I think I'm exploring a new avenue here with an asexual!Mike Stoker. As someone who identifies as asexual, it's never easy to find fics that explore that particular sexuality. We just don't hear that much from him on the show and know very little about the character, so it made sense to me to think he might be the one to write as ace.
Now, asexuality wasn't really described as its own sexuality until very recently, but there have always been people who lacked feelings of sexual attraction. I've seen fic interpreting various characters as straight, bi, and gay, so I thought having one of the guys be ace might be fun to explore. All asexuality is is a lack of sexual attraction, though there are romantic orientations and levels of desire for sexual intercourse/sex-repulsion that can be explored. Please PM me for more info.
This fic does reference the events of 'Somebody to Lean On' posted on AO3 and is a sequel to that. Cross-posted here from AO3.
Update: Well, I didn't think I needed to do this because we are all rational human beings, but I guess I need to add a disclaimer now. When writing, I am writing about Mike Stoker THE CHARACTER, not the actor. Some people apparently do not have the capacity to understand that actors are not analogous to their characters, so there you are. (For more information on this issue, please see my tumblr post at dying-thorin-noises, post/105776703030/oh-fanfiction-net-readers-you-were-being-so-good.)
Update 2: Wow, I really did not expect this kind of controversy with this one. I LOVE it when writers use their own experiences to add something to fics. It makes them more relatable, more fun to read. There's just something there that comes from a person's experiences that makes a fic unique. Anyone can jot out a 5+1 or a oneshot or a songfic, but when a writer writes from experience, then that story becomes unique. Now, there wasn't really any room in the initial summary to mention asexuality, so I was sure to mention it in these notes here. I don't want people to feel attacked or unreasonably uncomfortable when reading this. I want them to enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it. Honestly, fanfic was where I first discovered asexuality and felt a deep connection to it, so if I can write something to help other people maybe make that same connection or find some understanding, then I'll be pretty happy. Now that I've had to ramble on for much longer than I would like, thank you for your time, and please enjoy this story.
Friends are like walls.
Sometimes you lean on them, and sometimes it's good just knowing they are there. ~Author Unknown
Mike was in the middle of a particularly good article in Fire Engineering on pump system innovations when the tones went off at about 1600: structure fire. Only the standard three trucks were called, so Mike knew it wasn't big, but house fires were always a bit rough. That was a person's life, several people's lives, going up in flames and smoke. The homeowners, even when there wasn't a living thing left in that house, were always yelling their heads off, and trying to go back inside for one thing or another. Mike was glad he could stand at his pump panel and mind his own business. He was never particularly good at dealing with civilians, anyway.
He was first into the engine, quickly pulling on his turnout and climbing into the driver's seat with practiced ease. Cap navigated them through a residential maze to a fully involved two-story, pulling in just behind the squad. The other engines pulled up not long after, and the captains got their men working in concert, relieved to know there was no one inside. The fire was brought under control and extinguished in fairly short order for a fully involved, and Mike was beginning to appreciate the relative calm of the scene when the family rolled up in their wagon, wailing about their house.
Now, Mike Stoker was not cold-hearted, not by a long shot. He felt for these people, was saddened to know their home was essentially gone, that countless memories were lost to the flames. He just wasn't very good at dealing with them on what was probably the worst day of their lives. He could speak with them if it came down to it, obviously, or he wouldn't have made a very good fireman, but given his druthers, he'd rather let someone else do it, preferably Cap, Gage, or DeSoto.
"Stoker, when you're done here, would you go in and help with overhaul?" Cap told him, "I'm not sure what we've got left in there, but the more hands on deck, the faster we'll go. I know we're all anxious to get back to Marco's chili."
"Sure thing, Cap."
That was his go-to response. Might as well call me 'Sure-Thing Stoker.' Fits right in with 'Silent Stoker,' I should think. He finished up at the pump and headed for the burnt out house as he'd been bid by his captain, pulling on a pair of thick work gloves as he went. Chet was on the first floor, digging through the burnt debris, so Mike joined him in seeking out any remaining hotspots under the debris, as Chet had already checked the walls. The lineman was now moving the debris with relative ease, flipping stuff over to make sure no more embers were smoldering beneath. They didn't want to get called back, after all.
