Invisible Minority
Chapter 4: Sunday
B-shift began arriving as the A-shift crew were still sitting around the day-room table working on the boxes of breakfast pastries Johnny and Roy had brought in.
"Hey, Rollins! You live pretty near Hollywood—got any extra Oscars kicking around?" Chet asked, as B-shift's engineer walked in.
"The hell are you talking about, Kelly?" Rollins grabbed a donut and flopped down into a chair, as three other B-shift guys walked in and sat down as well.
Chet waved a roll at Johnny. "Gage here just pulled a shift-long gag on us—acting like he had a smokin' hot date Friday night, but not sayin' a thing about it the whole shift. I could have sworn he had that just-got-laid look yesterday morning, but it turns out it was all a hoax."
"How do you know it was a hoax?" Rollins asked reasonably. "Maybe that's all part of the gag too," he continued, as if Johnny were not sitting right there.
"Nah," said Chet. "Cap set us straight. Ya know we were all camping for our four days off? Well, Cap reminded us that Gage didn't say one word about a hot date for Friday night. Can you imagine John Gage not running off at the mouth about some hot chick he had lined up for the night after the camping trip? I mean, c'mon!"
Rollins looked dubiously at Johnny. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he said around a mouthful of donut. "Still, he could've picked a girl up at a club or something, and then got lucky."
Chet beamed at this thought. "That's IT! That must be it! 'Cause let me tell you, Rollins, this boy here definitely got some Friday night, and probably yesterday morning too. I don't think anyone's that good an actor."
Johnny sighed, weary of hearing his life and behavior discussed as if he were not sitting right there. He plopped his half-eaten (but fourth) pastry on his paper napkin, rolled it up, and chucked the whole mess in the garbage. "You guys are a bunch of infants," he said, as he headed to the locker room. "It's 0800. I'm outta here."
The four B-shift firemen, plus Chet, instantly turned to Roy.
"Well?" asked Rollins.
"Gage is right. You're infants."
"Oh, lighten up, DeSoto. You dealt with him the whole shift—whaddaya think?"
"I think," said Roy, "that it's none of our business." He slid his chair back. "Have a safe shift." Roy headed to the locker room, where he found Johnny already in his civvies.
"Didn't say a thing," said Roy. "Have a great day."
"You better believe it, Roy. You too. And thanks for not playing their stupid game."
Johnny headed out to the parking lot, and stood by the Rover.
Cap.
Cap knew he was at Stoker's yesterday evening. Cap decided not to say that to the guys.
Either Cap was trying not to get sucked into the games, or … shit.
Johnny had an idea. He threw his bag into the Rover, and headed back into the station, through the front door that led straight to the shared Captains' office. The door was open. Captain Stanley was just on his way out.
"Hey Cap. Thanks for not playing along with the guys' stupid game. They were all needling me the whole shift, and I was getting pretty sick of it." There. Suspicions neither confirmed, denied, nor acknowledged, but rescue appreciated.
"No problem, Gage. Bunch of twits, aren't they?"
"Nah, just Kelly, really. I don't know what gets into him sometimes," said Johnny.
"Well, what we do in our time off is none of anybody else's business. If a guy doesn't want to blab, I can respect that."
"Yeah. Well, thanks anyhow." Johnny cleared his throat. "You got plans with the family today?"
They continued their conversation as they headed out to the parking lot.
"Oh, I think we're all just gonna hang around the house. The girls were complaining that I took off for four days and then went right back to work, and everyone at home is tired and cranky, so no, no plans. How 'bout yourself?"
"Well, I don't know exactly what I'm gonna do today either, Cap. Just hang around, I think, since we're back on shift on Monday again."
"All right. Well, have a good one. See you tomorrow," said Cap, folding his lanky frame into the Delta 88.
Johnny sat down in the drivers' seat of the Rover, and mentally set the shift's stresses aside. It was time to go home. And, Mike was going to be there when he got home.
Johnny made a quick grocery stop on the way—a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread, cold cuts, and he remembered Stoker drank orange juice, so he picked some of that up as well, since it was never something he kept around. Coffee, beer, ice cream, cookies—all the staples.
