A House Divided - Hank's Haunting Chapter 25, an emergency fanfic

Warning: language

Hank's Haunting – 25

Mike turned into the Stanley driveway and shut off his pick-up truck. He walked around to help Rebecca with the door, her hands still bandaged, but healing.

"Thank you so much, Mike. I-I don't know what might've happened if you men hadn't been there for him this morning." She accepted his hand on her elbow as she stepped out of the vehicle.

"I know you didn't want us to overhear what you said to him about us all being family, but it really struck a chord with us." He turned, following her to the front door. "You really made a lot of sense." He paused for a second, unsure of how much to share with her, then deciding she needed to know. "We all agree with your analogy of 'A'-shift being like a marriage. And, we all agree – divorce is NOT an option for us. We WILL get through to him, somehow."

Rebecca pulled her keys out of her purse, quickly slipping the house key into the lock. As soon as she opened the door, Vickie and Missy rushed to greet her.

"Mom?" Vickie cried out.

"Where's Dad? Is he better?" The elder Stanley daughter asked in a nervous voice.

Mike waved at the teenaged girls as he turned to step back out the doorway. He had delivered Mrs. Stanley back home, ensuring her safety. Now, he had to return to the hospital and convince his captain to change his mind.

"Bye, girls. Call me if you need anything, Mrs. Stanley."

Rebecca smiled warmly. "I will, Mike, and thank you again. Oh, and… I do hope you can get through to him tonight."

A hint of a bashful smile played briefly on his handsome face, then was quickly covered by the shadows of evening as he turned and walked away.

Dr. Brackett slammed the chart closed, rubbing his chin in confusion. He reached for his coffee, tilting his watch slightly. As if on cue, Joe Early waltzed into the staff lounge, his face glowing with a faint pink tint from his time off in the sun.

"Well, Kel, time for you to head on out. Your relief is here," he chuckled, pulling a striped mug from the shelf and filling it with coffee.

Dr. Brackett cocked an eyebrow at his friend as he pushed the chart across the table. "I see Acapulco agrees with you," he smirked, nodding at the empty chair across from where he sat.

"Yes, it does. I had a wonderful time," the gray-haired physician said taking a seat in front of the chart. "What've you got for me here?"

Kelly Brackett leaned forward on the table, waiting for his friend to retrieve his reading glasses from the pocket of his lab coat before he began. "I need a consult, Joe. I prescribed a treatment for, er… Well, just read it and tell me what you think."

The older man perched his black framed glasses on the end of his nose and opened the chart. He took several sips of his coffee as he perused the hand-written notes, the penmanship as familiar to him as his own. He flipped back a couple of pages, reading the name and grimacing. "Humph, I was afraid something like this might happen after that night."

"So, did you notice anything unusual about the treatment?"

Dr. Early quickly flipped through the notes again then closed the chart, removing his glasses and placing them next to his coffee cup. "No… No, I concur with your assessment and treatment plan."

Dr. Brackett reached across the table, opening the chart and pointing to the list of prescribed medications with his index finger. "Then please explain to me why this drug had this effect," he requested, tapping his fingers first on the bottom of the second page and then again on the top of the third.

Joe Early squinted his eyes, pushing the chart a little farther away, then smiled. "Kel," he stated, pulling his coffee cup into his right hand and leaning back in his chair. "You know I dabble in a little jazz from time to time, right?"

Dr. Brackett shot his friend an exasperated glare. "Yea… What's that got to do with Hank?" He asked, slapping a palm down on the closed chart and pulling it back towards himself.

"I've got musician friends who suffer from a bit of stage fright. A couple of them have shared with me that when they take a beta blocker, it enhances their performance." He quickly raised his hands as if in surrender when he saw the accusatory look his colleague was tossing at him. "No-no… I don't prescribe anything for them. In fact, I don't really want to know where they're getting it but… Well, it really works. I've seen it myself. It has a calming effect."

"You mean, by slowing down the heart rate, it reduces anxiety as well?"

