A/N: This is the fourth installment in the "House Divided" series. A small segment of "DeSoto's Dilemma" is repeated in order to set the time line for this story within the series.

Marco's Mission

Chapter 1

Marco sat on the edge of his bed, the same one he had slept in as a teenager. Over the last few weeks, he had basically moved in with his mother. A devoted and loyal son, he felt the need to help his mother through this time of year – every year for the last four years. The sound of his precious nephew padding down the hallway pulled a bittersweet smile from his round sad face. He waited for the tiny voice he knew would soon call out to him.

"Meeko?" A soft voice floated through the closed door, as small hands jiggled the door knob.

"It's okay, Antonio. You can come in now," Marco said, permitting the entrance of the curious four year old. He waited for the dark-haired child to launch himself into his uncle's arms for their morning ritual.

Antonio bolted onto the bed and began climbing around on top of Marco. The two wrestled around for a few minutes with Marco pretending to be pinned to the mattress by the much smaller replica of himself. The child giggled in a carefree manner as he continued to pounce on his uncle with the stealth of a hunting mountain lion stalking his prey. Marco pretended not to notice as he bent down to slip on his shoes. Then, as soon as the tiny mass of energy bounded onto Marco's head, the man grabbed onto the boy as he quickly stood up, spun around twice, then gently tossed the laughing little boy onto the bed. With all of his energy spent, Antonio merely lay in one spot, hugging his stomach as he continued to laugh.

"Had enough, Ant?"

"No-no, I'm Ba'man," the child sang out, rolling onto all fours then slowly standing. He made a swinging motion with one arm, as if tossing his imaginary cape behind him, then jumped off the bed and into the waiting arms of his uncle.

"Oh, you're Batman, huh? Then who am I, Robin?" Marco teased.

"No-no, you da Jockey!"

"The Joker," Marco corrected, trying to hide his grin. He hugged the little boy closer to his chest as he picked up his bag with his free hand, and stepped into the hallway. He allowed the child to slide down his side and onto the floor, freeing up Marco's hand to close his bedroom door. "Okay, Ant, time to go downstairs for breakfast."

Antonio rushed to the stairway where he waited for his favorite uncle to catch up. Together, the two of them walked down the stairs, hand in hand, ready for breakfast.

Mrs. Lopez stirred the scrambled eggs into the onions and peppers then removed the pan from the hot burner. Taking a few heated tortillas, she spooned a small amount of the egg mixture into each one, rolling them up and topping them off with home-made salsa. Just as she set the plates on the table, she heard the sound of Marco and Antonio entering the warm kitchen.

"Good morning, Mama," Marco announced, dropping his bag beside the back door. He noticed that she wiped her face before she turned around to greet them. Thankfully, the youngster climbing up to the table didn't notice the emotional display. "Anymore phone calls?"

"No," Mrs. Lopez sniffed. "But I keep hoping."

"Are you hungry, Ant?" Marco asked, changing the subject.

"Uh-huh," the child grinned, arranging himself in his chair and reaching for his orange juice.

"And what's the Spanish word for that?" Mrs. Lopez asked.

Antonio grinned broadly at his doting grandmother. "Si," he nearly shouted with pride.

Mrs. Lopez never missed a chance to share her culture and her faith with her children. Now, she was passing it down to her grandchildren, too, especially this one. "Marco, will you say grace before we eat?"

"Si, Mama," he said, winking at his nephew as they reached out to hold hands.

The meal was eaten in relative silence. After Marco had finished his food, he pushed the plate aside, and reached for his orange juice. "You gonna be okay without me tonight?"

Mrs. Lopez appreciated the gesture. Truthfully, it didn't matter if she was alright or not. He had no choice but to go to work. Her son was a dedicated firefighter and her heart swelled with pride every time she saw him in his uniform. "We'll be fine, Marco. He isn't the first little boy I've raised," she said with a forlorn look on her face. "I seem to do better with boys than with girls," she added, standing and collecting their finished plates while Antonio finished eating his burrito.

Marco stood up, waiting for her to set the plates into the sink then pulling her into a hug. "You are a remarkable woman, wife, mother and grandmother. I don't know how you do it. But one thing I do know, is that this isn't your fault at all."

"My head knows that, but my heart still aches over it. I keep wondering what I could have done differently," she whispered, not wanting her grandson to hear her.

"Nothing, Mama. There was nothing you could have done differently. She made some bad decisions a long time ago, and now, it's all up to her," he reassured.

