I just couldn't help myself. Overall, you've all been so lovely to me with this fic. I know it's something probably way out of the box for this fandom, but I've so enjoyed writing it, and I'm glad many of you have enjoyed it.

In an act of procrastination, I produced this (definitely) final chapter for this fic, and I do hope you enjoy it. I know some of you weren't entirely happy with the ending I had, so I made this one a little more... interesting, I think.

That's the way things come clear. All of a sudden. And then you realize how obvious they've been all along.

-Madeleine L'Engle

"C'mon, Stoker!" Sykes taunted, "Has it really been that long since you've been on a line?"

"No longer than it's been for you," Mike called back over the roar of the fire.

Tim Sykes laughed, teeth flashing bright white against the soot on his face. Mike knew he looked no better. Brush fires always left firemen filthy and unrecognizable, looking like reverse raccoons where their goggles kept their eyes clean. Mike would have to shower about ten times to get the smell of woodsmoke and all the soot completely out of his skin and hair. He was at the fire for an entire OT shift yesterday, and he was on his own regular shift today and the day before yesterday, too. He didn't want to try and calculate how long he'd been at the fire; it was too long. Tim took a step forward, and Mike followed suit.

Mike and Tim went through the academy together once upon a time. Mike was quiet and shy, and Tim was freshly eighteen, brash and loud, with a mop of ash blond hair and warm brown eyes. He was nearly as tall as Mike but thicker and wider. Some of it was fat and just melted right off during their training, but he remained fairly stocky. Tim wasn't necessarily what could be called handsome, either. His nose was kind of flat from some fights in his youth, his teeth a little too big and a bit crooked. He was a good person, though, one of the best, and it made people gravitate toward him as Mike had. Tim was an engineer now, too, had passed the exam and got promoted about three years after Mike.

There was a pressure behind Mike, a weight helping to anchor him as he held the line. Marco. That's Marco. I don't know how I know, but I do. A few minutes passed before Marco tapped Mike on the shoulder and reached for the line, indicating he would take over. Mike let him. He was nearing exhaustion, the quick naps no longer cutting it. Chet went down from exhaustion and dehydration overnight, having pulled the same ridiculous OT shift Mike had, and Mike was sure to go down, too, if he kept this pace up. Just a few more hours… few more hours, then I can get a proper rest…

Mike's muscles were all tight and achy and stiff. He was in real amazement he was actually still able to function. He stumbled once or twice while backing Marco, but he was alright to finish his shift, would tough it out until the shift got stood down.

"Stoker! Lopez! Sykes! Harmon!"

They all turned. A captain Mike wasn't completely familiar with jogged over to tell them, "We need more control lines over here-" he pointed westerly, from which the wind was blowing, "-so I need you guys with me, and we can get started."

Mike slumped after the captain (Hernandez from 65s) and the others. I wonder where Tim gets all that energy from, especially when he's been here about as long as I have. I could go for a nice coma right now, and he's all piss and vinegar, ready to keep goin' forever. Mike heaved a sigh and kept trudging. Control lines were important. They needed to be made. They were a line of defense, a wall to stop the flames from advancing as they wanted.

They walked in pairs behind Hernandez, Mike with Marco and Tim with Harmon, one of his guys from 99s. Other firemen were working control lines nearby. Mike stifled a yawn and got to work, Marco right beside him. Marco had been rather subdued since Chet went down overnight. They were pretty good friends, Marco and Chet, and Marco had been visibly upset when Chet collapsed. We were all pretty upset when Chet collapsed. It's never good when someone goes down like that. One minute Chet was holding a line, and the next he was on the ground, a crumpled heap of turnout gear. Everyone immediately descended on him, terrified that he may have had heat stroke, that he might start having a seizure. Thankfully, it was heat exhaustion, not heat stroke, but his temperature was high enough that John and Roy wanted to take him to Rampart to be looked after. Mike had been working with Cap when John and Chet left in the ambulance, Roy following in the squad. From what Mike can remember, that was at about half-past one in the morning.

Mike trudged along with Marco, Tim Sykes and Harmon not far ahead. He stifled another yawn. Up ahead, by Tim and Harmon, a sharp cracking sound rent the air, cutting through the constant roar of the fire. Tim gave a yell, gave Harmon a hard shove, as a nearby tree came down, one that looked old and rotted out. The engineer slipped, losing his footing, and Mike watched in horror as the tree came crashing down on top of him. For a split second, Mike was sure he'd just watched his friend die. A scream rose up from the tree: hair-raising, pained, horrid. Mike was running to his friend before he even realized it. He vaguely heard Marco shouting behind him, maybe at him, maybe into an H/T.