"Don't quote me on the mechanics of the whole thing, but… Like I said, I've got a couple of friends who swear by it and…," he crossed an ankle over the opposite knee. "I've watched them perform with and without it. Believe me, there IS a difference."

Dr. Brackett leaned back releasing a sigh. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Oh, now don't get me wrong, Kel. I don't think a pill can fix him completely. I agree that he needs therapy to go along with it but, well… Continuing on the beta blocker can't hurt," he said, sipping his coffee.

The younger man pushed his palms flat against the table as he stood up. "Normally, I'd just turn him over to you but, he's a friend so… I think I'll check on him one more time before I head home."

"Why don't I join you? I think Captain Stanley needs all the friendly faces he can get right about now."

Dr. Brackett clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "He sure does, Joe. He sure does."

Hank looked at the forlorn faces surrounding his hospital bed and felt a large lump lodge in his throat. How could he get them to understand something that he couldn't explain to them? In fact, he couldn't even admit it to himself? He coughed slightly in an effort to clear his throat enough to allow his voice to work again. "Men, please… I'm tired and I-I don't wanna argue with you. I just… This is the right thing to…"

"Bullshit!" Johnny had tried being nice and pleading with his captain. Now, he was ready to fight.

"Gage, don't…"

"No, Stanley," he said sarcastically. "Don't YOU try to order me to shut up!" Johnny ran a nervous hand through his dark hair. "We've been a good crew for you and you know it. What happened that night wasn't your fault. You know that, too!" He nearly shouted, index finger pointing at his superior. "If it was me lyin' in this hospital bed, you'd be tellin' me the same damn thing, wouldn't ya?"

Hank looked down, staring at the mustard colored blanket, unable to answer his paramedic. The young man was right in everything he was saying.

"But it wasn't you, John. You didn't send a man to his death and…," he hesitated, staring at his two linemen who had turned their faces away from him.

"And neither did you." John stared at the man he'd held in such high esteem for several years, his chocolate eyes melting as he struggled to control his breathing. "I respect you, Cap. I always have and I always will." His voice grew softer. "But right now, all I feel is disappointment in you for letting us down. Never would I have thought that you'd walk away from us." He turned sideways, staring at the floor with his hands on his hips. "This is abandonment. You're leaving us – your brothers – when we need you." He lifted his face, watching as Captain Stanley gulped, knowing his words were hitting their mark. "I just want you to know one thing. We, none of us, would ever do to you what you're doin' to us." He stormed out the door leaving the rest of his shiftmates in stunned silence, and a fire captain trembling with guilt and despair.

Hank sank back into the bed, pulling the covers up around his neck. Johnny had unknowingly hit Hank where it hurt; the young paramedic had questioned his captain's loyalty to his men and to the department. Hank wondered briefly if perhaps he should stick it out with the department a little longer, see if the brass came down on him for his recent behavior. That same small part of him wanted to reach out to the three men who remained in the room and beg for their forgiveness for how he'd treated them. But his own ego, the part of him that feared how they would react if they knew the truth, caused him to turn his back to the three remaining men, leaving them with the certainty that the conversation was over.

The two physicians stepped off the elevator just as Johnny rushed from Hank Stanley's room and began pacing in the empty corridor. They exchanged worried looks then proceeded down the hallway. Just as they got to him, Johnny halted his nervous behavior and leaned his back against the wall. The door to the stairwell opened, ushering Mike Stoker into the dramatic scene with three sets of eyes staring at him.

"Uh, has something happened?" The normally quiet engineer asked of the small group.

"Yea," Johnny said, nodding his head toward the hospital room he had just exited. "He's bein' just as stubborn and bullheaded as… As Chet!"

"I resent that," Chet said, trudging out of the room, Marco and Roy following him.

"Sorry," Johnny apologized with a huff.

Roy looked at the assembled group. "Still says he's resigning."

"Uh-oh," Dr. Brackett said. "So I'm assuming you fellas tried to talk him out of it?"

"Tried," Marco stated flatly. "But failed."

"He doesn't need to be making any life-altering decisions right now. Not for quite some time, actually," Dr. Early added.

