A/N: As always, grateful thanks to my beta readers for their time and effort to help.
Chapter 10
[Day 7: off
Day 8: off
Day 9: off
Day 10: 24-hour shift]
School children. Joggers. Wine-o's. Dog walkers. Business suits with briefcases. Elderly couples on an early morning stroll.
Life beyond his prison cage of fear, death and dread.
Hank came to a stop behind a green VW Bug and tapped out a cigarette. He pulled out the black lighter knob and held the glowing red side to the end of the roll he held between his lips. Two habitual puffs and the cigarette's tail drew white smoke in a beautiful, meandering trail that wisped upward in a thin, wavy line before he dangled it out the window between his fingers.
A delivery truck making a left passed his waiting lane and its low grumble caressed Hank's sickening memories before gently guiding them further and further down, gripping them tighter and tighter, puling and pulling until the undercurrent of rumble from the water up top reverberated in the walls.
They swam through the smoke and through a connecting corridor between two buildings, where the low thunder of water was louder. Johnny and Marco stopped, listening then headed into a storage facility with a loading dock area strewn with canisters and piles of equipment. Banging and yelling could be heard coming from a partially open elevator door along the back wall, blocked by ceiling debris.
John was about to head toward the sound when a hand stopped him.
'Hold it, John, hold it!' Cap looked up.
The crew of 51 followed his gaze with their flashlights, seeing the glint of water trailing down.
'Yeah, looks like it should hold, Cap,' Roy assessed.
'None too long, though," Hank peered up. "We'd better make this fast….'
Bile churned in his gut and a pressure began to build in his stomach. His throat constricted; he could feel his salivary glands burn as his mouth filled with saliva.
God, no… please…
…stop…
Hank looked around for a bag, a container, anything to throw up in… even as he tried to control his breathing to keep his breakfast where it belonged. He felt his body go cold. His skin tingled and sweat beaded on his forehead as he trembled.
A child's scream came to his ears. Across the way, a young boy was holding his open lunchbox, shrieking at the contents that were now piled on the ground. Gaggles of older children passed by him. Some ignored him, most just looked in sympathy or indifference and kept on going, determined to remain with their pack of friends.
Hank was grateful for the distraction; his stomach was starting to settle. But the tyke's distress pulled on his heartstrings.
Someone help him, for fuck's sake!
Finally, a much older girl had backtracked her way to the screamer, a sister if their hair color was anything to go by. She gathered up the young boy's lunch, returned what was salvageable to his lunchbox and walked with him down the street, holding his hand.
The tears took no effort to spring forth and Hank wiped his eyes as he watched them.
…'Cap, I think we're gonna need the portapower to get some of this debris outta here,' Roy said, straightening up and panting with effort, his face red and flushed.
'Yeah, okay, pal. Look, my alarm's been goin' off—'
"Go ahead. We'll keep trying, in the meantime.'
'Yeah. I'll bring back the portapower.'
'Okay, Cap!'…
'How many of your men were in there?'
'…There's no sign of 'em…'
'Mike….!'
A short honk sounded behind him and Hank snapped his head up, his heart racing. Empty space had replaced the VW Bug that had been in front of him at the stop light. His eyes narrowed and he blinked through the fog of dark visions in his mind, unable to reconcile them with the reality of what his eyes were seeing.
Another honk, longer. Shit. With the lit cigarette between his fingers, Hank quickly waved an apology to the driver behind him and moved the car through the intersection.
Four days off in a row and Hank had reveled in the hope of peace and quiet. But his plans for lengthy relaxation and escape had died that night at Manny's. The flashbacks had left him trapped in a tunnel of dark foreboding more intense than those that had plagued him since…that day…
He'd spent the next three days killing himself at the gym and working on Judy's honey-do list – mowing, cleaning the gutters, grocery shopping, working on the back porch, cleaning the window screens, doing work at Ed's house for him, helping his neighbor with his rock wall and every other little task he could come up with. Anything, anything, anything that required his full attention, that would tire him, exhaust him, force weariness into his bones so he could sleep blissful sleep that would make the images, the voices just stop, just stop, just stop already…!
And with all that work and all those chores, he'd managed to keep the anxiety to a low-level buzz throughout most of their days off. Until last night, when the prospect of returning to work had released the genie from her bottle, wrapping herself around him like an obsessed lover…
"Honey, are you alright? You've barely touched your dinner."
"I'm okay. Just…worried about Ed and Doris, y'know?"
"Yeah. I know...Maybe work will be busy and help distract you." Judy gave him a reassuring smile and reached out to grab his hand.
He quickly stood up and grabbed his wife's plate after picking up his own, "Here, let me get that for you."
"Oh, I can get that, Honey—"
"No, no, I can do it." Forcing himself to move slowly and naturally, Hank tried to hide his trembling hands within the movements of the washing of the dishes…
"God…dammit!" A burning pain suddenly seared his fingers and Hank violently shook the hand that was dangling out the window. The cigarette remnant flicked away from him, tossed onto the Los Angeles streets. Sucking on his burned fingers, he continued to drive, with the sense of foreboding following close behind.
He got to the bridge – and Anxiety slithered closer.
He got to the Quonset hut – and She crawled into his lap.
Hank pulled his station wagon into Station 51's parking lot, found a decent spot, and sat in the car. Anxiety burrowed itself into his chest and twisted his emotions into a tight knot in his gut.
He sucked on his fingers again and inspected the damage. Only a small red spot on his index finger was indication that anything had happened.