"Stoker, you wanna help me over here? Pretty heavy, whatever it is," Chet spoke up.
"Looks like… maybe it's part of the fireplace."
"Helluva part then. It's huge."
Mike didn't reply, instead lining up beside Chet. They both bent to grip the piece of debris, and on Chet's count of three, they lifted.
Pain shot through Mike's lower back. His knees buckled, sending him pitching to the floor. He wasn't even able to make a sound, his mouth open in a silent yell, the shock of the pain ripping his breath from him. Chet, thankfully, was on the H/T in an instant, shouting for Gage or DeSoto. A rushing sound filled Mike's ears, and his vision started to grey at the edges. He was only dimly aware of someone else arriving, only dimly aware of Chet speaking to them, of being taken outside, of someone carefully removing his helmet and turnout. Someone was taking his vitals and relaying them to Rampart; he thought it was Gage. Whoever was treating him turned him on his side, prodding at his lower back. The added pain set his stomach rolling. Mike tried to choke down the bile rising up in his throat, but when a particularly sensitive spot was touched, he promptly vomited onto the grass.
"What happened?"
That's Cap. His voice was tense, hurried, borderline demanding. He's worried.
"I think he tore a back muscle pretty bad in there doing overhaul-"
"It's my fault, Cap, I'm sorry, I-"
"It's nobody's fault, Kelly," Cap butted in, as Mike convulsed, the muscles of his back spasming violently, "It's part of the job… not that it makes it any easier."
A low groan escaped Mike's lips.
"The ambulance is almost here," Gage told him soothingly, "Just hang in there, Mike. You're gonna be alright. Just stay with me now. Here, I need you to breathe, huh? Don't hold your breath, Mike, you know better than that. Come on now, buddy, breathe. Just breathe. Nice and slow…"
Another spasm ripped across his back, and he was almost ashamed of the whine it pulled from him. He felt a hand pressing against his palm, just as rough and calloused as his own, and gripped it as tight as he could, squeezing so hard he worried he would break it. It made the pain slightly more bearable somehow. He tried to breathe like Gage told him.
"Good job, Mike. Just keep breathing, just like that. Keep squeezin' Chet's hand there, too. You won't break it. He's tougher'n he looks. The ambulance is almost- wait, there it is."
Gage had to coax Mike into letting go of Chet's hand, replacing it with his own. Mike focused on it, mildly surprised to find it was just as rough as Chet's. I didn't expect that somehow. His hands always seemed like they would be softer. Not because he doesn't work hard but because he's always so gentle with his patients. Mike was in the ambulance before he even realized it, pain still clouding his mind. It burned through his lower back, another spasm rippling over it. His fingers clenched around Gage's a bit tighter; Gage squeezed back.
"I think you were right, Gage," Dr. Morton said at Rampart, "Looks like a torn muscle in the lumbar region. Just rest here a moment, Mr. Stoker. I'm gonna give you a mild muscle relaxant to stop those spasms, as well as a mild painkiller, okay?"
"Sounds good, doc," Mike ground out.
So this is new… Mike had visited the hospital a number of times to see Gage or Kelly or another member of the 51 family who'd been wounded on scene, but this was the first time he'd been a patient since his first year as a full fireman. His unerring caution and attention to detail had kept him out of Rampart's beds for nearly ten years. He supposed it was just a matter of time. He couldn't stay out forever, not even as an engineer.
The rest of the crew wandered in after thirty minutes or so, allowing Cap in first, and Mike was thankful the drugs Morton gave him didn't make him loopy.
"How ya feelin', Mike?" Cap asked.
"A little better now, thanks," Mike replied, "Doc Morton put me on some pretty good stuff, so I'm not feelin' too much. Still kinda sore, though."
"And it's gonna be sore for at least a few weeks."
"Who told you that?"
"Experience. Pulled a back muscle myself at a call about six years ago, and lemme tell ya, it wasn't a walk in the park. You'll probably be out for at least three weeks, depending on how bad you wrenched it."
Mike blinked up at Cap, feeling his eyes go wide. Cap gave him a reassuring smile, saying, "It could always be less than that, but it seems to me you pulled that but good. You'll be out for a few weeks, but you'll be able to have that vacation I'm always bothering you to take. Y'know, I think this is the first time I've seen you here as a patient, Mike."
