couch to drink it.

I had been sweeping the floor, so I put the broom away and went to sit next to Marco on the couch as I sometimes did. Silently; just to keep him company.

He looked at me, but I pretended I was just sitting down to read a magazine because I was done with the day room.

I remember him parting his lips a little, like he was about to say something, so I looked up at him, but I guess he decided against it, because he closed his mouth.

"Are you sure everything's alright?" I asked him cautiously. I didn't want to upset him even more.

He hesitated, looking down at the floor. "Yeah," he said. "Everything's...perfect."

I knew he was lying; I could hear it in his voice, the way he strained to say the words like he didn't want to lie, but had to. I wanted to help, but I didn't know how to approach the issue.

I know Marco fairly well. We go out for a beer together every once in a while, and through that, we learned that we both really like soccer. Now, we'll meet at his place to watch a match or two. But we keep our distance even then.

I'm a private person, so I tend to keep to myself, but Marco knows more about me than any of the other guys at the station, just because of the time we spend together outside of work...And I'll bet I know more about Marco than most people do, for that very same reason. At least, I know what kinds of beer he prefers, and which soccer teams we agree on an. Which ones we don't...

But at that point, I really didn't know what was bothering him, so I didn't know how to help him.

So I sat there quietly, flipping through the pages of the magazine, not really paying attention to them. I was paying more attention to Marco as he sat and drank his water. The longer he sat there, the more fidgety he became. I tried not to react to him; to just be there in case he decided to open up. It was harder than I'd anticipated, but I think I did a pretty good job, because he finally mumbled my name.

When I looked at him, he looked like he was about to cry. My first impulse was to reach out to him, but I refrained. I set the magazine down and leaned back into the couch.

"What's wrong, Marco?" I asked again, my voice as soft as I could make it.

"It's my father," he said, so softly I could barely hear him. "He's very sick. He's not expected to make it through the night."

My heart sank. Now it made sense. I still wanted to reach out to him, but for some reason, I felt like he wouldn't appreciate it, so I didn't. Instead, I said, "Marco...I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

A single tear rolled down his cheek. "I...don't know," he said, somehow keeping his voice steady. "Just...Would you just be there for me in case-" his voice caught in his throat. I handed him a box of tissues.

"Of course," I said, letting him know he didn't have to say any more. I cautiously put a hand on his shoulder, because I wanted him to know that I was there for him...but I didn't quite know how to say it.

"Which hospital?" I asked quietly.

"Rampart," Marco almost whispered.

At least his father was in good hands.

Marco wiped his tears away with the tissue I'd handed him and put the box back where it had been on the table next to the couch. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat and said, "Thanks, Mike," before walking back out to help Chet finish with the engine.

I admired him for his strength. I hadn't been so composed when my father had fallen ill...I'd actually been quite a mess. Perhaps he was too, but if that was true, he was better able to hide it than I had been.

Since I was done with the day room, I got up and went into the apparatus bay to help him and Chet with the engine.

The Cap came in and walked over to Marco to ask him what the call had been about. I could tell that Marco didn't want to worry about it any more than he was at the moment, because he smiled and said, "Nothing Cap, I'm alright." Just what he'd tried on me. I knew the Cap could see right through it too, but he decided not to press the matter.

"Alright," he said, shifting his attention from Marco to the Engine. He pointed to a spot that Chet hadn't gotten yet. "Finish this part and you guys can go home, ok? Carter and Hendrix just pulled up."

"Sounds like a plan, Cap," said Chet. Marco and I just nodded somberly. I knew he could tell something was up, because he gave us both a concerned look before deciding to let it go and walk away.

After we'd finished the Engine, I offered to drive Marco over to Rampart so we could go see his father. He nodded and followed me out to my car and we drove over there in silence.

-%-

When we got there, we learned from the receptionist that he was in the ICU, so we walked up there and found his room.

Marco's whole family seemed to be crammed into that little room, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents...from both sides of the family. Some were by the bed, praying, some were crying by the window, some were barely old enough to know what was going on. Even though I could understand most of the Spanish I heard, having grown up in East LA, I still felt out of place; like I was intruding, so I stood next to the door.

"Marco!" Marco's mother embraced him the moment she saw him, crying into his shoulder. "¡Dígale a su papa que dejara de hablar loco así! (Tell your father to stop talking crazy.)"

Suddenly, we all heard Marco's father call his name, and it became eerily quiet in the room. Marco slowly let go of his mother, who covered her face with her hands. Marco sent me a little look as he walked over to his father's bedside, and my legs carried me over to him, as if it were his idea.

"Si, Papa? (Yes, dad?)" Marco said when we'd gotten to the bedside, his voice shaking a little.