He was home by 8:45. Johnny grinned when he saw Mike's pickup truck in a parking space marked "visitor." He grabbed his duffel and the two bags of groceries, and dashed up the stairs to the outside corridor that his apartment door opened onto. He set down the bags, but before he could fit his key in the lock, the door opened.
"Hoped that might be you taking the stairs two at a time. Here, lemme get one of those." Mike hoisted a grocery bag with his good arm, and set it down in the hall. Johnny dropped his duffel and the other grocery bag next to it.
Johnny stepped toward Mike in the narrow foyer, till they were so close their toes touched. Johnny suddenly drew in a deep, gasping breath, almost like a sob, and pulled Mike's face to his, kissing him soundly. Mike responded instantly to Johnny's need, pulling him close and holding him tightly.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he whispered.
"I'm just … really glad to see you."
"Bad shift?" Mike stroked Johnny's hair, and added a quick, gentle kiss to the first one.
"No," said Johnny, "pretty tame, actually. But, well, I guess I was pretty loopy—I mean, that was quite a sendoff you gave me yesterday, Mike—and Kelly made a big deal about how I looked like I'd just gotten laid, and he pretty much needled me the whole shift."
"Yeah, he would, wouldn't he?" Mike pulled Johnny into the sparsely furnished living room and sat him on the couch. "So what'd you do?"
"I took an inscrutability lesson from you, and I didn't play his game."
"And DeSoto?" Mike knew that Roy and Johnny were close, and read each others' moods—and sometimes, it seemed, minds—easily.
"Oh, we made a deal. He wasn't allowed to keep asking, but he was allowed to punch me in the arm if I was drifting off." Johnny grinned. "I think he hit me about fifty times." He rubbed his shoulder in memory of all the slugs Roy laid on him. "But enough about that. What'd you do yesterday?"
"As little as possible," Mike admitted. "Grocery store, of course. Mostly laid around reading, with a heating pad on my shoulder. It's a lot better today—I guess maybe I was overusing it the last few days."
"Glad it's better—you see Brackett tomorrow, right?"
"Yep—0900."
"Good. He's a hard-ass, but he's the best." Johnny's look then shifted to mock-suspicious. "Hey," he said, "weren't you supposed to be in my bed when I got here?"
"Well," Mike admitted, "I kinda thought I'd get you fed first, and see how that shift was—maybe you were up all night and would need to just go straight to sleep, ya know."
"Hmm," said Johnny, "it was a quiet night, but it has been almost an hour since station breakfast. Did you eat yet?"
"Nope—waiting for you."
They carried the groceries into the small kitchen area, and started unloading them. Johnny put the non-perishables in the cabinets, and then put all the cold things in the fridge, except for the chocolate ice cream, which he left out on the counter. He rummaged in a cabinet and brought out a box of Wheaties.
"Seriously?" Mike asked, eyeing the ice cream with raised eyebrows.
"What?" Johnny said, getting out two bowls. "Breakfast of Champions."
"With chocolate ice cream?" Mike pointed to the picture of the athlete on the front of the box. "I kind of don't think that's what Bruce Jenner had in mind."
Johnny shrugged. "Well, Brackett and Early are always on my case to gain some weight, you know, like for insurance, so that's my favorite breakfast these days."
Mike patted his own midriff. "Well, I've got a few pounds and quite a few years on you, so forgive me if I just go for cereal and milk."
Johnny grabbed the milk out of the fridge and passed it to Mike. "You don't have all that many years on me, do you?"
"Yeah, Johnny, 'fraid I do. Hit thirty-three last month."
"So? That's not much older than me."
"Um, aren't you like twenty-five? And I only guess that high because we've been at the same station for six years, and you weren't a boot, so you must've been around twenty when the station opened."
Johnny laughed. "Sorry, Mike, but I hit the big three-oh in May."
"You're shitting me," Mike declared confidently, fully expecting the remark to be the beginning of a Gage-special put-on.
"Nope." Johnny fished his wallet out of his pocket, and handed Mike his driver's license.
"Fuck me!" exclaimed Mike as he examined the document.
"Okay—after breakfast though." Johnny grinned and crunched his ice cream concoction contentedly.
"No, I mean—yes! But, you don't look a day over twenty." He looked Johnny over suspiciously. "You didn't lie to get into fire academy early, did you? This is your real date of birth?"