"She made a wrong decision long ago, but the decisions she's making now are not hers, Marco. They are not hers. Remember that, please." The weeping woman nodded her head in the direction of the table, turning her back to the little boy as he drank the remainder of his orange juice. "He'll be starting school in a couple of years. What will happen then, Marco? What will we do then?"

"We're going to do everything we can between now and then. Don't borrow trouble from tomorrow. Isn't that what you used to tell me?" He asked her, gently patting her shoulder.

"Si," she remarked, fingering the golden crucifix around her neck, the symbol of her faith. "If I get another phone call, I'll let you know. Be safe, my son," she said, turning around and planting a kiss on his tanned cheek.

"Call if you need me," he told her as he walked toward his seated nephew. He ruffled the child's straight dark hair. "Be a good boy for Grandma."

"Okay," the little boy muttered, using his pajama sleeve to wipe the orange juice mustache from his grinning face.

Twenty-five minutes later, Marco parked his car in the parking lot behind Station 51. Based on the cars already parked there, he was going to be assigned latrine duty. He didn't mind, though. Doing his chores alone meant he didn't have to explain himself to anyone who might catch him staring at nothing for long periods of time. He stepped out of his car, locked it then headed for the locker room. He had taken care of dressing in his uniform before leaving for work, so he tossed his bag into his locker and headed in search of a hot cup of coffee. He had lost a great deal of sleep on his many late night outtings in recent weeks, so loading up on caffeine was a necessity before the first run.

He pushed through the kitchen door just as Chet was in the middle of some long drawn out tale. He tried not to listen, noting how intently Johnny was paying attention, but he couldn't help but overhear a small segment that sent him into an uncharacteristic primal rage.

"You're gonna catch somethin' ajax won't remove," Johnny spouted out.

"Nah, she's young and innocent," Chet commented, realizing that Johnny still hadn't figured it out. Chet had already seen the look on Roy's face and knew that he, as the father of a young girl, had figured out about whom Chet was referring.

Marco cut his eyes at his partner, setting his hot coffee down on the table. He felt his stomach lurch at Chet's comment. "What did you say?"

Chet smiled. "Just that young wet naked babes find me attractive."

"That isn't funny, Chet." Marco narrowed his tired eyes at the Irishman, too exhausted to fully comprehend the jest of Chet's story.

"Yea, her mother didn't think it was too funny, either. In fact, she was appalled by her daughter's behavior." Chet laughed, knowing that with that last comment, the entire crew would understand his joke. He was wrong.

Marco somehow mustered up the energy to bolt from his spot at the table, grabbing his partner by the shirt collar, and slamming him against the brown refrigerator door.

"What the hell, Marco? It's a joke! It was Corrie! She'd just gotten a bath!" The younger man yelled out, surprised by his partner's reaction.

Mike and Roy suddenly appeared on either side of Marco pulling his hands away from Chet, and dragging him backwards. Johnny set down his coffee cup, rushing to Chet's defense.

"You a'right?" Johnny asked, pointing a finger at Chet's chest.

Hank pushed through the kitchen door, pinning his men in place with his stern hazel eyes. He saw Marco fuming, Mike and Roy holding him away from Chet. His younger lineman was straightening his shirt, as Johnny stood in front of him, effectively blocking Marco's access to Chet.

"Is there a problem in here?" The fire captain questioned his men.

Chet peered around Johnny, waiting for Marco to say something. When no one spoke, he decided to answer their captain's question. "No… No, sir. Everything's just FINE," he spat out, emphasizing his last word.

Hank looked each man in the eye for confirmation. The only one who wouldn't make eye contact was his older lineman. "Roll call in ten minutes. Kelly, tuck your shirttail back in. Lopez, my office… NOW!"

Chet shoved his shirttail back into the front of his navy blue pants, feeling confused and stunned. His partner had just pounced on him for reasons unknown to not only Chet, but the other members of the A-shift.

"Man… Who pissed in his oatmeal this morning?" Chet questioned, turning his collar back down at the back of his neck, and stepping away from the refrigerator.

Mike's blue eyes continued to stare at the door through which Captain Stanley and Marco had just exited the kitchen, leaving behind them four dumbfounded men. "I don't know, but that isn't like him."

"No, it isn't," Roy chimed in. "Something's up."

"Whatever it is, it's a doozy. Nothin' rattles Marco. I mean, the guy nearly got electrocuted at that gas station, and he wouldn't even let us take him inside Rampart in a wheelchair. He insisted on walkin' in." Johnny's chin was left hanging lower than usual, leaving his mouth agape. That usually meant he was perplexed, and Marco's uncharacteristic behavior certainly left him feeling that way this morning.