It didn't look good for Tim. The tree must've come down at just the wrong angle and, despite it not weighing as much as it appeared, snapped the bones of Tim's lower leg in two. He was screaming his head off, still trapped under the trunk. Mike turned to call for Marco, but the lineman was already digging through the brush truck, presumably seeking a chainsaw or K-12. There's no time for that. Mike quickly sized up the tree: old, charred, smoldering, rotted, not as heavy as it looked. He stepped up, his feet shoulder-width apart, and squatted by the tree, sliding his arms underneath so the trunk rested in the crooks of his arms. A little heavier than I thought… but not much… His stomach muscles tightened up as he pulled the weight close to his body, woodsmoke filling his nose and throat. Tim screamed again, and that was it. Mike lifted, the muscles of his legs sending him surging upward, a yell escaping his lungs as he heaved the dead tree away.

Mike knelt beside his friend, pressing their gloved hands together. Tim squeezed back with a powerful grip.

"What happened, Mike? Are you hurt anywhere?" John asked, rushing over with Roy.

"Me? No, i-it's my friend here, Tim Sykes," Mike told them hurriedly, "We were making control lines and that tree came down. His leg's broke pretty bad."

"Don't worry, Mike, we're gonna take good care of him," Roy said, then turned to Tim, "Sykes? Sykes, can you hear me? I'm Roy DeSoto from 51s. Are you hurt anywhere besides your leg?"

John and Roy managed to work around Mike, who was loathe to leave his friend's side or let go of his hand. Marco hung back, the chainsaw hanging limply from his hand. Mike watched in quiet amazement at how efficiently John and Roy worked, was always amazed at the way they seemed to anticipate what the other needed. Tim was splinted, set up with an IV, and bundled up in a Stokes faster than Mike could have imagined, and together they carried him out to a waiting ambulance. Mike wanted to go with them to the hospital, but Cap held him back, saying, "We're almost done here, Mike. We'll finish up, and then we'll head over to Rampart, okay?"

Another hour passed before Cap, Mike, and Marco were stood down, then another half-hour before they could put the engine all back together properly. Big Red was going to need a thorough cleaning once this brush fire was over… outside and in. Cap and Marco were both filthy, and Mike was sure he looked no better. A quick look down showed his turnouts were completely covered in black soot from the charred tree trunk.

"Hey, Stoker?"

"Yeah, Cap?"

"Did you really lift that tree off Sykes singlehanded?" Cap asked curiously.

"Uh… I guess I did, yeah."

"How? That thing looked like it weighed a ton."

Mike shrugged, "It was all rotted out. Didn't weigh all that much, actually."

"Marco said you looked like Superman or somethin'. Just got down and heaved it right up."

"Really, Marco?" Mike called to the back of the cab, "Superman?"

"What! That's what it looked like!" he retorted, "I didn't even have time to get back with a saw!"

Mike's face grew hot under the grime coating it. Don't know why they're makin' such a fuss. I would've done the same for them, and they'd do it for me.

"Alright, we're gonna go up to see Chet," Cap said at Rampart, "You go check on Sykes. I'm sure John and Roy wanna hear how he's doin', too."

"Sure thing, Cap. I'll see ya in a few…"

He got some odd looks as he traipsed through the hospital in his filthy turnouts and blackened face, mostly from the patients, the staff all too used to seeing dirty firemen pacing the halls. Tim was still in the treatment room with Dr. Early. Mike poked his head in and tentatively rapped on the door. Early turned, and it seemed to take him a moment to recognize Mike. They hadn't met often, but Mike liked Early. He was always very friendly and polite to Mike, and Roy said he was the same with all his patients, especially children. Roy always said the man was a great doctor, and if Roy thought him a good person, he must be pretty good.

"Mike Stoker, isn't it?" the doctor asked, leaving some x-rays to approach him, "You're the engineer that works with Gage and DeSoto, right?"

"Yessir, that's me, Dr. Early."

"Is everything alright? Are you injured?"

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to check on my buddy here."

"Yes, DeSoto told me you were the one who did the rescue on Mr. Sykes," Early told him, smirking slightly, "He said it was pretty impressive-looking, you lifting that tree all by yourself."

"It wasn't that impressive," Mike mumbled.