"Marco," his father said, his voice rough and cracking from the sickness. He looked up at his son with love in his eyes, not at all masked by the beeping equipment all around him. "Que pasó, Marco? Sonríer! No te preocupes por mí. Ser feliz. (What's wrong, Marco? Smile! Don't worry about me. You should be happy.)"

He looked at me, then back at Marco. "Tiene una vida que vivir. Prométeme que te quedarás feliz. (You have a life to live. Promise me you'll stay happy.)"

Marco's tears silently rolled down his cheeks, but his voice was steady. "Prometo. (I promise.)" His strength was inspiring.

Marco's father smiled and reached up for Marco's shoulder. He looked pleased with his son. Then he looked at me, "What a son I have, eh? I knew I could count on him to stay strong. Take care of him for me."

I smiled back at him and nodded, trying not to let myself tear up. He looked back at Marco, that pride never leaving the twinkle in his eye.

"Hasta luego, Marco. Mi tiempo ha llegado. Estoy orgulloso de ti, Marco. Muy orgulloso. (I'll see you later/goodbye, Marco. My time has come. I'm proud of you, Marco. Very proud.)"

"Papa..." Marco choked, his strength beginning to crumble. "No hables así...(Dad...Don't talk like that.)"

But Marco's father's eyes had closed, and on his last breath, I heard him say, "Muy...orgulloso. (So...proud.)"

-%-

We drove back to the station so Marco could get his car. It was a silent drive. I was lost in my own thoughts. I knew Marco pretty well by then, but we'd kept just enough distance that I'd had no idea about his father. In fact, I noticed that he rarely talked about his parents to anyone.

I pulled into the station parking lot and parked right next to his car. We had been silent for so long that I was startled when I heard a sob from the direction of the passengers seat. I looked at him, concerned. He looked like he'd been silently crying for a while.

I put a hand on his shoulder. I knew exactly how he felt. When my father died, I felt like my life was over. All I had wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die because the crying never seemed to end...I could be fine one moment, and then something would remind me of him...a smell, a colour, a place, a taste, a feeling, you name it. Something would remind me that I'd never see him again...and the next minute, I'd be miserable. I hated seeing Marco going through what I had been through. What struck me as odd was that his father had looked at me...of all people...and asked me to take care of him. But it really didn't matter so much why, so I resolved then and there that I'd help him get through it any way I could.

-%-

I ended up following Marco to his apartment because he asked me to come watch a soccer match with him. I could tell he was looking for anything that would get his mind off his father...just as I had.

I made him sit on the couch and got him a beer. One of his cats rubbed up against him and he ran a hand down its back as he turned on his TV and flipped through until he found the sports channel.

We watched about fifteen minutes of a soccer match, and just when the other team was about to make a goal, Marco turned off the TV.

His eyes were closed and his chin was quivering.

Just when I was about to ask him if he was alright, he said, "We used to watch matches together. Just the two of us. Mama didn't really care for it." A tear spilled out from under his eyelid. "Our team lost the last time we watched a match together."

I couldn't say anything...it's not that I shouldn't have, it's just that I didn't know what to say.

"That's about the time he started showing the symptoms," Marco continued.

"We'd...been expecting it for a while, now," he said softly. "I'd go visit him every saturday...I noticed that he'd been going downhill for months, but...I guess none of us wanted to admit it. Especially him."

He didn't need to clarify who he was talking about. I knew.

I didn't say anything; just nodded sadly.

Marco let out a shaky laugh. "He would smile at me and say, 'Está bien, Marco. Sentio feroz como un león.'" He shook his head. "I feel...fierce as a...lion..." he added, trailing off. He took a shaky breath and shut his eyes, trying to stop the tears from flowing. This time, I couldn't help it. I wrapped my arms around him. To my surprise, he didn't pull away. He held onto me, and I let him cry into my shoulder for a while...and as he did it, I couldn't help but feel like he needed me.

-%-

I went home that night wondering if Marco would be ok. I knew how miserable I was when my father had died...I would be fine for a while when people were around, even if they were just in the next room. But if I tried to think about him for even just a few minutes, I would be a mess again, and having no one to talk to was especially hard. Before I left, I told Marco that if he needed anything, he could call me, no matter what time it was. He'd just nodded and thanked me in Spanish, then said it in English. I told him I meant it, any time at all. Even if it was after midnight. He nodded and thanked me again, then I went home.

-%-

I'm a morning person, so I usually wake up pretty early. I had just gotten up and was about to do my morning stretches when the phone rang. I ran to get it and it was Marco.

"Hey..." he said distantly. I could tell he was tired, but it sounded like he hadn't slept at all. I'd figured he wouldn't be able to fall asleep...I hadn't been able to sleep very well after my father had died either.

