Hello again, folks, and welcome to my latest story.

As always, I have to thank Madi for all her encouragement to write it. It's a little bit of silliness from one of our favourite episodes - the brilliant Insanity Epidemic, from season six. Watching the boys skid around on that ice rink gave me the idea to let the bunnies loose with Mike Stoker's wicked sense of humour.

I hope it's been worth the wait for you, hon. Enjoy!

Movie Night

Hank Stanley had always thought he had his crew pretty well pegged. From the first day he'd taken command over them, he'd known he'd struck gold, with a team who were special. Very special indeed. Dedicated professionals, who'd follow him into every situation that life in the fire department could throw at them.

"Whoaaa!"

"Ow!"

"Dammit!"

Except for this one. Sent out onto this ice rink, 51's finest were more like newborn deers trying to stay on their feet. And he'd now forever have the mental image of his two paramedics as their station's first contenders for that year's winter Olympics. Not for the ski jump, or ice hockey, or anything so manly as that. No, as they clung to each other for support, they were dead certs for the ice dance.

Hell, even their names had the makings of a winning partnership. DeSoto and Gage. Instead of impressing those judges, though, they were pushing their captain that bit closer to LACoFD's Home For The Permanently Exasperated.

Still, at least he could rely on his ever sensible engineer to... land him in its comfiest room, with its tightest straightjacket. Because that engineer was smiling a dangerously innocent smile. There was a glint in Mike Stoker's eye that spelled 'evil' 'trouble' and 'mischief' in all the world's languages. And just to freak his captain out even more, he'd also acquired the ability to read his captain's mind.

"You know, that's on at the Vista."

From a now patented 'what the hell?!' stare, the smile grew into its more devilish grin. The mischief in Mike's eyes racked his captain's personal disaster scale from puzzled unease to DEFCON1. And when his explanation finally came, Hank could almost feel the grey hairs sprout out of his temples.

"Bambi, I mean. It's, uh, on at the moment."

Ah. Now it made sense. Or, at least, the most sense that he could handle right now. Yes, as he'd watched the rest of his crew fight to stay on their feet, he'd likened them to overgown Bambis, and... oooh, he'd said that aloud?! In Mike Stoker's earshot?

Ooops. Followed by one almighty 'oh, hell.' Because now he understood. Now Hank realized that his dependable, unflappable, and often invisible engineer was about to slip his leash, and prove that revenge really was a dish best served over freezing cold ice.

Yes, whoever had hung those furry little fire engines on Big Red's steering wheel, and put a 'clean me' board beneath them, was about to pay for it. Big time.

And Hank knew he'd regret this. Every instinct he had to preserve what little sanity he had left was telling him to snuff that mischief out. Right now. But damn, that grin was like the worst kind of wildfire. Every attempt to beat it down was doomed to failure. So where there should have been stern authority, a devilish grin of his own appeared instead.

"Whatever it is that you're planning, Michael..."

"Oooooh... gyarghhhhh... Roooooy!"

"Damn it, Junior, gerroffamee!"

"...take me where you got that coffee, and count me in..."

Popcorn and peanuts. Check. Hot dogs. Check. Enough drinks to float a fire engine, and a couple of squads. Check. And for the innocent souls who were about to be caught up in it, no idea in hell for what was about to happen.

Thanks to the luckiest kind of coincidence, and some Stoker family favours -

"...yeah, my cousin's the manager there. And he still owes me for giving his kids that tour round the station..."

- Operation Bambi was officially GO.

They'd fallen for it too. As much a family off duty as they were on, they spent the same down-time together too. And after such a hectic shift, this special movie night was going to be the perfect way for them to unwind.

Or so they thought. Of course, the captain and colleague who'd made it all possible knew otherwise.

As they took their seats, its instigators traded grins of happiest anticipation, and the purest kind of evil. They hadn't herded their victims ahead of them out of just politeness and courtesy. No, they'd stayed behind for these aisle seats for a carefully planned reason. For what was about to happen, they were going to need the quickest route out of here that they could get.

Besides, Roy and Marco were on daddy detail tonight, each seated between their as yet perfectly behaved toddler. And, it seemed, they'd come up with some plans of their own. Stuff your toddler with enough drink, hot dogs and popcorn, and they'd be too weighed down with it to fight.

So far, it was working like a charm. The lights were dimming too now. Its curtain was rising from the screen, prompting another trade of conspiring grins.

Showtime.

Within seconds, though, the peaceful calm was shattered by a chorus of indignant protests.

"Hey, this isn't Peter Lorre!"

"Yeah, we're in the wrong theater."

"Bambi?!"

"We're getting Bambi?!"

Then, as the highly trained professionals they were, four full grown adult voices howled out as one sulking child.

"Caaaap?!"

Oh, the outrage on their identically plaintive faces. The far too innocent smile on another. And as Team Dad did so well, time for Team Dad to save the day.

"Now, boys, just settle down. I'm sure the projectionist just put the wrong movie in, okay?"

Right on cue, the source of that muffled snort beside him came in with his cunningly planned, and just as perfectly timed response.

"Yeah, sorry, guys. Give me a minute to sort this out with Danny, and I'll... uh... be right back."

Exit player number one, pursued by a devilish grin from player number two. Damn, this was fun. Even better than they'd hoped for. And they hadn't even gotten to the good part yet. All carefully planned, of course, the audience of theater two were about to suffer another, highly unfortunate 'technical hitch.' One that would take an unusually long time to resolve.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Five more. Just enough to get two fractious, popcorn-stuffed toddlers hooked on what they were watching. And for the only parent with kids of his own, the knowledge of what was coming was proving a bit too much to take.

Not that he'd ever take Chris or Jenny to see it himself. Instead, Roy was cursing that time when he and his best buddy in junior high had snuck in for a Saturday matinee.

Back then, he'd gotten away pretty lightly. Just a week long grounding, and enough of a lecture to make sure he never did it again. But right now, he was in far more serious trouble - and cursing his current best buddy even more.

"Hey, Roy? Are - Are you crying?!"

"No, I'm not crying, you idiot! It's this damn air-con, it's drying out my eye."

Was that ever going to convince his rotten snitch of a partner? Was it hell.

"If it's drying out your eye, how come it's leaking so much?"

"Aww, shut up and gimme a napkin."

A bit dusty-eyed himself, Hank was shifting in his seat too now. Yes, he had childhood memories of this movie too - a deafening *BANG!* in front of him, and an equally loud *HONK!* to his left giving him the perfect distraction to leg it up the aisle before anyone noticed.

Safely in the projectionist's booth, he found his co-conspirator sipping his coffee, and watching the bawl-fest below them in head-shaking sympathy.

"Wow, I'd forgotten just how rough this movie is," Mike sighed, glancing across at his cousin, and so missing his captain's reaction to what he said next. "And just to think, Cap. If they'd just told me who stuck those engines and sign in Big Red, all this could have been avoided."

With what he prayed to God was a convincing grin, Hank just nodded. Well, what his engineer didn't know couldn't hurt him, right? Right.

And those incriminating engines were now safely back in his son's room, right? Right.