"Yea well,… We better get ready for roll call. I sure don't want to make Cap any angrier than he already is," Mike added, pouring his lukewarm coffee into the sink. He then set about cleaning up the percolator, preparing it for the next pot of coffee that he was certain was going to be needed soon. This was shaping up to be a very difficult shift.

E!

Marco trudged behind his captain, his mind swirling with emotions. He was exhausted and had allowed his personal issues to affect his job performance. If his captain chose to suspend him, then he certainly couldn't argue the point. He just hoped that a suspension was all he was going to get. His actions this morning deserved whatever punishment he got. He had completely lost his temper in front of his coworkers, and his partner had been the recipient of the brunt of his anger. How was he going to explain his actions to his shift mates?

He dragged his leaded feet through the doorway of the captain's office, sitting in the hot seat beside the desk, a seat his partner and friend occupied more often than any other member of their crew. His embarrassment colored his tanned complexion as he leaned his forearms on his knees, not wanting to look directly into the disappointed face of his superior.

Hank took his seat at the desk, grateful that his older lineman had taken a seat rather than assuming a defiant stance. At least his appearance was that of a contrite sorrowful man. Hank swallowed hard, inhaling and exhaling a cleansing breath before he began, hoping that the klaxons would allow them a reprieve for a little while longer.

"Marco?" Hank watched the lineman hang his head even farther, facing the floor. Whatever was happening to him was extremely difficult for the younger man.

"I'm s-sorry, Cap. I'm really sorry." Marco could feel the heat of his shame rising up around his collar, causing small rivulets of perspiration to run down behind his ears and along his temples.

"Well, I'm not the only one you need to apologize to."

Marco rubbed his palms together nervously. "I know. I'll take care of it before I leave." He raised his face up enough to look at his captain through his upper eyelashes. "Am I fired, or just suspended?"

Hank sighed, rubbing his hand across his upper lip. He hadn't expected the question he'd just been asked. "Well, what do you think I ought to do?"

Marco lowered his eyes again. "Fighting is a dischargeable offense, sir. I know that."

Hank leaned forward, resting his forearm along the edge of the desk. He waited a moment until his crewmember looked up at him. "Yes, yes it is. Chet knows that, too. I can only assume that's the reason why he didn't fight back." Hank knew he was presuming a lot since he had not been in the room when the altercation had actually occurred, but he also knew that his instincts were right, based on how Marco was reacting.

"Yes sir; Chet's a good man."

Hank leaned back in his chair once again. "Yes, he is, and so are you, Marco. So… What's going on?"

Marco swallowed hard then leaned back in his seat. His stomach continued to flip flop. Never had he ever sat in this seat before and never did he think he would ever be here. It also had not escaped him that his superior had not answered his question. In his mind, that could only mean one thing. He was most likely going to be fired. "I'm, ah… I'm having some issues at home with my family."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Pal. Recently been through a rough patch myself."

Marco stared at the floor. "Yes sir, but not like this," he mumbled, his voice fading to nearly a whisper. "You were able to bounce back." Marco wanted to say more, to explain that his own issue seemed to be never ending whereas his captain's problem had reached a peak, allowing him to begin the healing process. However, being a very private man, Marco remained silent.

Hank's heart ached at the sound of pain in his older lineman's voice. "I'm bouncing back, Marco. I'm not back 100% yet, but I'm getting there with the help of my family, my… Ahem, my therapist, and my friends. I count you and the rest of the men among those who are helping me get back. If I remember correctly, you sat on me and helped pull me back from a pretty bad nightmare." Hank still struggled with the idea of being in therapy, but now seemed like an appropriate time to remind his lineman.

Marco merely nodded quietly.

"You're among friends here, and I'm one of them. Is there anything… Anything at all that I can help you with?" Hank looked understandingly at the nervous man.

Marco hesitated just long enough to give Hank a sliver of hope that his upset crewmember was about to trust him with some vital information.

"No sir," Marco announced, shaking his head. "I wish you could, but you can't. No one can." He looked back up, his dark eyes searching his captain's face for the answer to his original question.

Hank pressed his lips together firmly. "I see. What about the other fellows? Is there one of them you could talk to?"

Again, Marco shook his head. There was no way he could bring the guys into his familial hell. He looked back up at his captain. "I'll go clean out my locker, Cap."

"Not yet, Pal."

"Sir?"

"I said not yet. Let's go have roll call before we get a run. We'll continue this later." Hank stood up, noticing the confused expression on his lineman's face.

"I don't understand. Aren't you going to call in a replacement for me?"

