"Becca…I got a problem." Herrmann sheepishly began.
"Your possum's back, idn'e?" Becca asked before popping a potato chip into her mouth.
"Yeah." he admitted, hating the fact that this conversation was even happening.
She let her accent flow freely, "I told you moth balls was for keepin' snakes away, not possums."
"I know." She offered him the bag and he took a couple of chips, "It's in the attic again. The kids are scared to death of it. Cindy wants me to call an exterminator, but that's expensive." He sighed in defeat, "Tell me again what to do to get rid of it."
Becca took a long swig from her travel mug of sweet tea, "You're gonna need a trap – the catch 'n release kind. You'll also need a handful of cat food in an old pie pan, or on a paper plate, or somethin' disposable. Put that up there overnight and check it in the mornin'. If it's in there, call me; I'll take it to the woods 'n let it go. Do not touch it, don't handle the cage without leather gloves on, and do not let them youngins 'a yers get near it. Possums can carry rabies."
Herrmann felt like he knew the answer already, but he asked anyway, "…You don't…happen to have a trap I can borrow, do you?"
Leaning back in her chair, she smiled, "It's in the truck with a pie pan and some cat food. I'll show you how to set it after shift."
Brett shuddered, "Possums are so gross."
Becca shrugged, "They're nature's fuzzy little garbage disposals, not National Geographic cover models."
Amused, Cruz shook his head, "There's a reality TV show in this somewhere."
"Becca the Exterminator." Otis said with more than a little dramatic flair, "Cleaning the critters out of Chicago one attic at a time!" An idea struck him and he turned to Cruz, "We could turn that into a YouTube channel."
Casey entered the break room, heading for the coffee pot, "What're you turning into a YouTube channel?"
"We're gonna film Becca while she traps the possum in Herrmann's attic." Otis explained, making Casey pause in his pursuit of late-morning coffee, "We'll make a series out of the whole process, and the season finale will be the release of the possum back into the wild."
"And what if said possum has rabies?" Becca asked, handing her travel mug to Casey, who took a hearty drink of her tea.
That possibility stumped Otis, "Oh. Yeah. We'd have to take it to a vet and have it put down."
Retrieving her tea from Casey, she took a delicate sip before continuing, "Otis, I can do exactly what that vet would have to do, only cheaper and more efficiently."
He frowned, "What do you…" – what she was implying suddenly hit him – "Oh."
Casey shook his head and flipped the end of Becca's ponytail, "You can't discharge a firearm within the city limits, babe." There was still coffee in that pot and his cup was empty. The fact that it was almost lunchtime was irrelevant.
She watched him go, "Ever'body else does."
She had a point, but he wasn't going to encourage her. Instead, he filled his cup and glanced at the soap bubble-filled sink, "What's in the sink?"
"I'm soakin' some containers."
"Oh, okay." Casey took a swig of his coffee, grunting softly as the taste of the lukewarm liquid clashed with the lingering taste of Becca's tea. He looked again at the sink and muttered "Fantastic." sarcastically to himself. There were two sour cream containers, a butter tub, and a Cool Whip container bobbing among the suds. By this time tomorrow, every one of them would be in the "container cabinet" at their house. He loved Becca, but sometimes going through four different containers in the refrigerator before he found either the leftovers or the correct food item was really annoying. He knew that she was trying to save money by reusing everything she could, but geez! They weren't broke! He had considered buying her a brand-new set of matching Tupperware, but he knew that she'd just put it up and "save it for when the others wear out". (Which meant that it would sit on a shelf, unused for all of eternity.) Maybe he could convince her to at least start using freezer tape to label the stupid things...
Morgan strode purposefully into the break room, went straight to the sink, and dropped his nearly full coffee cup into the water without so much as a courtesy glance.
"Was that really necessary?" Casey growled as Morgan started to walk away. He grabbed a yellow dishwashing glove from a drawer, slipped it on, and pulled the sink stopper out so that Becca wouldn't have to reach into the still-scalding hot and newly-contaminated water.
Morgan glanced over his shoulder at the contents of the sink before bellowing, "Miller! Why are you washing the garbage?"
"It's not garbage." Becca sighed, rising slowly from her seat and sauntering over to the sink, "These can be reused. Throwin' 'em away would be wasteful."
Morgan gave her a look of disdain as she rinsed the brown suds from the containers, "Seriously? Are you that poor?"