"It is," he grumbled.
"You'll be alright. Just rest and do what the doctor tells you, and we'll have you back on the pumps in no time. Like I said, could be less than a few weeks."
Mike nodded glumly, still lying on his stomach on the hard table. Cap reached down and squeezed his shoulder.
"You'll be alright," Cap repeated, softer this time, "I know it. Now, I've gotta go call Ginny and the girls and let them know you're alright. The guys all wanna come in and see ya."
Cap gave his shoulder another gentle squeeze and headed out, letting the other four in.
xXxXx
Chet fell back slightly when everyone went in to see Mike, letting John and Roy go first, then Marco. Guilt hung over him like a heavy cloud. He knew there was no reason for it, no possible way he was responsible for Mike's injury, but he couldn't force himself to believe it. The others surely noticed how quiet he was, that he had no jokes or smart remarks for Mike's first known trip to Rampart. His injury's not even that serious! Why am I so uptight about this? He didn't even bleed… which is good 'cause he probably woulda thrown up some more. He hates blood. Chet watched as the others tried to make Mike feel better and left one by one, leaving Chet alone with him before he realized they were doing it. He scuffed the toes of his boots on the tile.
"It's not your fault."
"What?"
"Me hurting my back. It's not your fault, Chet."
"I-I know," he mumbled.
"I wanna thank you, actually, for helping me back there, for being there for me. I mean, it's not the worst thing that's ever happened to one of us, and there's probably worse that'll happen in the future, but… but it sure made me feel better to know you were there… so… so thanks, Chet. I really appreciate it."
"Well… you're welcome, Mike."
Chet gripped Mike's hand in a friendly shake.
"So, where ya gonna go when they set you free?" he asked the engineer.
Mike looked like he wanted to shrug but couldn't. He replied, "Home, I guess. I don't wanna put anybody out or have 'em make a big fuss over me."
"But… but your back… you can hardly move… and you live alone."
"Everyone at 51s knows I live alone."
"Don't you think there should be someone there with you, to make sure you don't hurt yourself more? Or that you should stay with someone for at least a few days?"
Mike looked like he wanted shrug again, and said, "I dunno. I mean, I take care of myself alright. Always have."
"But not when you're hurt. None of us have ever seen you as a patient here. Shit, we've never even known you to call out sick, so you've never had to ask for help like this before. I'm… I'm just sayin' that-that you should know you can ask us for help."
That was what everyone told him over a year ago, just after Charlie and John had been attacked, so he figured it was only fair to return the favor, especially to Mike. Mike's done so much for me and Charlie in the past, I think it's the least I could do. Chet went on, "I could call Charlie to stay with you a few days. She's off today and tomorrow, and she was just tellin' me the other day about one of the guys she works with wanting a little OT. Got his first kid on the way, I think she said. So he'd probably be willing to pick up a few of her shifts for a while."
"I couldn't ask her to do that. She needs the money."
"Not as bad as the guy with a kid on the way," Chet replied, "Besides, Charlie lives with me and splits the rent, so missing a week or two won't be a big deal."
Mike lifted an eyebrow at him from his prostrate position.
"I'll call her and ask. I just… well… I'd feel better if I knew you weren't alone, if I at least asked her to do it."
Mike's skeptical expression shifted to one Chet couldn't quite read. Heat crept into his face, so he beat a hasty retreat out to the phone, where Cap told him to keep it short.
"Hello. Charlotte Kelly."
"Hey sis, it's Chet. I'm calling from Rampart. Everything's fine."
"Then why are you calling from Rampart?"
"Well, I mean, no one's seriously injured."
"Is someone mildly injured, Chester?"
"Ooh, the full first name. That's scary."
"Chester Buchanan Kelly-!"
"Okay okay okay! It's Mike. He pulled his back real bad at a scene, and he's gonna be laid up for a bit. Doc's got him on a mild muscle relaxant and pain killer, so he's good for now, but-"
"-but you want me to stay with him for a bit while he heals up," she finished.
"Only if you want to. If you don't want to, he'll probably end up over at Cap's place. I just remembered you talkin' the other day about Ramirez wanting some OT, so I thought you might be able to do it."
