Stoker – 2
E!
Hank gritted his teeth together, running a worried hand through his dark hair as he stood alone in his office. "You'll pay for this, Hunley. If it takes the last breath in me, you'll pay." He stepped out of his office, ensuring that the Assistant Chief and his investigator were gone before he slowly headed to face his men. He didn't know what he would tell them, but he had to honor Mike's wishes. Even if it went against his better judgment.
Slowly he pushed through the kitchen door, looking into the worried eyes of his men as they sat around the kitchen table. "Men… We're stood down until a replacement engineer gets here. Let's go ahead and have roll call so we can get the chores done."
"What happened to Mike?" Chet asked, knowing he might not get an answer.
Hank inhaled deeply. The question he was unprepared to answer had just been posed. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor, biting his bottom lip. When he finally looked back up, his eyes met those of Marco's replacement, and his gut churned. This needed to be kept in-house as much as possible. "Pete, will you give me a few minutes with my men, please?"
The red-haired man nodded his understanding. This had more to do with their personal lives than their station. "I'll go start cleaning the latrine," he said pushing away from the table and heading out the door.
Hank's head turned to follow the retreating lineman, avoiding facing his men as long as possible. As soon as Pete was gone, the questions began.
"Cap, is Mike in trouble?" Johnny asked, his own nervousness apparent in his voice.
"He needs his friends now; that's really all I'm allowed to say," Hank responded, knowing his voice sounded terse.
"That car was from headquarters," Roy stated, his blue eyes holding concern as he stated the obvious before asking his question. He had seen the red officer's car parked on the apron when he and Johnny had walked from the locker room to the kitchen. "He met with someone in your office. Now he's gone… What gives?"
"He asked that I not give any details," Hank offered in response, his voice merely a whisper.
"He who? Mike or the HQ brass?"
"Look, John. I'm not at liberty to discuss this. Please understand," Hank pleaded. The last thing he wanted was dissention among his men. "To answer your question… It was Mike."
Chet pushed away from the table, his chair scraping across the floor. He knew he was being insubordinate, but his concern for his shift mate won out over his self-control. "Don't lie to us, Cap. We're not stupid, you know?" He stood up to his superior, although his stature was several inches shorter. "HQ brass was here and now Mike's gone. That can only mean one thing. He's in trouble. And whatever it is… It's wrong!"
"You don't know that, Kelly. You don't know the details of…"
"Are you defending them on this?" Johnny asked, standing up beside Chet, his voice rising an octave. "Are you saying Mike's done something wrong within the department?" Johnny's anger was displayed across his red-tinted face, his blood pressure rising.
"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just…"
"Sure sounds like it, Cap." Roy's voice was flat as he said what was on his mind. He stood up, joining his two shift mates. "Mike's the most ethical among us. He'd never do something that wasn't exactly by the book."
"Look," Hank said, leaning a hand on the corner of the table. "I am NOT defending what they're saying he's… I mean, I'm not abandoning my man. I'm standing behind him 100%, but there's nothing I can do while this is under…," he gasped, realizing just how close he had come to telling them that Mike was being investigated. "There's just nothing I can do right now."
"With all due respect, sir… You're full o' shit!" Chet grumbled, casting his eyes downward. He knew he was in for at least a tongue lashing for cursing at his captain, maybe worse.
"KELLY," Hank said, raising his voice as his own internal control began to falter. "How dare you swear at me? I'm still the captain of this shift, and I…"
"Then act like it," Johnny spat out, interrupting his captain.
"Don't make me send both of you home for insubordination!" Hank's index finger was shaking as he pointed it at his two youngest men.
Johnny and Chet looked at each other, each one hoping Roy would speak up and join them. When he didn't, Johnny spoke.
"WE believe in Mike," he said swiping his hand between himself and Chet. He wondered why Roy didn't voice his unity, but decided to have a private conversation with his partner later.
"What is this? Some kind of mutiny? This has nothing to do with you, so honor Mike's wishes and stay out of it!" Hank reached in front of him, grabbing the back of the chair Pete had vacated and slamming it against the table with a loud crash.
"Nope… It's not mutiny," Johnny began. "It's called team work, brotherhood, whatever you wanna call it. We stick together. Mike's one of us. He's our engineer. He's our brother. You of all people should understand that!"
"I do understand it, John! I do. But… I can't… Arrgh!" He growled, turning his back to the three men standing around the kitchen table. "He asked me not to tell you fellas what this was all about," he said, his back remaining to the men. He pinched the bridge of his nose, staving off the dull aching in his head. "Please respect his wishes," he shrugged, his voice fading. "Kelly, kitchen. Gage and DeSoto, dorm. Mike's replacement can take the bay. Dismissed."