"Like I said, not yet. I am going to talk to Chet, but I doubt he'll want me to do anything. If I recall, he was given a second chance not so long ago." Hank smiled, patting Marco on the back as the younger man stood up. Through his captain's eyes, he could see a sense of relief and also concern on Marco's tanned face. Hank reached for the door, ushering the lineman through ahead of him. The two of them made their way to the place where the other four men now stood, waiting for roll call to begin.

Chet looked up, his eyes locking briefly with those of his partner, then quickly diverting to the gray concrete floor. He knew that something was terribly wrong with Marco, but he was also still miffed about being shoved into the refrigerator in front of the other men. He rocked back on his heels, cutting a glance at Mike who stood directly to his left.

Mike's blue eyes scanned first Marco and then Captain Stanley. He noted that both men looked frustrated, leaving him with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He nodded his head at Marco, then straightened his shoulders and stared at the closed bay door. It wasn't his place to mention the incident. If anything was to be discussed then Captain Stanley and Marco would have to be the ones to do it.

Marco reluctantly took his place between Roy and Chet. He cleared his throat then stiffened his body, locking his eyes on the bay door, looking just over his captain's shoulder.

Hank waited for the last man to complete the formation before beginning. "Okay," he began looking down at his clipboard. "I've got a couple of memos to go over with you here." He scanned the pages, reading the relevant information to his crew, glancing up occasionally to ensure that they were still paying attention to him, without any flare-ups from the earlier commotion in the kitchen. "Alright, Mike you've got the kitchen and day room; Roy has the dorm. Chet and John, you fellas are hanging hoses. Marco, latrines and the apparatus bay. Let's have a safe shift. Dismissed."

Marco quickly spoke up before the others had a chance to break formation. "Uh, Cap?"

"Yes, Marco."

"I'd, ah, I'd like to say something, if I may… Please?"

Hank looked his older lineman in the eye, searching for any clue about what he might say. He was unable to read Marco's facial expressions and so, reluctantly, agreed for him to speak. "Alright... Go ahead."

"Ahem, I'd like to, ah, to apologize to you, Cap, for what happened earlier. I put you in a bad situation, and I'm sorry for that." Marco allowed his shoulders to sag, the weight of his words pressing him into the hard floor. "Mike, John and Roy… I'm sorry for my outburst. I appreciate what you did in there a few minutes ago," he explained, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen. "And Chet, I owe you the biggest apology of all. I don't know what came over me. I know you were just joking around, but it… It struck a raw nerve or something. I hope you can forgive me. It won't happen again, I promise."

Chet felt uncomfortable knowing that everyone was looking at him. He shoved his hands into his pockets hoping to calm himself before he spoke. He swallowed hard, opening his mouth just as his captain interrupted him.

"Thank you, Marco. Alright, men. Let's get to it. Uh, Chet, I need to see you in my office, please." Hank turned on his heels and walked with purpose straight to the captains' office.

"Yes, sir." Chet shuffled his feet along the same path his superior had taken, feeling a sense of relief that he hadn't had to accept Marco's apology at the moment. He wasn't sure he was ready for that step, yet.

Johnny watched as his chore partner followed Captain Stanley. Having no desire to attempt to hang the hoses alone, he followed the somber looking Marco into the latrine. "Hey, ah… Want me to give you a hand until Chet gets done?" Johnny asked, walking through the latrine door behind Marco.

"Thanks, John, but I better do as much as I can by myself," he said pulling out the toilet brush and heading for the stall. "I don't know how long I'm going to be allowed to stay. If I get sent home, then one of you fellas will have to finish what I don't get done," he began, pouring the toilet bowl cleaner into the basin and beginning to scrub around the bowl. "I've done enough damage around here this morning," he mumbled.

"Yea… About that," Johnny continued, wanting to reach out to his hurting friend. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Marco smirked as he flushed the toilet, watching the blue frothy water swirling around the bowl and down to the city sewer. "If you want to check my BP and pulse, there's really no need. BP's high and pulse is rapid. Oh," he raised himself back up, looking at his friend. "Remember that big guy down in that tank that we all had to jump on so Roy could give him some shot to calm him down?"

Johnny grinned broadly. "Yea, he single-handedly kicked all our asses at the same time. Remember how he had Chet turned upside down and was shakin' him?"

Marco remembered the incident vividly. With a serious expression on his face, he spoke up. "Well, I'll take one of those, if you have another one in the drug box. It might settle me down so I don't do something else stupid."

Johnny gulped, uncertain of what his friend meant by his statement. "I, uh, no… I mean, yea, but I can't give it to ya. Gotta have a doctor's order, ya know?" Johnny snickered nervously. He hoped Marco had just been joking around.