"Geez." Johnny rolled his eyes, dug into his wallet again, and produced a much-folded photocopy. "Here. A copy of my birth certificate. Nobody ever believes me, so I carry this around too."
Mike shook his head. "And here I thought I was robbing the cradle." He worked on his cereal, standing in the kitchen. "Cap must know your actual age, though, right?"
"Yeah," said Johnny around a mouthful of ice cream cereal. "Why do you think he's always hollerin' at me to act it?"
As Mike handed back the documents, Johnny continued. "And that's why Roy calls me 'Junior' – it's kind of a joke between us, since when we first got to be buddies he started calling me that, and then when he realized I was only a couple months younger than him, and did this priceless apology, well, I just thought it was funny, so I said he oughta keep callin' me that for a laugh."
"I kinda wondered why you let him get away with that." Mike finished his cereal and put his bowl in the sink. "So, any other secrets I need to know about?"
Johnny pretended to think. "Nope—a bit older than I look, door swings both ways, I turn into a werewolf every full moon—I think we covered all the bases. How 'bout you?"
Mike had to laugh. "Well, you already know pretty much the only one there is. You, and Roy, and Serena, and her girlfriend—a very exclusive club. Oh, and my family, who mostly wish they didn't know."
Johnny decided to save that last comment to talk about some other time. He added his bowl to the sink, turned on the hot water, and quickly washed up the breakfast dishes, as Mike dried them and put them away. He handed the towel to Johnny so he could dry off his hands.
"How can you look so hot just doing dishes?" Stoker said admiringly.
"Practice, Mike. Lots and lots of practice," Johnny replied. "But, when you put it that way, maybe I won't try to get better at cards so I can get out of KP at the station."
Breakfast was eaten, dishes were done, and there they were. They'd talked about meeting at Johnny's place in the morning, but hadn't really made plans for the day.
"So, what're your plans for the day, Gage?" Mike asked, grinning and leaning Johnny back against the fridge.
"Well, Stoker, first I would like to see you in my bedroom for a very private conference. After that? I dunno. It's kind of a crummy day for the beach, and the game's not till three, and I'm an apartment-dweller so there's nothing to build or destroy or anything fun like that..."
Mike pinned Johnny up against the fridge. "I only heard one word out of all that. Bedroom."
~!~!~!~
A delicious ninety minutes later, a wide-awake Mike gently held a quietly sleeping Johnny. Too much coffee for me this morning, thought Mike, and no matter how easy your night calls were, Johnny, you still had 'em.
They were spooned together, with Mike taking the part of the protective "big spoon," good arm tucked under and not-so-great left arm held closely to the sleeper's chest. While Mike held onto his sleeping lover, Mike's over-caffeinated mind mused on his time with Johnny. Even though they were about the same age, and about the same size—Johnny had an inch of height over Mike, but Mike had a good twenty pounds over Johnny—there was something that Mike couldn't quite put a name to, that made him feel protective towards Johnny.
This feeling was unexpected and a bit confusing to Mike. As a rescue man, Johnny was probably a good deal stronger than Mike; and as a paramedic, Johnny dealt with difficult calls every shift, and always came through strong. This was not a fragile person he was dealing with here, so he couldn't quite put his finger on where the strong feeling of protectiveness was coming from.
As Mike was thinking, Johnny stirred and mumbled, and pulled Mike's arm more tightly around him, clutching it to his chest. Mike responded by scissoring a leg over Johnny's, drawing him in more closely. Johnny sighed, and his breathing once again became deep and regular.
And there it was again. Johnny wasn't purposely giving him any signs of weakness or insecurity—he was asleep, for crying out loud—but that protective instinct had kicked in again, and Mike felt like he would be perfectly happy spending the rest of the day just holding Johnny, keeping him safe while he slept. In fact, there was nowhere he'd rather be.
And then it hit him.
Oh.
Shit.
Now I've done it. I've gone and fallen in love with my gorgeous, no-strings-wanted, skirt-chasing, commitment-avoidant shift-mate.
Damn it.