'…After I finished my probie year and she realized I was a real firefighter, Judy decided I was going to breathe enough of this stuff on the job that she didn't want me doing it at home. So we quit. Both of us. I've kept a pack in the car, ever since. A reminder of the pact I made with her. And the kids...'
Crying out loud, why the hell did I ramble on like that to him?
He checked his watch and calculated the time. Then he reached under his seat, pulled it out and pondered the spray can he had bought during his grocery run the other day.
~!~
Gene Hookrader took his nose out of the log book and turned at the rustling noise at the office door. His head reared back ever so slightly at the lanky silhouette with a backpack, standing in the doorway looking tired and a little hunched.
"I'm here to relieve you," the figure said in a raspy voice, then cleared his throat and stepped inside.
Hookrader replaced the page marker, closed the log book and stood up, scrutinizing his replacement still dressed in his civvies. "I'm hereby relieved. May God keep you and your men."
Captain Stanley inwardly shuddered at the older man's response as he placed his backpack onto the second desk, not noticing that Hookrader's nose had wrinkled when he moved past him to set his backpack down.
The mere sight of the C-shift captain tended to make Hank's blood boil nowadays but for the sake of keeping his sanity – and the peace – he tried to ignore the spike in his annoyance levels and maintain some sense of civility, "You want some coffee?"
Gene's eyes narrowed at the offer, surprised to hear it, what with Hank's surly mood toward him, of late. Not that Hookrader didn't understand it, but he still wasn't certain why Hank had placed a mile-wide gap between them, in the first place. "Stoker coffee? Is he here?"
"Saw his car out back."
"Yeah, sure. Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Captain Stanley started for the door.
"You, uh…you left before dessert the other night," Gene called after him, watching his reaction.
Hank turned back to him, clamping down on another jolt of anger. Well, sorry, Your Highness, I didn't realize I needed your goddamned permission to leave… "I had to get home. Wanted to check on Judy."
Gene nodded, breaking eye contact. "Told Chef Liest as much. He felt pretty bad when I explained about Captain Kachowski. He made some dessert just for you and came by and dropped it off, last night. I left it for you in the fridge."
A thousand responses, some ugly and ungrateful and some giving off a friendliness and appreciation he didn't feel whipped through his mind. He dismissed them all and settled on neutral. "Thanks," Stanley mumbled and, in two steps, was out of the office.
The C-shift captain watched him leave and shook his head, debating with himself on whether to tell Hank that his attempted ruse this morning with the spray hadn't worked. And the fact that Hank had even thought that far tweaked Gene's worry up a notch.
Stanley stepped into the kitchen to find Roy talking to Mike. The two stopped when Cap walked in and they both flashed a small smile.
'Mornin'!" Roy greeted in a friendly tone as he kept an eye on his captain.
"Yeah, mornin'," Cap muttered. He made a beeline for the fridge, ready to toss out whatever Chef Liest had left for him. He yanked open the door and stopped at the huge package sitting on the bottom shelf with a note. Hank grabbed the note and read it as he slowly closed the fridge door. He looked up, shifted his weight and his thumb tapped on the card as his annoyance was replaced with shame.
"Were you lookin' for the milk, Cap?" he heard Stoker ask.
Cap spun around, "What?" He saw the mild looks of shock of his senior men and sighed. "I'm sorry, fellas. Just…having a helluva morning. No, I'm…I'm not looking for the milk, thanks Mike." He stepped over to the counter and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. "You guys have a good four days off?" he asked as a preemptive strike against someone asking him the same thing.
"Oh yeah, Cap, we were just talking about the dinner at the restaurant," Roy answered. "Boy, that was some party, huh? Joanne thought I was pulling her leg when I told her about all the commotion, beforehand. Finally had to have her talk to Mike so he could confirm that I wasn't making it all up."
"Yeah, she gave me the third degree to match it up with what Roy had told her."
"Is that right?" Cap absently responded as he poured the coffees. Timing should be about right. Think I'll just about make it… "Glad you had a good time. Roll call in 15, okay?"
"Okay, Cap," Mike acknowledged and he and Roy watched Cap leave.
"What do you think?" Mike asked.
Roy shrugged and he stood up to reach a section of the paper that was across the table. "Hard to say, at the moment. Guess we'll see how the day goes."
"Yeah," Stoker answered sipping his coffee, eyes out the kitchen door.
Most of C-shift was just coming out of the locker room and heading toward the kitchen as Hank made his way back to the office. He inwardly sighed with relief that his timing calculations worked. He stepped back into the office and handed Hookrader his coffee.
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
Hank grabbed his backpack. "I'll be right back," and he walked slowly over to the dorms.
Now that C-shift had mostly emptied out of the locker room, Hank was trying to time it just so between C-shift and his own crew and managed to make it in without talking to anyone. He tossed his backpack into his locker, changed into his uniform and rearranged a few of his things, his thoughts taking him back to the crazy antics of that party at Manny's. Sometimes, the boisterousness of C-shift buoyed his mood. But the last thing he wanted right now was to be around a bunch of goddamned noisy, obnoxious twits who had nothing better to do than act like idiots, like all if this was nothing but fun and games, like their jobs weren't dangerous, like people didn't get hurt, like people didn't die—!
He slammed his locker door.
C-shift's junior paramedic, Todd Hansen poked his head around the corner. "Cap? You alright?"
Hank snapped his head up at him, suddenly aware of himself. "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered curtly and bolted from the locker room.