E!
Mike glanced in his rearview mirror, seeing Station 51 fading away behind him, feeling as if his career was fading away with it. He wanted to go to the beach, allow the wind and the waves to rid him of his anxiety and anger, but he had made a promise to his captain. He would go home to his apartment, to the solitary life he disliked, while his brothers worked their shift without him. What would Hank tell them? What would Mike tell them if they called to ask him what had happened?
He turned his truck into the entrance of his apartment complex, parking in his usual parking space, snorting at the irony of it. Everything in his life had order - his closet, his drawers, his soup cans, his magazines, even his parking space. Everything about Mike Stoker spoke of organization and ultimate control… Until now. He slammed his truck door closed, gripping his keys in his right hand as he made his way up the walkway to his apartment. He opened the door, walking into the quiet abode, and dropping his keys down in the wooden bowl on his table. Plopping himself down on his sofa, he looked around at the immaculately clean room. His personal life matched his personnel file, unblemished. He huffed, blowing out his breath as he allowed his shoulders to slump. He felt as if all his hard work had been for nothing. All his blood, sweat, and tears throughout his career seemed to have been in vain. He rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought with his emotions. His heart was racing and his mouth felt like it was full of sand. His breathing began to come in short gasps as his tears pushed to the surface.
All he had been trying to do was help out his friend, his brother. Marco had needed help finding his sister, Alexia. When Mike had actually met Alexia, he felt her tugging at his heart, more than he wanted to admit. She was trapped, her eyes full of the fear of a caged wild animal. All he had wanted to do was save her from her pimp. He thought of how similar Alexia's situation was to a victim trapped within a burning structure. They were always frightened, begging for help. Sometimes their own fear made them resistant to the very hands that were there to save them. Occasionally, the rescuer got injured trying to save his victim. That's what had happened to him. He had been burned, but not by the fire or by the victim lashing out in distress. No, Firefighter Specialist Michael Stoker had been burned by The Fire Prevention Unit of the County of Los Angeles Fire Department – the very department he had committed his life to.
"Damn it!" He cursed, slamming his fist into the back of the sofa. "Sonofabitch!" He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. He counted the specks in the tiles as he fought to slow down his breathing. He slowly pulled his head back into an upright position then leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He cupped his hands together in a tight fist, resting his thumbs against his mouth. His eyes burned, bloodshot from his anger. "You're wrong, Hunley," he mumbled into his firmly clenched hands, his blue eyes staring into the emptiness of his silent apartment. "I'm not the arsonist you think I am… But I'll protect what I love… And damn the man who gets in my way…"
E!
Alexia felt herself tense up as the nurse pushed her through the glass doors and into the sunlight. Her instinct was to look around, see who was watching her. She had to remind herself that she was free now, no one was going to be reporting to Ricardo about her every move. Her captor was in jail, facing a string of charges, only a few of which were actually related to her. Yet, five years of indoctrination could not be removed in only a week. It was going to take time. She clung to the pictures of her precious son, the child she hoped to meet later today. As the forward movement of the wheelchair slowed, she looked up and saw the welcoming smile of her mother and brother. Marco was standing beside the back passenger's door of his car, ready to assist her.
Maria's tears were spilling onto her cheeks, her smile radiant. This was what she had been praying for for so many years. Alexia was free and healthy enough to go to The Wellhouse, the last stop before she could return home.
"Take my arm," Marco said, standing beside the parked wheelchair. "I'll help you get into the car."
Alexia did as instructed, somewhat weak and achy from her assault and time in the hospital. She felt the muscles in her brother's arm, and knew that it was just an inkling of the strength he held in his heart. He was stalwart in so many ways. She was grateful that her little boy had such a wonderful role model in his life. She sat down in the back seat of the car, pleased when she saw her mother take the seat beside her rather than the front passenger's seat. She reached out, grasping her mother's hand as Marco closed the door and circled around to the driver's seat.
"I'm so proud of you, Lexi," Maria spoke softly as she reached inside her oversized purse to retrieve a small wrapped box. "I've been hoping I would have the opportunity to give this to you one day. I think today is the perfect time." She thought she heard Marco sniffle from the front seat as he pulled into traffic. A moment later, their eyes met in the rearview mirror and the redness confirmed her suspicions.