They'd both said, back at the campground, that they didn't want this—whatever the hell "this" was—to be over when they got back to L.A. They'd both said, before they'd really let anything happen, that they "cared" —whatever that meant. Mike had sort of thought it meant that, well, they acknowledged that if they did anything stupid or selfish, a friendship would be mightily screwed up, and shifts would be awkward.
But this, what Mike was thinking about now, was surely not what Johnny had meant.
I'll let him sleep, thought Mike, and then I'll explain why I have to go. Calmly, like an adult. And then I'll go home and bawl my eyes out. You're a fuckin' idiot, Stoker.
Mike let Johnny sleep for a little while, and pondered what he'd gotten himself into, and would now have to get himself out of. He held onto Johnny, for a long, long time, allowing himself, perhaps foolishly, to enjoy what he was sure would be the last time he'd do so. Without meaning to, he dozed off.
~!~!~!~
When Mike woke, he went from heaven to hell in ten seconds flat, first remembering with glee whose warm body was next to his, and then recalling why he had to get himself out of this mess, and fast.
It was nearly 11:30, and Mike personally wouldn't want to sleep any later than noon on a day where he had a shift the next morning, so he was contemplating waking Johnny up. The idea of staying in the bed, though he found it partly appealing and partly pathetic, was becoming unrealistic, as Mike's bladder kept reminding him. Finally, he quietly extricated himself from Johnny's clutches, and made it to the bathroom without waking Johnny.
After finishing his necessary business, he decided he might as well get dressed. He really needed a shower, but, after all, if he was throwing himself out, he ought to be ready to go. He quietly found all his items of clothing where they lay in the bedroom, and put them on. He briefly thought about just leaving a note and fleeing, but no, if you're dumping someone because you're falling for them and that's not what they want—hell, no matter why you're dumping someone you actually like—that's not how to do it.
Mike had brought the morning paper, so he sat in the living room and tried to read it. He got nowhere. Coffee? No, too addled already. With great maturity, Mike decided just to sit and brood.
I should probably put in for a transfer now, he thought. It might even go through by the time I'm certified fit for duty. Yep—won't even have to say anything to Cap other than that the commute is killing me, what with gas prices the way they are. That new guy who's been filling in for me will be happy to be permanent. And what with the Captain's exams coming up soon, there oughta be plenty of vacancies for engineers in the near future. No problem.
Mike's preferred brooding posture was elbows on knees, head in hands. Very pathetic looking, he thought, but who cares. That's the way it is. Pathetic.
And that's how Johnny found him, when he emerged, bleary-eyed, clad in boxers but with nothing else back on.
"Hey, there you are. For a minute I almost thought you took off." Johnny sat down next to Mike on the saggy, second-hand couch.
Mike didn't look up. "I almost did take off,' he said, head still in hands.
Johnny froze. "What?"
"I said, I almost did take off." Mike finally looked up.
"Why? I mean, what'd I do? I mean … I don't know what I mean." Johnny looked intently at Mike, but didn't reach out physically.
"Johnny, you're—I'm—well, you …" Mike sighed. "I don't think we want the same things."
Johnny remained silent, not sure what to add or ask. He just wanted to hear Mike out, but he had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming. And here I thought things were going great for a change.
Mike summoned his courage. "I know we both said we care about what happens, which I guess means we don't want to make any trouble, don't want things to get awkward—at least I think that's what we both said—so, I guess, to not let it get awkward, I better just go."
Johnny sat still. Yep, that's what I thought was coming. He sighed, and looked away. "Every time, Mike. This happens every single time. When I start to pull someone towards me instead of pushing them away, it turns out that's not what they want after all, even though I kinda thought you maybe did, and then that's it—they're outta here."
He went on, not making eye contact, so not noticing Mike's gaping jaw. His fists were clenched so tightly on the couch cushions that his knuckles were going gray. "Honestly, I didn't think the same thing would happen with you—that wasn't the feeling I was getting from you. I thought maybe—just maybe—this time I could fall in love with someone, and they would—"
"What?" Mike interrupted.
Great, now I've really done it. Note to self: don't say the "L" word when you're getting dumped. "Sorry, Mike, but that's how it is." Johnny looked up, finally, and was shocked to see Mike grinning like a pig in a trough of slop. Mike began to chuckle, and within seconds, was outright laughing.