Inwardly shaking, Hank returned to the office, taking solace in the normalcy of the numerous voices in the kitchen as both shifts overlapped. He mentally shrugged into his professional demeanor as he walked back into the office. "Alright," Hank said to his counterpart, "What've you got for me?"
Gene held up a piece of paper and proffered it to Stanley. "Announcements from HQ."
Stanley took it, "What else?"
Gene pointed to the rest of the items on the desk in turn as he mentioned them between coffee sips, "A copy of the final report on our kitchen fire at Manny's restaurant; I thought you might be interested. A memo from the Chief on a couple of those new pry bar designs they want tested, and this stack," - he held up a goodly number of phone messages nearly a quarter inch thick and set them down - "is all for you. Again. Call them back, will ya? Hennessey and I are tired of being your message service."
Stanley simply glared at the white-haired captain. "Is that it?"
Hookrader sighed. He'd intended to make his last comment sound like a casual joke between friends but his latent irritation had crept into his voice, crushing the jovial tone he'd intended. "Engine and Squad are all yours, though tell Stoker he'll need to top-off before the next run, if Dietrich hasn't told him, already."
"Yeah, thanks."
The white-haired captain gulped down the rest of his coffee and glanced at the clock: 0801. "Hank, I'm officially out of here. Thanks again for the coffee." He held up his mug, "I'll put this back in the kitchen."
Stanley already had his nose in the HQ announcements. "Yeah, okay."
Hookrader took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for a Hank Stanley Snap, "How's Doris doing?"
Hank paused for a moment, unsure how much Ed or Doris wanted people to know about their situation, but surprised that Hookrader had asked. "They're doing okay. Doin' okay. Thanks for asking."
"That's good to hear. Give them my best when you see them."
"I will." Hank watched Gene start to leave, his appreciation for the older captain's concern lightening his heart a little. Then he turned back to the HQ announcements.
Hookrader sauntered over to the door, fingers dancing on his pant leg, lips pursed in thought. Then he grabbed the doorframe, whirled around, and looked at the taller captain reading through the announcements, "Hank?"
"Hm."
"That Lysol™ stuff doesn't really mask the smell of cigarette smoke, you know. Figured you oughta know."
Hank snapped his head up to an empty office doorway. He threw down the HQ Announcements, laid his hands on his hips and sighed heavily.
~!~
[several hours later]
That familiar niggling in his brain slowly and almost imperceptibly became insistent and then finally almost unbearable and Hank considered how best to get in a quick drag without being noticed.
Better yet, if they would just get toned out, that'd solve his problem. It was turning out to be an awfully busy day, if their morning and subsequent comm traffic over the speakers was any indication. He'd been able to stave it off so far, for he was one of those lucky few that could get past the urge if his mind was sufficiently occupied long enough.
He leaned back in his office chair and picked up the note from Chef Liest again:
Captain Stanley,
Captain Hookrader mentioned to me the unfortunate circumstance of your friend and colleague, Captain Kachowski and his wife. I am aware that you had to leave our celebration early and so missed, what I feel of course, was the best part of our evening. And so, I have created two dessert platters. One for you and your family and the other for your friend, Captain Kachowski and his wife, made with love and hopes for much healing in what must be a trying time for all of you. Please convey to your friend, the Captain and his family, that if ever they feel up to it, I and Chef Rosa invite them to Manny's Familia Ristorante for a free meal to celebrate life and good food. Bon apetite!
Chef Liest
Thanks, Chef…I'll let them know…
Several tones echoed in the apparatus bay and Hank nearly jumped out of the chair, his heart beating out of his chest. Willing himself to calm down, he headed out to the call station.
"Station 51, Engine 86, Ladder 38. Structure fire, Still Waters Townhouse Complex, 642 Fernie St. 6-4-2 Fernie. Cross street 21st. Fire started with accelerant. Police and ambulance are responding. Time out: 1351."
"Station 51, 10-4, KMG 365."
Captain Stanley handed Roy the address slip then ran to join his men on the Engine. As Big Red pulled out of the bay behind the Squad, Stanley ran through the preliminary logistics in his mind.
Shit. 86s and 38s? Dollars to donuts, we'll end up getting there, first. Son of a bitch… Wonder if Stoker'll write me up if I tell him to go slow? Hank took a deep breath as he felt a mote of panic begin to churn in his gut. No, goddammit, don't do this. Not now. Alright, think. Think! Still Waters Townhouses. Still Waters Townhouses… Two-story houses, if I remember right. Two stories...
Fear set in and Cap felt the bile rising as he considered the scenarios. The best possible scenario would be one with no rescue. And if that were the case and both stories were fully involved, he could relax. But if only one story was fully involved or if someone were trapped...
But Dispatch said an accelerant was used; ambulance was responding…
No. God, no…
'…Take your men in for S&R, Hank…'
'Engine 51! Cap! We got ether...!'
Dark Dread coiled around his chest squeezing until a panicked sigh escaped from his lungs as the intense wave of grief thrust through him.
Hank leaned forward with a hand over his face, trying to push the Dark Dread back where it came from and regain control of his emotions.
Stoker snapped a worried glance at him, having heard Cap's gasp over the siren and the roar of Big Red and the road noise. He was hoping he'd misheard the sound, but Cap's hunched posture was an obvious indication that he hadn't.
"Cap? Are you alright?" Mike asked, trying to keep half an eye on the Squad and the road, each, and the other eye on his captain.