"Oh, Mama… You shouldn't have gotten me anything. I've cost you so much over the last few years… I… I don't deserve a gift." Alexia gulped as she fingered the delicately tied purple ribbon, tracing the floral pattern of the paper with the tip of her finger. She hadn't received a gift since she left home. So many birthdays and Christmases had past her by without any acknowledgement from anyone. She had convinced herself that she didn't deserve to have special days honored, she wasn't worthy of such displays of affection. Now, as she held the small box, an excitement welled up inside her, reminding her of how she had felt as a child on her birthday. Carefully, she pulled the paper apart, not wanting to tear it. She had owned nothing during her time with Ricardo, and now, even a pretty piece of paper and ribbon were treasures to her threadbare soul. She folded the paper up, wrapping the purple ribbon around it and positioned it beside her so she wouldn't wrinkle it. As her gaze returned to the black velvet box, her eyes began to water. She had seen it before, but not in a very long time. Her heart fluttered and her fingers shook as she reached out, pulling the top open. She gasped when she looked inside. There it was, just as she had remembered it from her childhood. She knew what it represented, and felt much too unworthy of it. Softly, she lowered her face to her lap and began to cry.
Maria watched as her daughter opened the black velvet box, seeing the emotions displayed across her face. Her own heart felt as if it would explode as she reached out, pulling her weeping daughter into a sideways hug. When Alexia laid her head down against Maria's shoulder, the older woman cupped her daughter's face with her left hand. "It's yours now. It's been passed down from my grandmother, to my mother, to me, and now I'm passing it down to you." She kissed Alexia's forehead, feeling her daughter shuddering as she wept. "Do you remember?"
Alexia couldn't speak around the lump in her throat. Instead, she managed to shake her head in affirmation. Although she hadn't prayed The Rosary in a very long time, she still remembered how and the significance of each bead. Her God was real and He was still protecting her, even through the darkest valley of her life. Now, she was beginning to see the light as she began her assent back up out of the dismal life she had found herself in. Through it all, her mother had been praying for her. Instead of disowning her, as Ricardo had told her, the entire Lopez family had welcomed her back. And now, her mother was bestowing upon her her most prized possession. With her head remaining on her mother's shoulder, she reached inside the box and withdrew the beautiful antique. It was a family heirloom, one she would treasure for the rest of her life.
"I thought it might help you get through the rough spots ahead," Maria offered, still holding her daughter close.
Alexia nodded again, clutching the beautiful keepsake firmly in her hand. "Th-thank you, Ma-ma," she whispered, wishing she could go home instead of to The Wellhouse. She wanted to stay within the safety of her mother's arms forever, but she knew she needed to heal. She also knew that being around others who had endured similar things to her would help her to heal much faster. There were things she never intended to tell her family, things she had done, things she had endured. Beverly had assured her this was the best way, and in her heart she knew it was true. She would do whatever was necessary to be able to return to her childhood home and build a relationship with the precious little boy she had been forced to give away on that awful night so long ago.
"Have you told… Him?" Alexia asked, knowing her mother would understand her question.
Maria's heart ached as she carefully chose her words. "No… Not yet… Beverly thought it would be best to see how you adjusted to the… Ahem, to the outside, so to speak. We don't want to tell him about you and then make him wait days to meet you. Days to a child are like years to adults."
Alexia's heart sank. She had hoped to meet her son this afternoon, but now she didn't know when that meeting might take place. Her heart longed to hold him, to kiss him. She remembered how he had held onto her index finger as Ricardo had driven them to her mother's house. It was as if the newborn had been begging her to stay with him, as if he knew what she had planned to do. She sniffled, feeling her mother's gentle caress along her upper arm. She had to face her own demons before she could begin to reconcile with her son. After all, the years separating them had created a chasm between them that would take time to bridge. As of this moment, they were nothing more than strangers, even though he had been tucked away safely within her heart since before he had even been born.
E!
"Good morning, Iris," Caroline called out, rushing through the back door of Bloomers. When she didn't get an answer, she called out again as she entered the work room. "Iris?"
A cup of cold coffee was sitting on the work table, stains on the invoice beside it indicating Iris had spilled a little of it. Quickly, Caroline pulled paper towels off the roll and blotted the invoice dry.
"Oh… I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in," Iris spoke up, drying her hands on a towel as she walked out of the small bathroom. "I see you found my mess."
"It's not bad; I dried it up for you. I don't think there's any real damage done to the invoice," Caroline said with a perky smile. She tossed the used paper towel into the waste basket then looked up at her boss. "Iris? Iris, what's wrong?" She called out rushing over to the older woman. She could see the tear stains on Iris' face, the smudges of her make-up. "What happened?"