Mike crossed his arms over his chest, nodding his head in affirmation. "Does he know I'm staying with him tonight?"

"Nope," Chet said, slapping his engineer on the back. "Thought we'd leave that joyous announcement to you."

Mike quickly flashed his eyebrows upwards and gave his lineman a smirk. "Thanks."

"Say, I might be able to help you with that," Dr. Brackett announced. "Give me just a minute," he stated, scurrying towards the nurse's station.

All eyes followed him, wondering what the hard-nosed physician was up to. They watched as he returned with something white in his hands. Roy was the only one who seemed to understand what was about to happen and a grin crossed his round face.

"Oh, this ought to be interesting," the senior paramedic spoke softly.

"Are you serious, Kel?" Dr. Early questioned.

"You bet I am, and you're going along with it since he's your patient for the night shift," he smiled then turned his blue eyes to the tall engineer. "C'mon, Mike. You'll know when to intervene."

Four firemen stood as close to Hank's doorway as they possibly could, hoping to eavesdrop. Johnny suddenly recognized what Dr. Brackett was holding and slipped his partner a lopsided grin. For a moment, there was silence inside the room and then the sound of muffled voices. Finally, an explosive expletive permeated the quietude of the hallway.

"Hank, I'm about to leave for the night, but Dr. Early will be here if you need anything," Kel said, reaching for the left arm of his patient who continued to lay on his side with his back turned toward the door.

"Okay," Hank mumbled feeling his arm being pulled away from his body. He waited for the usual vitals check, but that wasn't what happened. When he felt the tightness of the restraint pulling his arm against the metal bedrail, he jerked his head to the side, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "What's this for?"

"I understand that your wife had to go home. We can't take a chance on you having another nightmare and pulling out your IV." Dr. Brackett finished restraining Hank's left arm, making sure that the IV tubing was secure.

"For god's sake, Doc. If I pull it out then just stick it back in again. My veins are like ropes so you can't miss."

"Can't do that," Dr. Early spoke up. "If you dislodge the cannula then it could go straight to your heart and kill you. Gotta keep you restrained," he explained watching as his colleague walked around the bed and began applying the second restraint to Hank's right arm.

"Oh HELL, NO!" Hank jerked his arm away from the physician. "Not both of them!"

"Listen to me, Hank," Kel said, serious eyes staring at his belligerent patient. "You could reach over with your right arm and pull out the IV," he said nodding to the already restrained arm. "I'm not going to be responsible for that happening, and neither is Joe."

"So what if it kills me," Hank protested. "I refuse to be tied to the bed like some animal!"

"It's not up to you; it's up to us," Kel said, leaning against the railing.

"I know my rights and I know I can damn well refuse treatment," Hank argued. "In fact, I'm leaving here NOW!" He shouted, reaching over to remove the restraint on his left hand.

"Look at me, Hank," Kelly Brackett said, grave concern covering his face. He pressed his open palm against the fire captain's heaving chest. "One more move from you and I'll have all four of your limbs restrained - against your will. I CAN do that based on your behavior earlier today and your comments just now."

Hank rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," Dr. Brackett dared.

"He's right, Hank," Joe said, stepping into Hank's line of sight. "You could be considered a danger to yourself and others."

"Jeezus!" Hank said, his voice frustrated but no longer raised. "I'm being railroaded by my own crew. They're behind this, aren't they?"

"Thought we weren't your crew anymore," Mike said, stepping out of the shadows.

Hank slammed his head into his pillow, staring at the ceiling and desperately needing to change the subject. "Are you responsible for this, this nonsense?"

"No, sir. None of us are, but it sounds like it's what's best." Mike stood, arms crossed as he stared at his captain.

Even in Hank's frustrated state of mind, his thoughts went to his wife. "Did you get Becca home alright?"

"Yea… You're welcome, by the way," Mike snorted.

Hank took a few more deep inhalations before he continued. He was outnumbered and he knew it. "Docs, please… Please, don't tie me up like this?"