The hand over his face slowly turned into a fist as Cap fought to regain control enough to at least answer his engineer.
"Cap?" Mike said louder, his voice taking on a firm tone as he mentally prepared to take control of the scene in case Cap went out on him.
His inability to maintain control at such a crucial time irritated Captain Stanley to the point of fury. Using his own rising anger at himself, Cap took a deep breath and fiercely drove the dread back down with a definitive mental shove, the effort mirrored in his grimaced expression. He clapped his hands on his knees and straightened in his seat, arms fully extended. After some moments, he finally looked across the cab at his engineer. "Sorry, Mike. Just a case of heartburn, I think. I'm fine." He pounded his chest with his fist as if to prove his case.
Mike sighed in annoyance and he glanced suspiciously at his captain before he focused back on the road.
Cap inwardly sighed, still feeling the dread simmering at the edge of his emotions, and he forced his thoughts to return to the fire they were racing toward. God, I don't know if I can do this…
The Still Waters Townhouses was a complex with townhouses built in units of three. As they rounded the corner of the street toward the fire, Captain Stanley could see several patrol cars up ahead, lights flashing. Crowds had gathered all along both sides of the street, held back by police officers.
Cap peered through the trees lining the street in an attempt to view the house, but the trees blocked his view and only black smoke billowing into the sky could be seen. Mike sounded the airhorn several times as they approached and they came to a squeaking stop not too far in front of the hydrant, which thankfully, wasn't too far from the unit on fire.
But no other fire crews were at the scene and Captain Stanley felt sick to his stomach.
Now in front of the house, Cap could see that the house on fire was the middle unit – the worst possible scenario. The black smoke was poring out of the lower windows, only.
Cap's breath hitched. Fucking son of a bitch…
"My house! He burned my house! He burned my house! My house!" A young woman, screeching hysterically and pointing towards the blaze, was being held back by a police officer on the front lawn as a crowd had gathered to watch.
The shrieking woman's fear and anger and desperation was feeding his own and Captain Stanley clenched his eyes shut, feeling his anxiety rising. It was everything he could do to keep from hauling his men to safety and, instead, ignore the incessant Screaming of his own Fear to give the order to send them in…
"Somebody save my house! Please! My house!"
Son of a bitch… Cap's eyes flew open. Shaking, he broke out in a cold sweat and felt his chest constrict. He picked up the radio, took a deep breath and through sheer will alone, forced the words out. "LA, Engine 51, we have a three-unit, two-story townhouse, with the first floor of the middle unit fully involved. Have Engine 86 come up from the south to use the hydrant at Starling. All units out 2 hours."
"Engine 51."
Cap slid out of the cab, absently yanking off his gloves to relieve his increasingly sweating palms. He felt his mouth go dry and he took a deep breath and turned to his linemen, "Chet! Marco! Get a coupla two and a halfs," he jabbed several times toward the front door.
Officer Vince Howard ran up to Stanley, "Hank."
"Vince. We got anyone inside?" Please, dear God…
"No. It's all clear. The boyfriend threw gasoline all over the first floor."
Hank stifled the temptation to drop to his knees in relief. "What about the second floor?"
"Not according to the girl. She chased him out before he could get up there. We evacuated the adjoining units, just in case."
"Okay, thanks." Stanley watched Vince walk over toward a group of people who were inching too close to the scene and scooted them back.
A rhythmic thudding cued Hank back to the fire and he stepped forward in panic at the sight of Lopez and Kelly beating down the front door to get inside.
"Cap? We got anyone inside?"
The thudding began a roaring in his ears as the Dark Dread rushed at him…
…Static erupted momentarily from the HT. Then again. Cap listened, trying to form a coherent pattern to the erratic spurts of voice and static coming like Morse code from the handie-talkie.
'Mike?'
A burst of static.
Stanley frowned in frustration. 'Mike? Say again! I can't read you, pal!'
Nothing. 'Mike – ?'
The sudden, horrific blast from the building shoved Stanley hard against the Engine, the right side of his body slamming into the discharge panel, his helmet flying off and clattering as it hit the pavement…
Roy's voice from somewhere distant, "Cap?"
"Hey, Cap?" Pause. "What's the matter with him?"
"I don't know. Cap!"
A hand on his shoulder jolted Stanley from his reverie and he snapped his eyes into DeSoto's worried expression. Stanley frowned, eyes darting, trying to regain his bearings.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah," Cap's mind raced for an explanation. "Thought I…heard something. Coming from the house."
"Whaddja hear?" Johnny asked, looking toward the blaze.
"I don't know. Guess it was nothing." Stanley swallowed hard, forcing himself to give the order. "Go…assist Lopez and Kelly."
His rescue team started for the house. "And watch your backs! The fire was started with gasoline. This place could flash over any minute!"
"Okay, Cap," Johnny waved as he adjusted his air bottle and he followed Roy to the house.
Hank let out a deep breath, knees buckling. Holy shit, I can't believe I almost forgot to tell them that.
He took several more deep breaths, trying to keep his anxiety at bay but managed only to keep his sense of awareness above its churning waters. Another siren approached and Stanley set relieved eyes down the street to see Ladder 38 rounding the corner.
Hank watched the truck race up the street, got on his HT and tried to keep his voice level, "Ladder 38, 51. We've got a middle townhouse unit on fire. Set up the aerial ladder to the second floor."
"10-4, 51."