"Hey, Marco. What's up? Are you alright?"

"I can't sleep," he said. "I know this sounds crazy...but...it's too quiet here."

"No," I told him." It's not crazy at all, Marco, I know the feeling. Like your life is empty somehow. Even though you live alone."

He was quiet for a second. "Yeah," he agreed. "That's it exactly."

"Are you doing ok?" I asked him.

"I guess," he said. "Just feeling pretty lonely."

"Do you need some company?" I asked him. "I can be there in ten minutes."

He must have paused to look at his clock.

"It's four in the morning, Mike, are you sure?" he asked.

"Marco, you had no problem calling me at this hour because you knew I'd be up. Besides, traffic won't be an issue, and I want to help in any way I can."

He was quiet for a while, then finally mumbled an "Alright, if you want to..." but I could tell that he wanted me there. He really must have been lonely to reach out to me at four in the morning.

"I'll see you in ten, ok?" I said.

He paused for a moment. "Thank you, Mike," he said.

I stopped to smile. One of the things I like about Marco is that he's always there when you need him. The funny thing is, when it comes to him needing others, he doesn't know how to take it. Still, it was nice to know that he really did want me there. After all, I had a promise to keep to his dad...and maybe to myself.

-%-

I jumped into some clothes and was in my car and on my way in less than five minutes. It took a little longer than five minutes for me to get to his house, but I finally pulled into the parking lot and hopped out of my car. He opened his front door before I'd even gotten up the stairs . When I'd gotten closer I could tell he'd been crying.

"Hey..." he said when I'd gotten up the stairs.

"Hey, Marco," I replied. He stood back to invite me in, and I walked past him into the apartment. He shut the door and I followed him into the living room. When he sat down, he propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked so tense...and I suddenly felt like I needed to let him know I was there for him. I slowly sat next to him on the couch, cautiously putting a hand on his shoulder. He was tense. His shoulder muscles were really tight.

"How are you doing?" I asked softly, absent-mindedly rubbing his shoulders a little. I stopped after I'd realised it.

He shook his head and took a couple of shaky breaths. He was quiet for a while, and I could tell he was crying. I put an arm around him...I hated to see him cry.

"I miss him..." he said after a while, which brought on a whole new wave of tears.

"I know, Marco," I whispered. I put my other arm around him and we sat like that for a while while he cried.

Even though the sound of him crying ripped my heart right out of my chest, I knew he needed it, so I let him just cry it out. He had every right. Staying so calm and collected at the station after getting a phone call telling him to come say goodbye to his father would've been hard for anyone. In fact, I knew as I looked down at him, his shoulders shaking, hearing his painful sobbing sounds, I wouldn't have been able to do it.

When he'd calmed down a bit, he told me some stories about his father. He told me about the first time they'd gone fishing together...the time his father had taught him how to shave, and how to tie a tie...

He told me about things they'd done together as long as he could remember...watching soccer...doing tin-work like his grandfather had...making chile, tortillas and tamales, and cookies if they were lucky.

He told me how his father had taught him how to cook and that it was one of his favourite things to do with him.

He told stories until the sun was up, and I laughed with him when he told a funny story and comforted him when he cried.

-%-

He finally dozed off at around 0640. I put a blanket over him and got up to make a pot of coffee.

I drank a cup, did my morning stretches, pet his cats and started to read a book while he slept. He needed the sleep.

Maybe I should have left, but I didn't want him to wake up to an empty house.

It's odd, because...I realised that, even though I was trying really hard to read the book...I couldn't focus on the words. I kept looking at him, lying there on the couch...he looked so peaceful...and after the amount of emotion he'd felt in the past few hours, I knew it was good for him.

...but there was something else I couldn't figure out. Why was he turning to me? Why, after the loss of his father, wasn't he spending more time with his family? And why had his father asked me to take care of him? Why not his mother? I put the book down and watched his chest rise and fall. Maybe there was something else going on that I couldn't see.

-%-

I almost didn't hear him when he woke up because I'd dozed off, too, a few times. It was 0900 before I was fully aware again and I suddenly noticed his deep brown eyes staring back at me.

"Oh, g'morning," I said groggily. I saw him smile at me before I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

"How did you sleep?" I asked as I got up and stretched out my legs.

"I slept," he said. "That's enough for me."

I smiled and walked into the kitchen to warm the coffee I'd made a while ago. I knew it'd be bitter, but...I don't like to waste coffee.

"Do you want me to make you some breakfast?" I asked. He didn't respond.

When I glanced back at him, he was sitting in his living room, staring at the carpet like he was thinking really hard about something.

"Marco?" Maybe he hadn't heard me.

He finally looked up at me. "I'm sorry, what?" he said.