"What if I stayed with him tonight? Would you allow him to sleep without the restraints?" Mike asked, already knowing the answer. "I can stay awake and if he starts having another nightmare, then I could wake him up before he jeopardizes his IV."

"No," Hank stated, emphatically. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Yes, you do. I'll agree to leave you without restraints IF Mike stays." Dr. Brackett looked back and forth between Hank and Mike. "Well?"

Hank didn't answer, refusing to look up.

"Sounds like an offer you can't refuse," Joe persuaded. "Shackles, or Mike?"

"You don't have to do this, Mike," Hank said, his voice sounding almost meek.

"I know I don't, Cap. But I want to. Will you let me?"

Hank looked at his left arm, white restraint pinning it to the metal rail. He didn't like either option, but he hated the feeling of being tied up worse than having Mike sit with him all night. "On one condition… You don't try to change my mind."

Mike nodded his head. He would agree to anything at this point just to have a few hours alone with his captain. More than anything else, he hoped he could persuade Hank to continue on as Captain of the 'A' shift at 51's. Maintaining the integrity of their team was just as important as maintaining Hank's dignity, maybe more so.

The men in the hallway looked at the two physicians as they walked out of Hank's room, devious grins on the faces of both doctors. The entourage headed for the elevator before anyone spoke.

"You're good, Doc," Johnny said, wrapping an arm around Dr. Brackett's shoulder.

"You've given me a lot of practice," the physician joked back reaching out to press the elevator call button. "You fellas go home and get some rest. Let's give Mike a few hours to work on him."

"I hope Mike can get through to him," Chet added.

"If anybody can, it's Stoker," Roy stated just as the elevator arrived.

The group stepped on board, each one gazing briefly down the hallway wondering what might be going on in the small private room.

Hank rolled away from his engineer, refusing to even look at him. Once again, he had been forced to do something he didn't want to do, which did nothing to improve his state of mind. He could hear Mike pulling out the plastic chair and retrieving a blanket from the small closet.

"Good night, Cap," Mike offered, grimacing when the only response he got was a muffled grunt. He wasn't sure if Captain Stanley was angry, frustrated, or embarrassed – probably a combination of all three. At some point before Rebecca returned, he hoped to have the opportunity to let his captain know that he was not alone in his thought processes. Mike had experienced the same shameful feelings after the backdraft on that fateful night. He had never verbalized them to anyone and a part of him needed to say it out loud, no matter how horrible it sounded. At the moment, the man lying with his back turned to his engineer, was the only other person who may understand what was going through his mind. He had no doubt that Captain Stanley was feeling the same thing. Now, he just had to figure out a way to get the older man to admit what he was experiencing so that they could both deal with it appropriately.

Chet slammed the door of his van closed, walking slowly up the sidewalk towards the stairwell of his apartment complex. He stared briefly at Caroline's door, wondering if she was still awake. He didn't want to be alone at the moment, but he also knew he wouldn't be very good company. He stood on the desolate sidewalk, contemplating knocking on her door. He wanted to feel the warmth of her arms around him, hear her soft reassurances that everything was going to be okay. He closed his eyes, imagining the scent of her shampoo rising from beneath his chin as he held her close to his chest. The longer he lingered, the more intense the sensation became until he could hear her sweet voice calling out to him.

"Chet?"

He opened his eyes, realizing that she was standing in her open doorway, robe cinched tightly around her waist. "Uh, I-I was, ah..."

"C'mon in," she said with a kind smile, stepping aside. "You look like you could use a friend right now."

The Irishman shoved his hands deeply into his front pockets. He did need a friend at the moment; the visit with his captain had not gone as well as planned. He also realized something else as he stepped over her threshold. He was beginning to think of Caroline Marks as more than just a friend.