The aerial ladder from 38s was slowly getting into position as the men of 51s made it into the house, water hissing and spraying in pretty, circular swirls as Marco and Chet rotated the nozzles. Johnny and Roy, respectively, were behind their shift mates helping to handle the lines.
Stanley looked at the blaze and then back toward the road, feeling his blood pressure rising; 86s still hadn't arrived. The faint tendrils of his Incident Commander persona that he'd managed to grasp onto began to slip from him, eclipsed by his increasing anxiety. Jack where the hell are you? Get your ass over here, goddammit…
Stanley checked the second floor for smoke, but only wisps were seen. He looked toward the roof and other units, but saw no visible evidence of the fire having spread to the attached houses.
At the edge of his hearing, another set of sirens approached, coming up from the opposite end of the street that 51s and 38s had arrived from. Stanley watched for several moments and then he spotted Engine 86 racing toward them.
About fucking time. "86, 51, take 2 attack lines to cover the rear of the middle unit."
"Engine 86."
As 86s engineer, Joe Harmon, brought 51s sister engine to a halt near the nearby intersection at Starling, Captain Jack Steiger stepped out of the cab, barking orders to his two lineman.
Hank's bubbling annoyance at 86s arrival smoldered at the sight of her captain and he watched Steiger's men haul their lines around the back.
Shouts and loud crunching noises erupted from within the house.
Cap's HT crackled to life, "Mayday! Partial ceiling collapse, first floor, east side! Two men down!"
No! Stanley took a frightened step toward the house, his lungs filling in a sharp, terrified intake of air. He was on his HT in a flash but Dark Dread choked him and it took all his willpower to force words through the brick wall of anxiety that was suffocating him.
"86, 51! Take your men in for S&R!"
"Engine 86."
"Engine 51, HT 51! Cap, we can get 'em out, but we're gonna need the O2 and the trauma box!"
Oh Jesus… Hank spun toward his Engine, thumbing the HT, clutching at his retreating Incident Commander persona by a thread, "10-4, HT 51. Mike! O2 and trauma box! And bring a backboard, just in case. Engine 86, take 51s position. Ladder 38s on the second floor."
"10-4, Cap."
"86."
"LA, Engine 51! Send me another paramedic unit, on the double!"
"10-4, 51."
Cap willed himself to move and he ran to the Squad to help Stoker carry the equipment. They set up a safe zone on the front lawn, laid blankets on the ground and prepared the equipment for the paramedics. "Mike, tell Rampart to standby." Stanley ran back to the house in time to see Marco being half-carried out by Roy while Johnny had an arm around Chet's shoulders, one leg off the ground.
"What happened?" Cap asked as he guided them over to the safe zone.
Johnny answered. "The ceiling kinda came down on us, Cap. I yanked Marco back when I realized it was happenin' right in front of us. I banged my knee against the stereo cabinet, and then Marco fell on top of me and got me right in the ribs. I yanked him back so hard, he let go of the nozzle and it whacked him right in the face. Then the flames got him in the leg."
"Okay, we've got a safe area set up right over here, and another paramedic unit on the way, okay?"
"Thanks, Cap," Roy said. "We got it from here."
"Are you guys okay?" He asked Roy and Chet laying shaky hands on their shoulders.
"Oh yeah, we're fine, Cap," Chet answered then turned his attention to his injured comrades.
Kelly and DeSoto helped Marco and John onto the blankets. Roy hovered over them while Chet took over the biophone duties from Mike. Stanley stepped away to allow them room and then lingered for some moments to watch his men.
The veil of memento mori settled again in his vision, weighted down by grief, and he watched his crew as if through the lens of a discolored, jerky home movie…
…scenes in slow motion, out of time…
…Roy grabbed the stethoscope…
…Chet rifled through the trauma box for bandages…
…Marco put a hand up to the bloody gash on the side of his head…
…Johnny laid his arm across his forehead, face scrunched in pain…
…moments past, of men long gone…
Sirens approaching pulled his mind back to conscious awareness and Hank jerked his head up to see Squad 29 racing up the street. Then he started for a moment and frowned at the sight of ambulance attendants already on the scene, watching Roy getting Gage's vital signs.
With a churning in his gut that made him physically sick, Stanley took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself to turn his back on his crew and return to the house to coordinate 38s and 86s men until the fire was fully knocked down, minutes later.
At the rear of the house, Captain Steiger left his men to start on the overhaul so he could make his way to the front to check in with Captain Stanley. Steiger found the taller captain speaking with Captain Ivar of 38s for some moments before Ivar walked off to check on his crew.
"Hank," the sandy-blond captain called as he approached. "Looks like we've got it knocked down, but there's some damage to the south unit. We'll start in with the overhaul. Why don't you go check in with your boys. Rodney and I can handle this," he offered, gesturing toward the blackened house.
Stanley glared at Steiger with unmasked fury. Then without a word, Stanley stalked off toward his injured men.
Steiger removed his gloves and watched Hank, his concern inching up at a rapid pace. He finally sighed and turned to rejoin his crew.
Jeff Mitchelli and Harrison Yoder of 29s were helping Roy and Chet get Marco and Johnny on the gurneys.
"How are they?" Stanley asked, trying to keep his voice even and controlled, though he wasn't sure he was succeeding.
"Well, Cap, I think they're gonna be just fine," Roy answered. "Marco's got some first degree burns on his leg and a gash on his head where the nozzle hit him. Johnny's got a bruised knee and had the wind knocked out of him and he might've pulled a muscle when he yanked Marco back."