Iris sniffled, wishing she had remained in the restroom longer. There was no way she could explain to her employee why she had been crying. Only one person would understand, and if she had calculated the days correctly, he was on shift. "Oh, it's nothing… Just… I'm just missing my daughter terribly today." Iris patted her cheeks dry with the heels of her hands. "Happens sometimes when I least expect it."
Caroline walked over to the older woman, embracing her. She recalled how Iris had doted on Corrie when they had come by to visit before Caroline had accepted the job. She wasn't sure if Iris' daughter had died, or if they were estranged. Regardless, Caroline was familiar with the pain of personal loss. "I know what it's like to miss someone, Iris. It hurts so badly."
Iris embraced Caroline, wondering if this was what it would feel like to hold her daughter if she were still here. "Yea…," she sniffled. "Yea, it does."
"I can handle things here today… If you need to take the day off."
"I'll be okay," Iris stated calmly, reaching for the invoice dampened by her earlier coffee spill. "So, you and Chet have big plans for this evening?"
"No… He's on shift. He did say he wanted to take Corrie and me out to dinner tomorrow night, though."
Iris picked up the dampened invoice, ignoring Caroline's last remark. She had gotten the answer she had been looking for. Chet was at the station, and that meant that John Gage was there, too. She stared at the bold letters written in dark green ink on the top of the invoice. HOLISTIC UNITY GARDENS. She hadn't heard of the group being anywhere near Southern California, but here was the proof.
Caroline glanced over Iris' shoulder, looking at the invoice. "Hmmm, did we get a new supplier?" She asked, wrinkling her forehead.
"Yes, Fran's Flower Farm is going out of business. After the funeral we had last week, we needed to restock our green plants. When I called Fran, she told me she was closing down but would be glad to sell my account to another supplier. I guess this is who she was talking about," Iris said, staring at the acronym on the paper. She had met the truck driver earlier, allowing him inside the back door of the shop. He had unloaded the plants with skill, being more careful not to damage them than most of the suppliers she had encountered. He had been polite and soft-spoken, introducing himself only as Seth. She hadn't looked at the invoice until after he had driven away in his unmarked delivery truck. She read the words on the invoice again, lowering her voice to a whisper. "H.U.G., what a joke," she grumbled to herself, slamming the bill into her file cabinet.
Caroline heard the comment but knew that it wasn't directed at her. She walked over to the coolers to retrieve the flowers she would be needing for her first order, wondering if there was anything she could do to help her friend recover from the loss of her daughter… And wondering why their new green plant supplier seemed to darken Iris' mood even more.
E!
Hank glanced at his watch, noting that his engineer had had enough time to get home. He walked into his office, firmly closing the door behind him. He picked up the phone, dialing the familiar number. "Okay, Mike. Let's see if you followed my order."
Mike was startled by the loud ringing of his telephone. He reached across his sofa, pulling the black handset off the base unit. "Hello?"
"Hey… Just checking to make sure you made it home okay."
Mike ran his hand across his face. "Yea… Home sweet home."
Hank pinched the bridge of his nose again. He hated the defeated sound in Mike's voice. "We're gonna get to the bottom of this, Mike. Don't worry."
"Don't worry? Just how the hell am I supposed to do that, huh? It's not your ass on the line, Cap. It's mine!" Mike's frustration was spilling over quickly. Not one to normally swear, he decided that the verbal release felt energizing, and wondered why he had tried so hard to keep such a clean image over the years. Maybe it was time to allow himself to relax his own tongue a little.
"I know. I know. I wish it was me." Hank wanted to ask more questions. He needed answers but he didn't know how to ask the questions. Finally, as the silence between them lingered, he decided to dive in. "I want to help you through this. But, I've got to know what really happened at those scenes, Mike."
Mike didn't think his rage could ratchet up anymore, but the words he had just heard sent it skyrocketing. "What?" He asked, his voice rising. "You sound like some fuckin' attorney."
"I just need to know how to defend you, that's all," Hank yelled back, hating the anger he heard in his own voice.
"How about by saying that I didn't do it! I didn't do a damn thing they're accusing me of. I thought I was innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around."
Hank exhaled loudly. "You ARE innocent until proven guilty, Mike. I'm just asking you to help me understand why you seemed to be in all the right places at all the right times. That's all."