O … kay …
"Geez, Mike, you don't have to laugh at me. I'm feeling pathetic enough already." Johnny shook his head in disgust.
"Oh … my … god," Stoker managed, not quite able to catch his breath.
"I bare my soul, and you think it's funny?" Johnny practically shouted.
Realizing he'd totally lost it, and was on the verge of completely screwing everything up even worse than he already had, Mike put every ounce of his being into pulling himself together. "I'm sorry. It's not funny; I'm sorry, babe. Fuck, Johnny, I was ready to run off because I was falling in love with you, and I didn't think that was up your alley."
Silence. The scowl slowly disappeared from a certain paramedic's face. "Seriously?"
"Like ice cream and Wheaties—unbelievable, but totally for real."
"Ya know, you just about gave me a heart attack," he complained. "When did I start sending mixed messages, anyhow? Honest to god, Stoker, where'd I give you the wrong idea?"
Stoker sat silently, eyes squinted, brows furrowed. Johnny sat patiently, holding Mike's hand in both his own, as Mike tried to reconstruct his train-wreck of thought.
"Um. Nowhere?" Mike concluded tentatively.
Johnny rolled his eyes. "Okey dokey, then, how'd this near-disaster happen?"
"Uh, caffeine and brooding, not talking, uh, anxiety-prone brain—put 'em together and you get Mr. Insecurity, I guess." Mike looked down at their intertwined hands. "I was just lying there with you, holding you while you were sleeping, and thinking about how great everything was, and then these teensy little 'uh-ohs' started creeping in."
"We can always talk," Johnny insisted. "Always."
"Nuh-uh, you were sleeping," protested Mike. "I'm not gonna bug you every time my anxiety lobe starts working overtime! That would be completely cra—"
"Reasonable," Johnny finished for him. "It would be completely reasonable, Mike. If you're circling the mental drain, and I'm not rappelling down the side of a building, or up to my elbows in someone's guts, or dragging someone out of a room that's about to flash over, you talk to me, all right? And if I am doing any of those things? You talk to me in five minutes. Deal?"
"Deal," Mike said meekly.
"Good. And vice versa. 'Cause I just can't stand the not talking stuff. I mean, you remember that girl Valerie, a few years back, where I was thinking about marrying her, for cryin' out loud, and then it turned out she had these kids she'd never said diddly squat about? I can't take that stuff, man. Shit hiding in the closet, waiting to pounce out at ya in the middle of the night?" Johnny shook his head. "Can't take it."
"Well, then, I'll do my best not to dish it out. I promise: there's no pouncing shit in my closet—just me in there, and you already know that part. And, I'll try, really try hard, not to clam up."
"Great. Are we cool?" asked Johnny, picking up Mike's hand and kissing the back of it.
"We're cool." Mike finally smiled a little. "Well, at least I have a backup plan for life. If I ever bomb out of the department, I could get a job as an insecurity guard."
Johnny shook his head, smiling. "Where do you come up with this crap?"
"Well, my mom always said she thought I had a whole extra lobe in my brain, dedicated exclusively to worrying and brooding," said Mike.
"I know a good neurosurgeon," Johnny said seriously. "Maybe you should have it removed."
"Wish I could, Johnny. Wish I could." Mike leaned his head on Johnny's bare shoulder.
They sat that way for a good couple of minutes, heads together, holding hands, till Mike broke the silence. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Johnny twisted so he was on his knees on the couch, straddling Mike's hips. He took Mike's face in his hands. "It's okay. But don't," he kissed Mike's forehead, "ever," one eyebrow, "ever," the other eyebrow, "Do. That. Again." And Johnny lingered at Mike's lips for long enough that Mike was sure he was forgiven completely.
~!~!~!~
They spent the time till kick-off reading the Sunday paper, never straying far from each other. They watched the game, like good sports fans, and found that commercials provided great make-out breaks. The game ended, and Mike and Johnny were lounged on the couch, Mike's head and shoulders cradled in Johnny's lap. Their team had lost, but they didn't care. But then, after spending the entire day inside, Johnny started to get antsy.
"Man, let's get outta here. I know it's crappy out, but I gotta get outta the house."