"Do you want me to make you some breakfast?" I repeated, smiling back at him.

"Oh," he shook his head at me. "You don't have to do that for me, Mike, you've already done so much for me—"

"No, I want to!" I assured him. "After all, I know what you're going through."

I got out a pan, set it on the stove, and put a pat of butter in it to melt. I didn't hear him come into the kitchen, so I was a bit startled when his voice came from behind me.

"Thank you, Mike. I really appreciate what you're doing for me."

He said it soft and low, and a wonderful feeling wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I didn't know what it was about his voice...but, whatever it was, it was strong enough to make me smile...

But...it was more than that. I felt happy...no, that wasn't the right word. I felt better than happy. "Warm and fuzzy" just doesn't do it justice either. It was like...the best feeling I'd ever felt in my life. I couldn't stop smiling as I cracked four eggs into a bowl.

"Any time, Marco," I said. I didn't know what else to say, I was too distracted by this new feeling.

I was almost perplexed by it...I wanted to figure out why I was feeling it, but at the same time, I didn't...as if doing so would ruin the feeling.

I glanced at him and caught him smiling back at me, mirroring my own expression...and I suddenly felt that I'd finally gotten to know him.

-%-

"¡Ay! ¿Que fue eso? What was he thinking?"

"This goalie's terrible!" I agreed.

Marco sighed and shook his head, getting up. "I'm getting another beer. You want one?"

I nodded yes and grabbed another handful of peanuts. "Please."

Marco nodded and walked over to his refrigerator. He brought back two cans of Michelob and popped the lids, handing me the one that was in his left hand.

"Thank you," I said, glancing up just in time to see our goalie miss another ball.

Both Marco and I groaned.

"Ten to seven, and they have the better goalie," Marco said shaking his head. "Ridiculous..." He said, turning to ignore the TV Set. "I'm starting to get hungry. You want to get a pizza?"

I smiled. "Sure!"

"What do we want to get on it?"

I think we watched more games and ate more pizza in those three days than I had ever seen in a month! At least that's how it seemed. But I knew I was helping Marco fill a void in his life, and I knew he needed the support...I just hoped I was giving him everything that I hadn't had.

It had been three days since the morning that had changed Marco's life forever. He'd been doing well, but I knew he was hiding his pain, just as I had. His life had just been flipped around, and balancing that was going to be hard. I was hoping that going to work tomorrow would help everything return to at least some semblance of 'normal' for Marco.

-%-

"Oh...you're cheating or something!"

"No I'm not! Look: gin! Read 'em and weep!"

I laid my cards out on the coffee table for him to see.

"¡Ay!" Marco said, putting his cards down. "Ok, you win! Again!" He smiled and shook his head. "I was never good at this game anyway...but for some reason...I always beat Papa..."

I saw his face darken a bit. He smiled a sad smile and sniffed. "You know, I think he used to let me win. I never lost to him once."

I nodded and looked at him. It...hurt me to see him in so much pain...but I didn't know what to say. Nothing I could think of sounded right, so I just nodded again, standing and going to sit next to him.

He looked back at me...I mean, really looked. He had an intense gaze, like he was staring into my soul. He looked at me so long, I was tempted to look away. I didn't know why, but I actually started to feel myself blush.

He finally looked down and said, "Thank you for being here, Mike. You're a good listener...and I appreciate your company."

I smiled at him. You're welcome...

I just couldn't say it out loud, but...I felt it with my whole being...and I think he felt it too, because the next thing I knew, he had wrapped his arms around me, and we just sat there, hugging. I'd never felt more right in my whole life...being there for my friend...letting him know he was not alone...and for some reason, I didn't want to let go.

-%-

I finally did let go...I said goodbye and left his house at around 2230. I hoped he would sleep alright that night...but I knew it would be hard for me to.

My mind was going a mile a minute by the time I got back to my car.

I didn't want to stop hugging him. I hadn't wanted to say goodbye. I didn't want to leave...

I wanted to stay there; I wanted to make sure he slept well, I wanted to make him breakfast in the morning...ask him how he'd slept...

I wanted to be right there with him when we got to work that morning...

When it got right down to it, I guessed I wanted to spend more time with him. Even though we'd just spent four days off together...It just didn't seem like enough. I just felt so inadequate...was I living up to his father's wishes?

I sighed and drove home. I was worrying too much. I had to keep my head on straight, so I took a sleeping pill and went to bed, but I didn't dream that night.

My house seemed strangely empty when I went to make the coffee in the morning. I stretched, got dressed, and left early. I guess I had been spending so much time with Marco, I forgot what it was like to live alone...but how could I forget that in just four days? It seemed a little absurd.

Nonetheless, I couldn't deny that...it was strange not having anyone in the house with me.