"Whatever you say, Stoker. Anyway, I'm sure Sykes would appreciate the company. I've been looking at the x-rays here, and we're waiting on the orthopedist to get here so he can set the leg and put a cast on it. The painkillers have really set in, so he might be a little funny, but he'll know you're there."

"Is he gonna be alright, doc?"

"There's no reason he won't make a full recovery within a few months."

"Good. Thanks, doc."

Tim really was out of it, so Mike only spoke with him for a few minutes before the orthopedic team arrived. Mike didn't think he should stay for them setting the fracture, or he'd need treatment himself from passing out. He slipped past Early and made his way up to Chet's room, apologizing to the nurse who got on the elevator with him. He heard Marco's voice inside the room, "…saw it happen. Would you believe he just lifted that tree up off Sykes and got him out? Did the rescue before I could even get to the engine for the chainsaw or the K-12. It was pretty damn impressive."

Mike stepped into the room, saying matter-of-factly, "C'mon, Marco, the tree was all rotted out. It wasn't even that heavy."

Five faces covered in varying levels of dirt smiled at him… as did a clean face he hadn't expected to see. Charlie grinned widely at him, her dark curls loose around her face, still wearing her uniform from dispatch. It was a good thing he was paying attention, because she came at him at a run. She threw her arms around his neck, and he was glad he had enough strength left to catch her and keep upright, his own arms around her waist. He heard the others laugh.

"Well, none of us got greeted so enthusiastically," John complained.

"Shut up, Junior."

Mike tightened his arms slightly. There was so much he could say to Charlie, but all he could voice was, "Hey… you're gonna get your uniform all dirty."

"I don't care," she murmured, "I'll have it cleaned."

He gave her another quick squeeze, and then he had to loosen his grip. He could feel himself shaking finely, exhaustion finally coming back to him. Once he set Charlie back on her feet, Cap asked, "How's Sykes doin', Stoker? John said he wasn't doin' well when they brought him in."

Mike repeated what Early told him, and Cap and the others nodded. Cap spoke up again, "That's some good news at least. How 'bout you, Mike? You aggravate that old back injury?"

He drew himself up a bit, standing a little straighter and taller, feeling a proud smile on his face. He replied, "Nope, not even a twinge. Besides, like I said, the tree was rotted out and wasn't even heavy. Only hurt Sykes so bad 'cause it hit him at a funny angle."

Charlie had returned to her brother's side, though she was still grinning at Mike.

"Mike Stoker, stop actin' like you didn't do anything," John piped up, "You saved Sykes' life, y'know."

"Yeah, but… that's what I'm supposed to do," he mumbled, "Just dunno why you guys are makin' a big fuss about it…"

"World's smallest ego," Chet commented, making John and Marco snort.

Charlie, though she was smirking herself, gave her brother a solid swat in the arm, to which he indignantly replied, "Hey, I'm in the hospital here!"

"We're all in the hospital, Chet," Marco smirked.

"Aw, c'mon, you know what I mean!"

Charlie snickered, earning a glare from Chet while the others laughed.

"There you are!"

Dr. Early stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking both amused and annoyed all at once.

"Which one of us you lookin' for, doc?" John asked, still smirking.

"Mike Stoker," Early replied, "He snuck out of treatment before I could examine him."

I was hoping to avoid a check-up. It's why I snuck away, doc.

"But-but I feel fine, doc," Mike told him, "My back-"

"It's not your back I'm worried about, Stoker. I want to make sure you don't have any burns on your arms or hands and that there's nothing hiding under all that grime on your face. Come on, it won't take long."

"Couldn't I go clean up at the station and come back?" he asked hopefully.

Charlie snorted somewhere behind him. Dr. Early didn't need words to say 'Most certainly not.' Mike heaved a sigh. He made quick arrangements for Charlie to drive him back to the station with Chet and followed Early back down to treatment. A nurse gave his face a good scrubbing but clucked her tongue after a few minutes, saying, "I guess that's as good as it'll be," and gave up. Early's quick examination proclaimed Mike's face to be injury-free.

"Alright, now, get out of that coat," he told Mike, "I need to check your arms…"

Mike winced slightly as he pulled off his turnout, the muscles of his arms sore and tight. His forearms were bright pink with some cuts and scratches, particularly around his wrists.

"Hmm… Stoker, do you remember how you lifted the tree?"

Mike told him, and Early responded, "The sleeves of your coat must've gotten pushed up when you slid your arms under the trunk. Doesn't look too serious, but I'd like to put a clean bandage over everything just to be sure nothing gets infected. It might be a good idea for you to take your next shift off. These don't look too terribly painful, but you might want a rest. I'll write up a note for you if you decide to take off."

