A to Z and then some: F is for Fatherhood

By mapark

The characters depicted in Emergency! are the property of Universal Studios/Mark VII Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. All original characters (and mistakes) are mine alone.

Hank pulled the stack of mail across the desk, making notes about the upcoming school tour they'd be doing the next shift. His hand hovered over a very formal-looking letter, hand-addressed, with beautiful penmanship. He tugged open the drawer, rummaged around for a letter opener, and slit the envelope open. He pulled the letter out, unfolded it, and read it; as he read, his eyebrows crawled into his hairline. He pursed his lips, pushed himself away from the desk, and strode through the engine bay, tapping the letter against his fingers.

Mike was polishing the chrome on the front of the engine, and looked up as the captain passed.

"Day room," Hank muttered. "Now."

The engineer shrugged, put down the rag, and followed Hank. He was curious at the captain's stern expression; something was up, and it must be pretty serious.

Hank paused by the squad, where Roy and Johnny were just finishing their equipment calibrations. "Gage, DeSoto. Come to the day room." He strode off without waiting for an answer.

Johnny quirked his eyebrow at his partner, and cast a quizzical expression at Mike. "D'you know what's going on?" he asked in a puzzled tone. "He looks really mad."

"No idea," Mike replied, "but I wouldn't want to be the last one to show up in the room when he's in this mood."

Johnny nodded, and stood up, following Mike and Roy out of the bay.

"Lopez, Kelly! Day room, on the double!" Hank called the two, who were scrubbing and hanging hose from the previous shift's late run.

Marco looked at Chet. "What did you do this time?" he asked, setting the brush down.

"Me? Why do you always assume I've done something wrong?" Chet protested as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and dropped his brush on the ground.

"Because nine times out of ten, it is you," Marco mumbled, kicking Chet's brush out of his way.

"Hey, it might be Johnny, you know." Chet rolled his shoulders, easing the kinks from them after having spent the past twenty minutes scrubbing.

"I doubt it. Hurry up – he looks really pissed off." Marco nudged his partner, and hurried into the day room.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," Hank said in a grim tone, gesturing at the table. He stood at the end, leaned over and planted his knuckles on the surface of the table, eying each of them in turn. "It appears that a serious complaint has been leveled at the men of this shift… actually at one man in particular. Roy, Mike, I hope that as you're both married, you're not the guilty party here, but this woman is adamant that one of the men on this shift is responsible."

"For what?" asked Mike in puzzlement.

Hank took a deep breath, picked up the letter, and read it aloud:

To whom it may concern: one of the men at this station is responsible for the deflowering of my darling Dora, who has just now given birth. It is obvious who the father is, and I demand that the station take responsibility. I will stop by on the twentieth to discuss this matter further. Please do me the courtesy of helping rectify this situation immediately. I cannot begin to tell you how very upset Dora is about this, and I want to make sure that her life isn't ruined by this tawdry episode.

Mrs. Eunice Van Doren

"Uh…" Johnny began. "I don't know anyone named 'Dora', never mind knowing someone that, er, intimately…"

Marco and Chet shook their heads. "Me neither," they answered in unison.

Hank huffed. "Well, I certainly hope that if one of you is responsible for this… mess, you'd have the guts to take care of things."

Roy cleared his throat. "Uh, Cap, today is the twentieth. Did she say when she'd be coming by?"

Hank scanned the letter again, and shook his head. "Nothing about time, just that she'd stop by today." He tucked the letter back into the envelope, then shrugged. "I guess you can get back to your chores, and I'll make a note for the other shift captains." He walked away, shaking his head. "I wonder why she was so sure it was 'A' shift, though?"

Chet and Johnny exchanged glances. "What would you do, Gage, if someone suddenly showed up with a little Johnny or Joanie?"

"Run," Marco suggested with a chuckle.

Chet snickered.

Johnny glared at him. "I don't see those hoses hanging themselves," he muttered, heading back to the latrines to get started on his task for the day.

Roy shrugged, opened the refrigerator, and examined the contents to consider what to make for lunch and supper that day, while Mike headed to clean the apparatus bay.

Chet and Marco headed back to the hoses, discussing how unexpected fatherhood would change their lives.

-E!-

Mike pulled into the station, his usual calm disposition marred by the facts that it was well after lunch time, they'd have to wait until Chet had picked up the two paramedics from Rampart, and that he now had to clean the front of the engine – again – after the fiasco from the previous run.

Marco's lips twitched as he fought the urge to laugh, especially when he caught the sympathetic look the captain shot the engineer. Who could have predicted that what started out as a 'garage fire' at a daycare would have resulted in two serious injuries requiring both paramedics to travel with the patients… and an explosion of three containers of used diapers which splattered the front of the engine with all sorts of unspeakable things.

"Uh… do you need a hand with the engine, Mike?" Marco asked with false sincerity, hoping for a negative reply.

Mike grimaced. "Thanks for the offer, but I don't see why we should have more than one person handling such a… pardon the expression… 'shitty' job. Besides, you had enough to clean up at the daycare."

Marco chuckled, waved, and headed to the kitchen to start a fresh pot of coffee.

Mike scowled at the sight of his beloved engine's state of defilement, stalked to the closet, filled the bucket with soapy water, and fetched a mop. The thrumming sound of an upscale Cadillac drew his attention, and he walked to the apron in front of the bay, noticing that the driver was now blocking the engine's path to the street.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to move your car to the parking lot in the back," Mike said to the elaborately coiffed driver. "We may get a call and have to leave…"

"I'm not going to be here long," she snapped, getting out of the car and fumbling with a box on the passenger seat. She glared at him and demanded "Where is your captain?"

"Uh, he's through here…" Mike pointed, moving aside as she pushed past him, thrusting the box ahead of her.

"Captain?" she commanded, striding through the apparatus bay and into the day room, where Marco was reading a magazine while he waited for the coffee to brew.

Marco stood up and gave what he hoped was a pleasant smile, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his pants.

"Uh, I'm not the captain, ma'am, but I can get him for you," he offered.

"Do that," she declared, setting the box on the table and folding her arms across her chest. She tapped her foot in an impatient staccato as she waited for Captain Stanley to appear. Marco's smile faded; he gulped and walked quickly to the captain's office.

He knocked, with a ghost of a smile. "Uh, Cap. It looks like Mrs. Van Doren is here. And she doesn't look happy."