Roy stepped out of the shower and towel dried his red hair. He combed it neatly to the side, allowing it to dry while he brushed his teeth. Joanne had already gone to bed when he'd gotten home and he was trying not to wake her. He turned off the light in their bathroom before slowly opening the door and stepping softly across the floor to their bed. He stared at her for a moment, wondering why he had been so hard on her earlier. She really hadn't had a chance to tell him about the job before he inadvertently found out from Rebecca Stanley. So what if she worked while the kids were in school? The extra money would allow them to put a little money away for the college funds of their children or maybe even enjoy an occasional trip to Disneyland. He knew that deep down, he felt threatened by her independence. Her mother had never liked him, accusing him of not being a good provider. Maybe that thought had spurred him on when they were arguing earlier. Regardless, he would apologize in the morning. He had been wrong; in his mind so had she, but he would apologize and get the air cleared before he went back on shift, day after tomorrow. He pulled back the covers enough to slide into his side of the bed, careful not to wake her up.

Joanne lay frozen in place on her side of the bed, her back turned to her husband. She wanted him to think that she was asleep so as to avoid another confrontation. She gritted her teeth as she thought back over the events of the day. Had he really expected her to call him while he was on shift and tell him about her job? She had decided long ago never to call him at the station with news that might cause him to be distracted while on a run. Bad grades, misbehaving children, leaky pipes, all of those things could wait for him to get home. She felt the same way about announcing her job. His reaction had proven her to be correct. He would have been distracted, which could cause someone to be injured, or worse. She felt him shift his position in the bed and knew he was on his back, staring at the ceiling. Part of her wanted to roll over and snuggle in his arms, but the other part wanted to stay away, to not give in to him. She knew she owed him an apology, but it would have to wait. She was exhausted from being on her feet and moving things most of the day. All she wanted to do was relax and get a good night's sleep. She forced her breathing to remain steady and even, continuing the deceptive act that she was sleeping until, finally, her body and mind agreed and she drifted into a restless slumber.

Around four in the morning, a squeaky cart rolled past Hank's door, pulling Mike out of his light nap. He had tried his best to stay awake, but the quiet darkness of the room made the task too difficult. He had been brought back to a state of wakefulness a couple of times before; once when the stairwell door slammed shut and again when one of the nurses sneezed as she walked by the door. He scrubbed his face in an attempt to rouse himself a little more, squinting as he looked at his watch. It was early in the morning, which meant that his captain had been sleeping peacefully for nearly seven hours. He looked over at his charge, the older man stretched out on his back with one knee bent slightly. Mike tried to quietly pull himself up into a sitting position without causing the uncomfortable plastic chair to squeak. He had just managed to straighten and stretch his stiff back when a pitiful groan escaped the sleeping man's lips.

"Ungh," Hank moaned in his sleep, his eyes twitching beneath closed lids.

Mike slowly rose to a standing position, then tiptoed to the side of the hospital bed. He could see that Hank's respiration rate had increased significantly, his fingers jerking lightly on the sheet.

"Nugn, no… ge… ut," he continued muttering, his face contorting from the agony his subconscious was putting him through.

Carefully, Mike laid a hand on Hank's forearm just above his IV. "Ssshhh, it's okay," he whispered.

Hank smacked his dry lips together squinting his closed eyes as if looking into a bright light. His head rolled from side to side and he straightened out his bent knee. "Nugn, don… C'bac…not… 'em," he continued, unaware that Mike was positioning himself closer to his dreaming captain.

Mike lowered the bedrail, allowing better access to Captain Stanley. "Cap," he spoke a little louder this time. "Cap, can you hear me?" He didn't want to startle the man into consciousness.

Hank's nightmare continued to progress; the haunting images continuing to reach out to him from behind his closed eyelids. His arms tried to pull free, to fight the beast and save those who were lost in the inferno, but his limbs were immobile. He couldn't move, watching in horror as his men fell prey to the howling hounds from hell which yelped maniacally from the burning structure.

Mike used his weight to hold his captain still while he continued to try to gently wake him up. "Hank?" He leaned forward, nearer the older man's face. "Henry Stanley, wake up now," he said a little louder.