"I know, John. I was just kidding." Marco stopped, in front of the mirror. He looked at Johnny's reflection, their eyes locking briefly. "I really am sorry, John."

Johnny walked up behind the older man, clapping him on the shoulder. "I know, man. It's a'right. Let's just shake it off and move on."

Marco gave a quick nod of his head along with an affirmative sigh, then turned his attention to cleaning the row of sinks. Johnny, sensing Marco wanted to be alone, quietly exited the latrine and headed towards the hose tower to wait for Chet.

Inside Hank's office, Chet sat in the seat beside Hank's desk. He crossed his arms over his chest, a sense of frustration growing in his soul. He had not been in this seat for a while, and truthfully, he didn't think he deserved to be here now. He felt as if he were about to be blamed for an incident that he had no part in. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, his heartbeat thudding in his throat as he waited for his captain to begin the lecture Chet knew was coming.

"Chet, I've spoken to Marco about the incident in the kitchen. He assures me he is completely at fault, so take it easy. You aren't in any trouble."

Chet finally looked up. "I'm not?"

"Of course not. The reason I asked to speak to you is because I need to know how you're feeling right now. Have you calmed down any, or are you still pissed off?" Hank hoped that his frank choice of words would put his young crewmember at ease.

"Pissed off! How'd you feel if somebody shoved you around for no reason, huh?"

Hank smiled softly. He knew Chester B. Kelly better than Chet knew himself. His tactic had worked, Chet was opening up. "Well, I'd be mad as hell to be honest with you. I don't know if I'd be able to work with him on this shift. And I'd probably be mad at my captain if he didn't send Marco home on suspension, or even permanently." He leaned back rubbing his chin, waiting for his words to sink in with his lineman.

Chet leaned his elbows onto his knees, exhaling loudly. He thought back to the day his entire shift, except Captain Stanley, had shown up at his apartment. Marco was right there, helping take care of him during the worst hours of his life. Now, something was wrong with Marco, and there was no way that Chet could turn his back on his best friend. It was time for him to return the favor, and do whatever he could to help Marco get past whatever was bothering him. He rubbed his hands together, knowing that Hank was waiting for a response from him. Right now, he had the power to darken Marco's stellar career. He ran both hands through his thick curly hair, resting his head in his hands. He remembered how Marco, and the rest of the guys, had stood up for him when their captain had wanted to send him home for not reporting his foot injury. Now, there was just no way he could turn his back on Marco – not after Marco had spoken up on his behalf. Finally, he sat back up, shifting his blue eyes in the direction of Hank's desk.

"I know you're wanting to know if I can work with Marco on this shift. The answer is yes. I can let it go, Cap. I really can. I don't know what's goin' on with him, but sending him home ain't gonna help." He pointed a finger at his own chest. "I was in a bad spot myself not so long ago, and Marco… Hell, everybody around here, helped bring me outta my funk. That helped me so much, Cap. Well, I'm sure you know what I mean. Anyway, I'm thinkin' maybe Marco needs that now," he said, jerking his thumb over his right shoulder in the direction of the latrine. "I think maybe I oughtta try talkin' to him. Just, please don't send him home, okay?"

Hank leaned back in his chair, grimacing at the squeaking noise the movement made. His plan had worked. "Alright, I'll do as you wish… for now," he cautioned, raising his finger in the air. "But, if I see anything that makes me think the integrity of this unit has been compromised, I'll take the necessary steps to keep the citizens of our jurisdiction and you men safe."

"Uh, if you mean that if you see we can't work together, or if you think Marco is unfit for duty then you'll send him home, I dig it."

Hank scoffed at the younger man. "That's exactly what I mean, Chet. Now, you go on and help John with those hoses before the klaxons send us scrambling," he ordered, waving his hand towards the door.

Chet left the office in a rush. He wasn't in a particular hurry to hang hoses, especially with Gage, but he was in a hurry to get out of the captains' office. Just as he reached the back bay door, the tones sounded. He expertly executed an about-face, heading for his jump seat on the engine.

Hank scurried to the radio to acknowledge the call and write down the address. Marco pushed through the latrine door. As soon as he reached his place behind Mike, he quickly donned his turnout coat and helmet. He grabbed the bar, swinging himself onto the engine, glancing briefly at his partner. What he saw made his heart skip a beat, causing him to swallow hard to fight his emotions. There was Chet, already in position with his gear on, looking down at the floorboard. He couldn't help wondering what the younger man might have told their captain. With a frustrated sigh, Marco took his seat, wondering if perhaps this run might be the last of his career.