"Okay by me. Ideas?" Mike replied.
"What I really wanna do," grumbled Johnny, "is take you out and show you off. It's not fair," he complained.
"Nope. You're right, though—even though L.A. is big enough to lose a whole 'nother city in, you and I can't go out together—and I mean of course Together with a capital 'T'—and still expect to have a job in the morning."
"We can go eat somewhere, I guess, but we have to act like—"
"Like two co-workers grabbing a bite, and not like two people out on a date," Mike finished for him. "It's a bitch of a game."
Johnny sat silently for a few moments. "Hey, Mike?"
"Mm?"
"Along those lines—I think maybe Cap knows there's something goin' on."
Mike blew out a long breath. "Yeah, I wondered about that, after you picked up when he called on Friday. Was he weird at all yesterday?"
"Well, he stayed out of the 'did Gage get laid' game—he always steers clear of that crap—but he almost, not quite, but almost, said he knew I was at your place on Friday."
"Um, how do you know what he almost said if he didn't say it?" Mike asked reasonably.
"Well, what happened was, at the end of the shift, Kelly was goin' on and on with the guys about tryin' to figure out who my hot date was on Friday, and Cap walks right in, and he goes somethin' like 'he couldn't've had a date, 'cause he was at—' … and he stopped there."
"Shit—then what?"
"Then Chet goes, 'at what, Cap?' And then Cap looked right at me, and then said, 'at the campground,' and something about how if I'd had a date lined up for after the camping trip, wouldn't I have been blabbing about it the whole week. And then he hightailed it back to his office."
"Hm," considered Mike. "You say anything to him?"
"Well, I couldn't just not say anything, cause that would've been weird, so I just said thanks for not buying into the guys' games all shift." He paused. "I don't know what he's thinkin'—I mean, maybe he really thought I was intentionally puttin' one over on Chet, and didn't wanna mess it up—but I'm pretty sure he doesn't think I went out with some chick on Friday."
"Okay," said Mike. "If he's somehow figured something out—which I doubt, actually—we'll deal."
Johnny sighed. "How?"
"Well," Mike said seriously, "I think maybe, before I come back to work, we should just tell him the truth."
Johnny froze. "No way. We'll get booted outta the department."
"Not if Cap doesn't say anything. And I don't think he's the type. I mean, he volunteered you and Roy to take on that woman paramedic, right? And then there was that time we worked a brush fire, and there was a volunteer company with two female firefighters, and he chewed out one of L.A. County's less fine examples of humanity for givin' them a hard time—don't think you were there for that, but it was pretty cool."
"Huh," said Johnny. "Musta missed that one." He rubbed his face. "I still dunno, Mike, if we oughta just flat out tell him. I mean, even if he doesn't freak out, it puts him in an awkward position."
"What's the alternative?" said Mike. "If he knows, and we don't say anything, and then we're working together, and we keep on not telling him, that's maybe worse than if we say something and he didn't know."
Johnny didn't say anything for a while. Then, very quietly, he did. "I'll put in for a transfer."
Mike reacted instantly. "Are you crazy? You have the best assignment you could hope for! I mean, the station is a mile from here, and you and Roy are the best team, and—well, geez, we haven't even figured out yet how it'll be if we're on shift together. Might be okay, ya know."
"Maybe."
"Besides, if anyone transfers, it oughta be me. But I still think we should tell Cap, Johnny."
Johnny scowled. "Let's think about it, okay? I mean, he always says what we all do on our own time is our business, right? And I'm serious, that it would put him in a bad position to know anything about this."
"Okay," said Mike. "All right. Let's just keep quiet for now."
"Okay." Johnny was still scowling, and Mike didn't like to see that. He reached around and put his hand on the back of Johnny's neck, and kissed him lightly, and remained right there, forehead on Johnny's cheekbone.
"I think," Mike said, "we just survived our first fight."
Johnny smiled, finally. "That was a fight?"
"Well, Stoker-style," admitted Mike. "Quiet. Understated."
Johnny's stomach growled audibly.
"Saved by the belly, huh?" Johnny said. "C'mon, let's go out and grab some grub. And I promise, I'll try not to grope you under the table." He helped Mike off the saggy sofa. "Very much."
TBC