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, followed by, "I can't believe I'm letting you guilt me into this. Look, I'm not a nursemaid. What can I do for Mike? He's lived alone for years."
"We just want someone there to make sure he doesn't aggravate his injury or go stir-crazy or nothin'. He's never been hurt for as long as he's been at 51s, so we're just worried about him. We wanna be sure he's gonna be alright."
Another sigh. Chet waited impatiently, until, "Alright, alright… I'll do it… for Mike. Only because it's Mike and because I like him. I suppose I'll need to retrieve him from the hospital?"
"I'll make sure he calls you and not a cab, Charlie. I ever tell you you're the best?"
"You could say it more often."
"You're the best, sis."
"Yeah, I know."
"Hey, I'm serious, Charlie. Thanks for this."
"You're very welcome. I'll wait by the phone."
xXxXx
A few hours passed before Morton released Mike from the hospital with a prescription for a mild painkiller. Mike had briefly considered simply calling a cab to come fetch him, but he had a feeling Chet told both Morton and Dixie that he was supposed to call Charlie, so he quickly dismissed the idea. Morton he could deal with, but he certainly didn't want Dixie's wrath coming down on him. He allowed Nurse McCall to help him out the door to where Charlie was waiting, smiling beside her baby blue Impala. She hurried over to greet Dixie, carefully taking hold of Mike's arm. He flushed red, feeling embarrassed and weak at not being able to walk under his own power, at not being control. That was what bothered him most.
Mike was quiet all the way to his apartment building, which was characteristic for him, so Charlie didn't pry. That was one of the reasons he liked Charlie. She never pried, never tried to force him to speak or talk about himself, not like Chet or John. They arrived at his building not long after 2200, Charlie hopping out of her car and hurrying over to help Mike out. The climb up the stairs was borderline tortuous, leaving Mike sweating and his chest heaving. Charlie did her best to soothe him, carefully leading him up the steps and into his apartment. His vision started to grey at the edges again. His stomach was rolling, bile rising up in his throat.
"What's wrong, Mike?" Charlie asked quickly, "You feel like you're gonna be sick?"
He clenched his jaw and nodded. Charlie settled him on the couch and rushed to the bathroom, returning with a small trashcan. Guess I look as bad as I feel… which is pretty rotten. Thankfully, the nausea passed after a few minutes and the dizziness after a few more.
"Alright, well, if you're feeling better, I think we oughta get you into bed. Doc Morton said you should rest for a day or two 'cause the tear was so severe, so I'll be staying here for a few days, until he says you're good to be by yourself."
Mike felt everything skid to a stop, and blinked up at Charlie, asking, "What did you say?"
"I'm gonna stay here with you," she repeated, "You're gonna need some help around the house because your back is bad. Plus, you're not used to being home hurt, so I can keep you company, too."
"But… but I only have one bed," Mike explained, "Where are you gonna sleep?"
"You've got a couch," she shrugged.
"I can't let you sleep on the couch. You're a guest. You should take the bed."
"Really? You and Johnny both. I'm sleeping on the couch, and you are going to get a restful night's sleep in your own bed," she told him forcefully, rolling over Mike's protests with, "The only way I'll sleep in that bed is if you're in it too, so just accept that I've won. Besides, Dixie would kill me if I let you sleep on the couch."
Mike thought about arguing some more but knew it would be pointless. He sighed in defeat, saying, "Okay then, well… well, I need a shower, anyway. I didn't get one after we left that fire today, so I need one still."
"A shower? Mike, you can barely stand."
"That's why… why I need your help."
He gazed up at her from the couch, hoping she would understand that he wanted nothing more than to not ask for help. He did not want to need help in the first place. I need you to know this is a big deal, that I'm trusting you… I need you to know how much I trust you to ask for help with something as simple as a shower. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of emotions that clouded together in a form Mike couldn't decipher.
A long moment passed between them. Charlie stepped closer, held out her hand, and simply told him, "Just tell me what you need, Mike. Tell me what you need and I'll do it. No judging. I promise."
Something swelled in Mike's chest. It might have been relief. It might have been anxiety. He couldn't be sure.
"Well… well, I guess you can start by helping me into the bathroom."
"As you wish," she smirked.
As usual, please let me know if anything is wrong, and I will do my best to fix it as soon as possible. I love having any concrit you can spare.