Cap nodded and moved over to his injured men. "How're you guys feeling?"
"Oh, we're fine, Cap," Johnny answered with his characteristic grin.
"Yeah, we're okay," Marco repeated.
"How'd you manage to get whacked on the head with the nozzle?"
"When John yanked me back, I let go of the line. When I fell backwards on him, my helmet kinda came off. The line was dancing like crazy and it just cracked me right on the head."
Cap sighed and smiled, though his eyes couldn't mask the distress that was rocking his soul. He patted them each on the shoulder before Mitchelli and Yoder helped the ambulance attendants lift the gurneys inside.
"Cap, I'm gonna follow them in," Roy announced.
"Yeah, go ahead. Chet! Take the Squad in," Cap thumbed toward the road.
"Oh, I can do that, Cap," Mitchelli volunteered.
"Okay, thanks. Chet! Nevermind. You're off Squad duty. Let's get started with the overhaul, okay, pal?"
"No problem, Cap," Chet headed back to the house.
The ambulance doors banged shut, making Stanley jump at the sound and he pinched the bridge of his nose trying to get his emotions to calm the fuck down, once and for all.
But the couple began screaming at each other, caterwauling up a storm and the woman's shrillness was ripping Stanley's already fragile patience to shreds.
Hank spun toward them in rank irritation, hoping Vince or someone was about to intercede. But all he saw was the boyfriend, handcuffed, standing next to the patrol car while the woman was on her tiptoes, jabbing a pointed finger at him, screaming in his face, their chests puffed out toward each other, talking over one another, going at each other something fierce.
'…And you know damn well it could happen again and if it does, you might not be so lucky….'
Captain Stanley felt a surge of abject fury explode within him. He strode across the trampled manicured lawn toward the arguing couple.
The woman saw Stanley coming and puffed herself up with his authority. "Yeah! Now you're gonna get it, Jeremiah! Now you're gonna get it!" The woman screamed as Stanley came upon them.
'…Mayday! Partial ceiling collapse, first floor, east side! Two men down!...'
Hank roughly grabbed the suspect by the arm and jostled him as he pointed at the house. "You sonofabitch! Your jackass stunt put my men at risk! Now I've got two men hurt because of it! Did it ever occur to you that someone was gonna have to come over here and put this fire out! Didja ever think o' that!"
The defensive, haughty attitude of the young man shriveled as he shrank back from the tall captain's verbal and physical attack.
Suddenly, a presence appeared at Hank's side. A low, bass voice, quiet and firm quickly followed, "Hank, let go of him."
Stanley tightened his grip on the young man's arm whose face began to contort in agony. Vince Howard's voice didn't waver, "Hank, I mean it. Let go of him." Hank's grip didn't lessen as he stared the boy down. Vince laid his hand on Hank's iron grip, positioning his thumb along the radius bone. "Hank, I'm not gonna say it again. Let go of him or I'll take you in for assault."
Tears began to form in the young man's eyes, his mouth agape and he inched higher to stand on his toes in a futile effort to relieve the crushing pressure on his arm. Hank felt Vince's thumb press increasingly hard against the bone in a very deliberate and clinical move until a sharp pain seared his wrist.
Stanley released the perpetrator with a shove against the car before Vince's vice grip crushed the nerve. Hank leveled Vince with a dark look, yanked his hand from the officer's grasp and stalked off.
Vince looked at the young man who was staring at him with tears on his face. "What are you crying about? Get inside." Vince held the young man's head and guided him inside the patrol car. Closing the door, he gazed up to see Hank walking back to the house. Vince sighed and shook his head.
Hank surveyed the house and the surrounding areas to check that no hotspots had started or that the blaze still hadn't spread to the other units.
One last definitive shriek from the woman at her boyfriend curdled his blood and Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, for what seemed like the 100th time that day, to cool his boiling fury.
"How are your men?"
Hank jerked his head up at the sudden voice in front of him, ire roiling at the edges of what little control remained and he pierced Steiger with a look of vile animosity.
Steiger inwardly sighed and braced himself for the fight he was about to provoke. But he had little choice; he wasn't about to leave him like this… He matched Stanley's vehemence with an equal amount of calm and looked Stanley straight in the eye. "You mad at me?" Steiger asked, his tone soft and without judgment.
Captain Stanley laid one last dark look on his counterpart and started to leave.
Steiger took a step toward him. "Hank! I asked you a question."
Stanley whirled back to him, breathing hard, leveling the blond captain with an intense look as if he could bore the answer directly into Steiger's mind. But all Hank was met with was Steiger's even expression which boiled his blood all the more.
"Say it. Why're you angry with me?"
Hank huffed a breath and turned away, his hands on his hips.
Steiger stepped closer, his tone authoritative but gentle. "Say it. Why're you angry?"
Stanley rubbed at his eyes to stem the sudden flow of tears, unable to speak and unable to run; gloved fingers splayed across his face.
"C'mon. Say it."
After several moments of wavering, Hank jerked his hand down and turned to Steiger with naked fear in his watering eyes. "Dammit, Jack, why couldn't you have gotten here sooner!"
"Couldn't get here that fast, Hank. You know that."
"I could've—" Hank stopped, his indignation choking his words.
"Could've what? Kept your men safe? Sent my men in, instead. Is that what you were hoping?" Jack whispered the last as he peered at his colleague.