Early worked fairly quickly, which was good because Mike was now decidedly grumpy. He didn't want to take a shift off. The grey-haired doctor wore a small smile as he ushered Mike out into the waiting room and went to check on another patient. Mike didn't wait long for Charlie and Chet to come down. He must've still looked grumpy because Charlie greeted him with a sarcastic, "Don't look so happy."

"Let me guess," Chet spoke up, "You managed to hurt yourself somehow saving Sykes, and Early told you to take some time off."

Mike felt himself scowl and held up his bandaged forearms and wrists.

"Gotta take the next shift off for some lousy cuts and light burns. You believe that?"

He was definitely not pouting, no matter what Chet's smirk told him. Chet asked, "Well, did Early order you to take the next shift off, or did he suggest it? Because he's suggested Johnny and I not work a shift plenty of times, and I'll tell ya exactly how many times we listened to a suggestion like that."

"Zero?"

"You're a quick learner, Stoker."

Mike gave it a quick thought. Early really hadn't explicitly told him to take off. Some of his grumpiness went away.

"Alright, come on. Both of you out to the car," she ordered, rolling her eyes, "Let's get you back to the station and cleaned up. Y'know, my poor baby will never be the same after having you two in it like this…"

Charlie sat on the couch in the rec room, Boot ambling over to nap with her. Mike and Chet slumped into the locker room for their towels and to take off their filthy turnouts. The shower was wonderful. Mike almost forgot he hadn't had one in about three days, three hot and exhausting days. He let out a groan as the hot water pounded on his tired and tight muscles; Chet did the same in the adjacent stall. Mike took the time to scrub carefully, wanting to remove three days worth of grime and sweat, watching the water swirling down the drain change from a deep, ashy grey to clear. Tomorrow we'll probably be there again, but it's nice to be clean for now. At least he'd thought to wrap his bandages with some plastic cling wrap so they wouldn't get wet.

He and Chet finished their showers at about the same time and returned to the locker room together to change into their civvies. Mike had just pulled on his jeans when Chet came over and sat by him, arms in the sleeves of his baja hoodie but not quite wearing it yet. His thick hair was still wet and sticking up in funny places; it made Mike smile. Chet straddled the bench, stretching out his legs.

"You gonna say somethin', Chet, or are ya just gonna sit there and watch me get dressed?" Mike asked, pulling on a t-shirt and doing up the button on his jeans.

Chet made a face, saying, "Sorry, Mike, I'm not the Kelly who thinks you're oh-so-dreamy."

"Thank God for that."

"I feel like I oughta be offended."

Mike said nothing and shrugged on a button-up shirt. Chet finally pulled his hoodie on all the way.

"Charlie was real worried about you," Chet said after a moment, "Think she thought you were Sykes when he was brought in, and then when everyone came in to see me and you weren't with 'em… boy, she was all fidgety. Looked all around the room, went and looked out the window… and don't get me started on that hug. I've never seen her like that. Last time she even gave me a hug like that was when I came home from 'Nam. She lit up like a Christmas tree when you came in, Mike."

"Yeah… yeah, she did, didn't she…"

Mike had been doing a lot of thinking lately, just as Charlie had suggested a few months before. He could well recall the feeling of near euphoria he experienced when he realized there was someone else like him out there, someone else who didn't feel like sex was all that important. Hearing other people talk about their sexual experiences never really made him uncomfortable, but it never made him want to see what all the fuss was about, either. It always seemed so messy and complicated, and the thought of participating in such activities made him nervous and embarrassed, not for reasons of moral righteousness but just because he didn't think it would be enjoyable personally. Stories of sexual escapades were unavoidable working in a fire station, and Mike was alright listening to whatever the others (mostly John and Chet) had to say concerning nocturnal activities. It was only when he tried to imagine himself doing the sorts of things they talked about that he got uncomfortable. Knowing for certain that someone he knew, someone he could be close to, was the same way was the greatest feeling he'd had in a while.

Being the way he was, Mike was sure he'd never do supposedly normal things like go out on dates or kiss or get married. No one would want to get so involved with someone who wouldn't have sex with them. Part of him really wanted something like that, though. He was always a little envious of the couples he knew, of the way they talked about being married and being in love, so perhaps he had initially gone a little overboard when he first thought he could have those things with Charlie. The more he sat and thought about it, thought about Charlie, he realized he hadn't gone quite overboard, per se, just went about it too fast. Chet nudged him in the calf with his foot, bringing him out of his reverie, whining, "Hurry up and finish gettin' dressed, Mike. I'm tired. I wanna go home and go to bed."

