A/N: A freaky coincidence: as I was working on this chapter, we got toned out (a full structure fire assignment) for a stove fire, which turned out to be an electrical fire inside the stove. Then, before the engine even finished pulling into the station, we got toned out again, for an actual fire on top of a stove. Luckily they were both minor and there was little damage and no injuries, but it was really a little freakish. Now, back to our irregularly scheduled chapter.

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January Surprise: Chapter 8

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Chet approached the engine. His steps slowed as he realized he had no idea what to say to the two young women that Captain Stanley was sending him to talk to. He stopped at the back of the engine, and opened a compartment he didn't need anything from, just to look like he was doing something.

"We have a car wreck I haven't heard about?" Stoker asked from the pump panel, peering at the compartment Chet had opened, which contained stabilization blocks and various rescue tools that might be used at a vehicle accident.

"Can it, Stoker," Chet said. He fiddled with the strap holding the Jaws in place as he thought.

"Well, hello, ladies," he said under his breath, and shook his head immediately. "Moronic, Kelly. Positively moronic."

"How can I help you today?" he rehearsed, and cringed. "Damn it, I'm a fireman, not a waiter. Plus, I already helped them. By putting out their fire. Okay, okay, Kelly; think."

He thought about what Cap had said, and then he had it. "PR!" he said aloud. "That's it! Just be polite, and honest, and nice, and … well, shoot, they probably don't actually know how bad their house is right now, so I'll have to break that to them. So much for the fan club," he said glumly.

Chet shoved the roll-out tray holding the rescue tool back into the compartment, and slammed the compartment shut. He had no choice but to go past the pump panel, but thoroughly ignored Stoker's raised eyebrows as he passed.

He straightened his lapels, put a foot up on the diamond-plate running board, and stepped up into the cab of the engine, with his back to the calendar picture that had wreaked havoc on his day.

Two young women were sitting in the cab. They looked over at him as he pulled down the jump seat and sat down.

Before Chet could open his mouth to begin his public relations spiel, the blonde woman spoke up.

"It's you! It's really you! It's so amazing! We've been looking at you on our wall since New Year's Day … and you put out our fire, and now we're talking to you!"

"Well, here I am," Chet said, grinning slightly. "Ten years later, and I'll be honest, I quit the bodybuilding stuff, um, a couple years ago."

"But you're a real, actual fireman," the blonde said. "Some of us girls were wondering about that—whether the Men at Work guys were all models, or whether they're actually what they're dressed as."

"I can't speak for the other guys, but I'm the real deal," Chet said.

"I'm Tracy," the blonde said, "and she's Sharon. We're vet school students. That's why we have the calendar—it's a benefit for the animal shelter."

"Oh, yeah," Chet said slowly. "I'd forgotten what the pictures were actually for. A great cause," he said. Public relations, he reminded himself.

"We'd ask you to autograph our calendar," Sharon said, "but … well, it was in the kitchen. Probably not much left to sign."

"I'm really sorry about your kitchen," Chet said. "It looks like it was an electrical problem in the stove, from what we could see."

"Is it really bad in there?" Tracy asked.

Chet hesitated for a moment. This was the part of the PR he wasn't looking forwards to.

"It kind of is," he said. "The fire had gotten inside the walls behind and next to the stove, and we had to pull down some of the walls and ceiling to make sure all the fire was really out. Plus, whenever we have to use water to put a fire out, and not just a chemical fire extinguisher, there's water damage, too."

The women's elation at meeting Mr. January turned to deflation as they realized that their home was severely damaged.

"Will we be able to stay here?" Sharon asked.

Chet shook his head. "Not for a while. The county code inspectors will have to do an inspection, and then they'll decide whether the structure is safe. Then there will be a lot of cleanup needed, from the water and the smoke."

"Oh," Tracy said in a small voice. "Oh."

"I'm really sorry," Chet said.

"We were getting ready to have a party this weekend," Sharon said, looking out the window at the house, where Marco was exiting with a pike pole. There was a chunk of what looked suspiciously like sodden sheet-rock on his shoulder.

"And …" Tracy sniffled, then continued, her voice shaking, "we were just talking about asking if you would come! But now our house is in ruins, and … and …"

Chet reached under the seat for a roll of paper towels, and silently handed her a sheet from the roll.

She blew her nose, and took a few deep breaths. Then, inexplicably, she burst out laughing—not her earlier giggles, but a deeper sound.

Sharon looked at her oddly. "Uh, Tracy? You okay?"

Tracy wiped one last tear from her eyes, and laughed again.

"It's pretty funny, actually. Our house is in ruins, from a fire that burned up the picture of the guy who put it out, for crying out loud, and now we're sitting with him, in the back of his fire engine!"

Sharon managed a snort, and one corner of her mouth quirked up slightly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But the party's a lost cause."

Chet couldn't really add anything to that—there was no way they'd be having a party in that house any time soon.

"But maybe …" Tracy said, glancing at the calendar, looking over at Sharon, then glancing at Chet again. "I'm sorry—I didn't even ask your name."

"Chet Kelly," Chet said.

"Mr. Kelly," Tracy said, and was quickly interrupted by Chet.

"Please, call me Chet, or I'll think you're talking to my father."

"Okay then, Chet. Would you, by any chance, be free on Friday night? I know you firemen work an awful lot, but … here's what I'm wondering. I bet one of the other girls from the vet department would host the party instead, if we promised to bring you."

"Uh …" Chet fumbled, suddenly feeling a little bit like one of the animals up for adoption at the pound.

"You're famous in our department—trust me on this," Tracy added, sensing Chet's discomfort. "All the girls will want your autograph. Plus, when they hear you put out our fire, they'll know you're not just a pretty face."

Chet was sure his face was the color of the engine.

"Tracy," Sharon protested, "you're embarrassing him."

Tracy cleared her throat. "Sorry. I'm … pretty stressed out right now. But … would you think about coming? Please?"

"And any of the other guys from your station would be welcome, too," Sharon added.

Chet thought for a moment or two, about whether he wanted to put himself into the situation he was imagining: an apartment full of young women (okay, probably plenty of men, too), where all the girls there had seen That Picture, as he was starting to think of it. And where they all wanted his autograph, and saw him as some kind of superhero, for cryin' out loud, when really 95% of the job was dirty and smelly and completely unheroic, and they'd probably all be hanging all over him, and making puppy dog eyes at him, and …

"Sure," Chet said. "I'd love to."

TBC