Mike wanted to tell his captain the truth, but he recalled the conversation that took place in the staff lounge at Rampart on the night of Alexia's rescue. Mike, Chet, Johnny, and Roy had all agreed not to discuss the specifics about Alexia's life and how Mike had intervened. There was no need to bring more shame to the Lopez family and Alexia specifically, by discussing her time spent as a prostitute and the fact that she had abandoned her child. He had given his word on that particular night, and if there was one thing Mike had left, it was his dignity. He was a man of his word, even under these circumstances.
"That's all it was, Cap. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time. That's all," he stated matter-of-factly.
"C'mon, Stoker. I'm not the enemy here."
"And neither am I," Mike spat back. "I haven't done anything wrong and it's really pissin' me off that my own damn department is accusing me of something like this."
"Then just help us understand," Hank spoke softly, hoping the change in his voice might calm down his engineer.
"Us, huh?" Mike snorted.
"What?"
"Us. You said you wanted me to spill my guts to help US understand. You're not on my side at all, are you?"
"Aarrgh," Hank groaned. The throbbing in his head was worsening with each passing second. "You know what I meant, Mike. Of course I'm on your side."
"Bullshit," Mike cursed, feeling the proverbial knife stabbing him in the back. "Thanks for checking on me. Now you can go on back to your shift and let the two assholes do their job of ruining my career."
"Mike, listen…"
"Goodbye… Hank," Mike shot back as he slammed down the phone. He no longer wanted to use the more familiar term of Cap with his superior. That had been reserved for the man who had pulled them together as a unit, the man who led them through each incident, the man they trusted their lives to on every shift. Mike no longer felt like trusting Hank Stanley with his own life. Of course, depending on the outcome of the investigation, he might never need to trust any fire captain again.
Mike stood up, heading for the refrigerator. He pulled open the door and looked at the contents. He was looking for a glass of juice or milk, but it was the beer on the bottom shelf that caught his attention first. Mike rarely drank, keeping the beer on hand for those occasions when he had difficulty unwinding after a particularly bad shift. He often took a hot shower, downed a very cold beer, and was able to relax enough to get some sleep. Over the years, he had seen alcohol ruin more than one man. For that reason, he had never allowed himself to consume more than two in one sitting. Now, he felt the desire to get drunk, even though it wasn't even nine o'clock in the morning.
"What are you doing, Stoker?" He mumbled to himself as he reached for the orange juice. "You'll just have a headache later on." He poured himself a glass of orange juice then stood staring at it on the counter. He did have half a bottle of vodka left over from the station Christmas party last year. "Oh, what the hell." He pulled open the top cabinet above the refrigerator and withdrew the clear bottle. He poured some into his glass of juice then returned it to its hiding place. He swirled the juice around, mixing the alcohol with the fruity liquid, as he headed back to his living room. He turned on his television, knowing there was probably nothing worth watching, but feeling the need for noise. He leaned back, settling on an old black and white western, and downed his homemade screwdriver.
He looked at the small screen of his television set, noting the mountains in the background as the horses kicked up a cloud of dust in the distance. He thought about how Johnny always seemed to be in a better frame of mind after spending time hiking or camping. Maybe he needed some time alone in the wilderness. Maybe that would help him clear his head. He gulped down the last of the concoction, feeling the burn as it rushed toward his belly. He looked at the empty glass, swirling around the remnants of his breakfast cocktail. "Not bad, Stoker," he said to himself, heading back to the kitchen. He didn't know what his future held, but he knew he needed to get out of his apartment. The only question he had to answer now was where to go. Where could Mike Stoker go to get away from the worries his department had chosen to assault him with?
He thought about Alexia, wondering how she was doing. He had not seen her since the night of her rescue. He wasn't even sure if she knew he was the one who had rescued her. Did she wonder where he was, or was he just another man who had given her money for a few minutes of her time? Only her family had been able to visit with her since that night. Marco had indicated that she was improving, but he hadn't elaborated on the subject and Mike hadn't pressed the issue. He wanted to see her, needed to see that she was recovering from her horrific injuries. But he couldn't contact her, or even Marco for that matter. His lineman would want to know why he wasn't at the station, and Mike was unprepared to answer that question. He couldn't let the Lopez family know that he was in trouble. He couldn't heap more guilt onto the head of the already guilt-laden young woman. He inhaled deeply, setting his empty juice glass into the sink. He was alone, totally alone. Now, he had an idea of the emotional turmoil Alexia had been in for the last five years. Now, he understood what it felt like to be separated from those closest to you, especially when you needed them most.