Stanley involuntarily took a breath, his mind coming to a screeching halt, shocked at hearing his thoughts echoed aloud. He swallowed hard and put his head in his hands, trying to stifle a sob of shame that had crept up within him, "God, Jack. I'm sorry…" What the hell was I thinking?
Steiger reached out and laid a hand on Hank's shoulder and sighed deeply, as if commiserating. "Look, Hank…I can't tell you what to do. That has to come from you or it doesn't mean a thing. But you can't go on like this. Promise me, dammit. Don't put me in that position."
Hank clenched his eyes shut, knowing full well what Steiger was hinting at. He willed control back from his tumbling emotions and nodded imperceptibly. He breathed in deep, let his hands drop and opened his eyes to Steiger's expression of compassion.
"C'mon," the blond captain gestured. "We've got overhaul to do." Steiger started for the house, then turned back to Hank without stopping, "Besides, you numbskull, you didn't answer my question."
Stanley snorted a chuckle, sniffed and slowly moved to follow after his counterpart.
~!~
[some time later…]
Cap jumped up from his office chair the minute he heard the Squad return. He stood in the doorway and watched Roy back her in. The lights and engine clicked off.
"Oh, hey Cap."
"Everything go okay at Rampart?"
"Yeah," Roy answered from inside the Squad as he added the information into the logbook then placed it back inside the glove compartment.
"Where's uh…where's Marco and John? Don't tell me they're still at Rampart? Are they gonna be okay?"
Roy got out of the Squad. "Yeah. They're gonna be just fine. But it's gonna take awhile until we know for sure when they'll return to duty."
"Why?-You just said they're gonna be fine.-Is it serious?-What's wrong with them?"
Roy hesitated, taken aback at Cap's rapid-fire questions. He deliberately answered slowly and calmly, hoping to soothe his captain's apparent edginess. "Cap, take it easy. Their injuries aren't the problem. Rampart is dealing with overflow from Harbor General after a major 30-car pile up. Since Marco and Johnny aren't on the critical list, it may take awhile before they call us. They promised they would call the minute they're examined to give us an update, but it could be anywhere from an hour to five hours, from now."
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks."
Cap's machine-gun tapping of a finger against his pant leg didn't escape Roy's notice. "They're fine, Cap. Honest." Roy smiled and squeezed Stanley's arm, "Okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Guess I'm just a little worried, you know?"
"I understand. But they're fine, believe me."
"Yeah. Okay." Hank let out a breath and grinned mirthlessly at his senior paramedic, "Thanks."
Roy's eyes lingered on his captain before he smiled reassuringly at him and made is way into the dayroom.
'…Could've what? Kept your men safe? Sent my men in, instead. Is that what you were hoping?...'
Stanley leaned against the Squad, breathed out, and closed a fist on his shaking hand.
~!~
[Three hours later]
Roy walked into the office to find Cap with a hand on his forehead, poring over some report, not noticing Cap's knee bouncing nervously underneath the desk.
DeSoto knocked lightly. "Uh, Cap?"
Stanley jerked up and his arm levered down as he rolled weary eyes up to his senior paramedic.
Shock and concern flittered across Roy's face at his captain's haggard expression, "That was Marco on the phone. He and Johnny are okay. Said they're ready to be picked up and get back to duty. So, I'm gonna head over there, now. Mike and Chet are working on dinner, so we'll be back in time for supper."
Hank simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak against the mixture of relief and despair that surged within him.
Roy beamed a bright smile to counter the sadness that hadn't wavered from his captain's face, "Hey, don't worry, they're okay. They're perfectly fine."
"Thanks. Hey, Roy?" Hank's voice sounded soft and thick with emotion.
"Yeah?"
"Close the door on your way out, will you?"
Roy hesitated for a moment. "Yeah. Sure."
Hank watched the door swing close on Roy's retreating figure, encasing him completely within the four walls of the office enclosure.
Beyond the door, Stanley heard the Squad door click open then bang shut. Her engine started with her characteristic high-pitched whine. The Squad's engine gunned slightly and then her low thrum gradually dissipated as Roy moved her out of the apparatus bay and down the drive.
Deflating, Stanley sagged in the chair. His hands folded in a steeple over his face and his body shook with the sobs he could no longer hold back.
~!~
[later that night]
The end credits scrolled across the television screen and the crew of 51s stretched in their chairs before rising up to put them back around the kitchen table.
Stoker got up and stretched, yawned, then set his chair back.
"Mike, did you empty out the trash, yet?"
The engineer snapped his fingers. "That's right. Sorry, Cap."
"Get to it before lights out, OK?"
"Getting to it, now, Cap."
Mike strolled into the locker room, first, before any of his shift mates hit the sack. He gathered the trash bins from the latrine, the locker rooms, and the dorm, twisting around Marco and Johnny, who had traipsed in. He consolidated all the trash into one bin, then carried it across the bay, passing Chet on his way to the dorms, and found DeSoto tying up the kitchen trash bag.
"Hey, thanks, Roy."
"Not a problem. I had kitchen duty, anyway. Hey, Mike, how did Cap seem to you this evening?"
"Okay. Well, other than his eating dinner in his office. Why?"
"You know, when I came back from Rampart, before I picked up Johnny and Marco, Cap seemed awfully worried about them. I kept trying to reassure him that they were fine, but it's like he didn't believe me."
"That's not like him."
"I'll say. I mean, we've all seen him worried when one of us gets hurt, but he almost seemed frantic."
Mike opened his mouth to respond but Cap's voice from the dorm cut him off.