"Alright, Chet, gimme a minute. Don't know why you gotta wait for me…"

Charlie was napping on the couch with Boot. Chet gave her shoe a gentle kick, enough to wake her.

"Come on, Charlie, let's go home. I'm beat. Oh, Mike, you're more than welcome to crash at our place if you want. It's closer than yours, and you gotta be tireder than both of us."

They trooped over to the apartment building in their own vehicles. Chet bid both Charlie and Mike goodnight (though it wasn't quite four in the afternoon) and slumped off into his bedroom, leaving them standing awkwardly in the living room. Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet, Charlie mirroring him. Her face was pink, the color blooming in her cheeks. Neither one spoke for a long moment… until Mike finally broke the silence.

"So… you were worried about me."

"Maybe a little," she shrugged.

"That's not what Chet told me."

"Maybe a lot."

Mike laughed quietly, absently rubbing at his bandaged forearms. That's just like Charlie. She continued after a considerable pause, "Look… I just-… I was really worried about you today… and yesterday… and the whole time you guys were at that fire. When Sykes came in, I was down there and thought Johnny said your name, and I gotta tell ya, Mike, I pretty much lost it. I was ready to go into hysterics and everything until Roy told me it wasn't you. Honestly, I was so happy to see you there in the hospital, I coulda kissed you."

His heart gave an excited flip.

"You, uh… you mean that?"

"Sure do. Every word."

"Do you still… would you still wanna kiss me?" he asked softly.

"Maybe a little… maybe a lot."

Mike finally pulled his gaze up from the carpet to meet Charlie's. A smile crept onto his face, and he stepped in closer, taking one of her hands in his. It was so small and dainty. He smiled more.

"Y'know, I'm not quite sure what to do," he told her, smirking slightly.

Charlie smiled up at him, a soft genuine smile. She replied, "That's okay. I'll show you," and stood on tiptoe, leaning in.

Mike had never really believed people when they spoke of a special spark or a warm feeling they felt when kissing someone they loved. He never believed in a tingle or a jolt or anything like it. He was sure wrong. Warmth blossomed in the pit of his stomach and in his chest when her lips touched his, seeped out into his limbs, made him almost dizzy. Her lips were warm and a little chapped. She smelled vaguely of hospital. Mike pulled in a sharp breath through his nose when she adjusted her hand, twining their fingers. His other hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb stroking along her cheekbone. He felt her lips curve into a smile, and it made him smile in turn. Her lips moved against his, eliciting another sharp intake of breath from Mike.

They must have looked a sight there in the living room, Charlie on tiptoe and practically craning her neck, Mike awkwardly hunched over to reach her nonetheless. That hardly mattered to either of them, however. All that mattered in that moment was the feeling of her lips on his, moving against his. He was thankful she didn't try to press with her tongue because he wasn't sure he was quite ready for that just yet. (He always found it odd that people showed affection by shoving their tongue into someone else's mouth.) She just slid her lips over his, pressing, nipping, sucking. He made a soft noise when she caught his lower lip and sucked on it gently; she did the same when he returned the favor.

It might have been hours that they stood there and kissed. It might have been seconds or decades or eons or minutes. It wasn't really long enough. Charlie pulled away with a quiet sigh of contentment. Mike followed, planting a gentle kiss on her lips before pressing his forehead to hers. He could see all the faint freckles dotting her nose and cheeks, could see the mix of blue and grey in her eyes. From behind Charlie, Mike heard Chet call, "Get a room!" from behind the door.

Mike and Charlie burst into laughter, foreheads still pressed together.

"Well, Mike, I think my dear brother has a pretty good idea. I don't know about you, but I'm beat."

"I've been at that brushfire for about three days straight. I'm exhausted," he replied.

"Perfect, then let's get a room. Mine happens to be right here."

"Hmm. Convenient."

Another shout from behind Chet's door: "And no hanky-panky!"

"Shut up and go to sleep, Chet, ya creep!" Charlie called back.

There was some quiet grumbling but no more comments. Mike chuckled quietly and allowed Charlie to lead him into her room. They were asleep in minutes, sprawled awkwardly across the bed.

Thank you again to everyone who has enjoyed and commented on this fic. I greatly appreciate all the positive feedback I've gotten. Knowing people enjoy what I write makes happier than just about anything :)