"I ain't poor." she snapped before Casey could say anything, "I was raised to be mindful of what I sent to the landfill."
Morgan rolled his eyes, "Too bad you weren't raised to use proper grammar and not butcher the English language with every poorly constructed sentence you spout off. Where'd you learn to talk, anyway?"
Becca stepped in front of Casey before he could go for Morgan and played an ace that she'd been holding for weeks, "About five miles down the road from where you did, Captain."
For a split second, Morgan looked at her like she'd struck him. The look faded as quickly as it had come, his eyes narrowing at her as if she were a tiny mouse and he was a hungry cobra, "I beg your pardon?"
The left corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. She'd struck a nerve. "You heard me."
Beeee-deeee-brrrrr!
"Ambulance Sixty-One, Squad Three, Truck Eighty-One…"
"We'll discuss this later." Morgan growled before sprinting toward the bay.
"Yes, I imagine we will." Becca murmured to herself as she followed him.
…
Three hours later…
"What do you want?" Morgan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his desk, "A raise? A promotion? What's it gonna take to keep you quiet?"
It was all Becca could do to keep from laughing. She got a sick little thrill from knowing that she had dirt on Morgan. And it wasn't even major dirt! But, it was enough to put her into a position of power, and it was nice. "You don't have the authority to offer such things," she replied coolly, keeping her poker face up, "Regardless of how much smoke you blow up Hatcher's ass. Don't dangle carrots, Captain."
Morgan gave her a long, hard looking over. It made Becca want to squirm, but she held her ground. "Who do you belong to, girl?" he asked at length, just a tiny little bit of accent tinting his words, "Gary?"
She shook her head, "Robert 'n Evelyn."
"You're not old enough to be their daughter."
"I'm their granddaughter. Gary's my uncle."
That made sense. A lot made sense about Miss Rebecca Irene Miller suddenly. She had Gary's mouth, Evelyn's kindness, and Robert's work ethic. Was it possible that… No. No, he couldn't get his hopes too far up. That was a long time and another lifetime ago. He was a completely different person back then. Still, though…that little flicker of hope still burned within him… Maybe…just maybe…the rumors that had flown so wildly more than thirty years ago were true. When he spoke again, Morgan's voice was markedly gentler, "Robert and Evelyn were mighty fine folks. Their loss is a true shame."
Becca nodded, "Thank you, Sir."
He decided to keep his tone gentle, "You're a smart girl, Miller; I believe I'm safe in saying that you know more than just my childhood address." When she didn't respond, he continued, "I admit that I wasn't the most upstanding of young men back in the day. I've worked hard to move past that part of my life. I would appreciate it if you would keep whatever knowledge you have to yourself."
"I will on one condition."
Morgan took a breath, "I'm listening."
"Lighten up. Quit bein' a dick. We're all in this together, and work flows a whole lot easier when everyone's a team player. I don't know when Kelly will be cleared to come back. Until then, come down off your high horse and act like a normal human being. This is a good house; you'll enjoy it if you'll just let yourself."
Well, that wasn't unattainable. In fact, it was surprisingly simple. "Fair enough." When Becca offered him her hand, he took it.
"Welcome to Firehouse Fifty-One, Captain."
…
Author's Note: Hey – I found my laptop! Yay! Apologies for the length of time between chapters. I've been sick (and sick again…and again…and again), I've moved, and this thing called life keeps getting in the way. It'll get better, though. Babygirl is growing like a weed. She's almost six months old, y'all! Thanks to ItsJustBecca, Love. Fiction. 2017, and my guest for the reviews. Thanks to Apollofan210, GraceLeah07, animexchick, BGio89, MatthewGreyGublerLoveXXX, , dreamer47030, AshleyLaywood, cuttiepiepay, and BookDreamer03 for the follows/favorites! Thanks also to BGio89 for making sure I wasn't dead, lol!
If you're not familiar with the terminology, the correct name for a "possum" is actually "opossum". I have yet to meet anyone who pronounces the "o". The cat food in a pie pan trick works. Don't ask me how I know that. (The mothballs trick works, too.)
When Morgan asked Becca who she belonged to, he was asking who her parents were.
Thoughts and prayers for those affected by Hurricane Harvey. If you're going to donate, please donate to a charity that actually sends donations to where they're needed instead of using them for "Administrative Costs" and "Marketing".