"Lights out in 15!"
"Okay, Cap!" Roy shouted back.
"Let me get the trash from the office and we'll be done." Mike went to the office and peered in; everything was neat and locked up. He grabbed the rubbish bin and returned to the kitchen. He began to tip it over the main rubbish bag, then stopped and righted it, staring at the contents.
DeSoto looked over at him. "What?"
Stoker didn't answer but continued looking into the wastebasket.
Roy moved over to him, "What is it?"
The engineer looked around, reached in, grabbed a handful of phone messages out of the trash and set the bin down. He looked through them then held them out for Roy to see. "Look at this."
"What is all that?" Roy took the stack offered from Mike and casually looked through them. Eyebrows furrowed and he looked back up at Stoker. "A stack of phone messages. For Cap. What about them?"
"You know how he's been having us take messages the last few shifts?"
"Something about a statistical report he's working on."
Stoker nodded then gestured at the stack. "Look at them."
The senior paramedic rifled through the messages like a deck of cards, murmuring. "Captain Younkins, Captain Ivar, Captain Passoja, Captain Edney, Captain Drake, Captain Bittner, Kelleher, Franklin, Titus…" Roy continued to go through the messages, trying to piece together what Mike was getting at. Finally, he shrugged, "Sorry, Mike, I'm afraid you've still lost me. Wait a minute—" he peered through them again, slower, frowning as he shuffled through the stack. His head snapped up at Mike. "They're all unmarked," he noted, not having seen Cap's telltale markings of calls returned, a necessary habit in a job where interruptions – sometimes lasting hours - were commonplace.
Stoker nodded. "This is the second time I've seen unreturned phone messages for Cap in the trash can in the past week."
Roy pondered Mike's words. "These same captains?"
Mike nodded. "I think so. When I asked him about it the other day, he gave me some line about 'It's all been settled.'"
"What's all been settled?"
"Beats me. But if whatever it is has all been settled, why would they call again? And why would he dump these if he hadn't returned them, yet?"
DeSoto stared at Mike as he pondered Stoker's comment then rifled through the messages again. "92, 110, 36, 127, 29, 38, 15…" Roy went through them again, then sighed, shook his head and handed the stack back to the engineer. "I don't know, Mike. I have no idea why Cap isn't returning their phone calls. Must be some doozy of a report."
"Just based on this, Roy, I have a funny feeling that he hasn't returned any messages in the past week."
"You might be right. But it could very well be something coming down from HQ or…heck, it could be any number of things. I'm not altogether sure if it's something that concerns us." Still, it was odd that Cap hadn't returned phone calls to the other captains and there very well might be something to Mike's observation. Roy picked up the trash bag from the kitchen. "At least not yet," he added.
Mike nodded and picked up the office trash bin. Yeah. Yet…
~!~
Stoker turned to his side in his bunk, mashed his pillow into a more comfortable blob, then settled back against it.
He listened, as he'd gotten into the habit of doing, for Cap's breathing in the next bunk. Nothing.
Curious, Mike raised himself and looked across the way. Cap's bunk was empty. Again. Though it looked like he had slept in it. Mike listened for any sound from the latrine. Nothing.
Son of a bitch… Mike rolled out of bed, hiked up his bunkers and peered through the doorway window to the locker room. Everything was dark. He peered through the doorway window to the apparatus bay and saw a glow coming from the dayroom, making a silhouette of the Engine.
Mike made his way across the bay to the dayroom, squinting at the light. His eyes barely adjusted, Mike peered through the doorway window into the kitchen, but saw no one. He slowly opened the door and looked around; Henry lazily thumped his tail at him but otherwise didn't move.
Stoker looked around – nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
He turned to shut off the light but saw the kitchen door to the back. Mike tried the handle and was surprised – it wasn't locked. Suspicious, he opened the door and gingerly made his way out, hunkering against the chill outside air. He scanned the parking area and started as he spotted a dark figure sitting on one of the cars – Captain Stanley's car, to be precise. Mike nearly ran back inside to call the police, but something seemed familiar about the figure and he watched the silhouette for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust back to night vision.
The figure was tall and wearing a dark, long-sleeve shirt with tan pants, sitting on the hood of the car, looking out toward the freeway.
The figure coughed, then, and Stoker realized it was Captain Stanley, himself. Mike was about to turn back inside, relieved at the solved mystery, when Cap moved. He shifted and hunched a little – Mike realized he was getting something from his jacket pocket. Then came a soft shick sound, several times and a light, no, a flame, lit up Cap's face. A small red glow replaced the yellow flame and as his eyes adjusted back to night vision and the glow of the city, Mike saw Cap breathe out a puff of smoke that rose up, carried away by the light breeze into the Los Angeles night.
Mike's eyes widened in shock. He entertained the notion of walking over there but he could think of no words to say once he got there. What could he say?
'Hey, Wally, whatcha doin'? Well, golly gee, Beave, it's none of your business that I'm trying one lousy cigarette behind the school but I swear you better not tell Mom…'
Yeah, that'd go over real well. Cap's a big boy. It's not like he doesn't have the right to smoke if he wants to. It's weird for him, sure…but, what right do we have to say anything? Still…I'd better talk to Roy. Sighing helplessly, Mike turned and walked back into the station.
Unaware that he'd had an audience, Cap lifted a leg onto the hood of the car, leaving the other leg dangling off the edge. He bowed his head toward his knee into the crook of his arm, the red glow just above his hair, and his body shook as he wept.