Hank's body jolted, his hazel eyes shot open as the look of sheer terror molded his face in a grotesque manner in the predawn darkened room at Rampart. He was gasping for air, not understanding why he couldn't breathe, until he realized that someone was on top of him, restraining him. Unsure whether he was dreaming or awake, he bucked his hips, thrashing about in an effort to dislodge his attacker. "No, lemme go! Gotta - get'em - out! Get'em out!" He continued in a raspy voice. Finally, the shadows of reality chased away the fire in his mind; the familiar quiet voice of his engineer rose above the shouts and sneers of hostile families who had been watching him kill the firefighters they loved. Slowly, he focused on the soothing voice of his engineer and allowed his tense muscles and sweaty brow to relax.

"It's okay, Cap. It's all over, I promise. You were dreaming. Sshhh… That's it… Just relax for me. It was just a dream, Cap. Just a really bad dream. They got out." Mike watched as the color slowly returned to Hank's tormented features and knew that this was the best chance he was going to have to confirm his suspicions with names. "Chet and Marco got out. They're okay."

A stunned Hank Stanley heard the words he had been longing to hear. He closed his eyes, relaxing into the bed while he waited for his engineer to relinquish his hold completely. He remembered where he was and why he was hospitalized. He remembered that horrible night when he had ordered Carrigan and Jacobs to take a hose in one direction while Marco and Chet were sent in another. Then he realized something else. His engineer knew the secret shame that had been haunting him since the events of that night.

"Ohmygod, Mike… How'd… How'd you know?" He panted, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

"Because I had the same thoughts too, after it happened, but I was too ashamed to admit it to anyone. I just figured it out today… That you've been thinking it, too."

Hank pulled one arm free from Mike's grip, rubbing his eyes. "I'm a… I must be some kind of monster to even… To even think like that."

Mike realized that his captain was indeed completely awake and removed himself from the hospital bed, double checking the IV ensuring it was still secure. He wasn't sure of what to say, so he simply said what was on his heart. "I never told anybody but… I was, um, relieved that night when Marco came out with Jacobs on his shoulders. I knew we hadn't lost both our linemen. Then when he said Chet was alright, but was bringing out Carrigan, I had to go meet him. I almost felt like I had to touch him just to make sure he was alright." Mike looked down at Hank, saw the teary eyes staring into nothingness as the dark haired captain slowly nodded in agreement.

"Just for a split second, I was grateful that our guys got out of there; relieved that the code I's weren't from 51's. But then, I realized how badly injured the guys from 36's really were and I felt awful. How could I do that? How could I feel relief, even for just a moment, when our brothers from 36's were in such bad shape?" Crystal blue, bloodshot eyes peered longingly at his captain. "You felt it too, didn't you?"

Hank merely nodded.

Mike continued. "Every time I look at them on shift, I… I think about how different things could've been after that night. Then I think of how different things are, over at 36's, and I feel guilty all over again."

Hank drew his dark eyebrows together. "What do you feel guilty for? You didn't send them in there, I did."

"I know, Cap. But you didn't cause the backdraft and you didn't kill Carrigan or injure Jacobs. The fire did that." Mike looked down at his knuckles then back up again. "As for the answer to your question, I feel guilty for feeling relief when Marco and Chet walked out of that building under their own power. It really didn't hit me until I was at the funeral. Marco was standing beside me and… And I thought about how close we came to attending his funeral. Then it all started crashing down on me." He looked away for a moment, drying his eyes. "I've been trying to figure out how to help you get over the guilt you were feeling for Carrigan and… Then I realized that it wasn't just the guilt about Carrigan… It was the guilt for the relief you felt that it wasn't Lopez and Kelly."

"It could've just as easily been them, Mike. I don't know why I sent them in the direction I did, but if I hadn't, then… They might both be dead now. Somehow, I feel like I was playing God that night. I decided who lived and who died with just a wave of my hand." Hank exhaled a cleansing breath. "That's why I couldn't attend Carrigan's funeral. Yea, I'd been hospitalized, but… I could've made it, but… I hated to go and feel, um, grateful that it wasn't one of our linemen in that casket," he said, lowering his voice and his face in shame. "You've been dealing with it a hell of a lot better than I have."

"Not really," Mike said, looking down at the floor. "It took a while for me to realize that I wasn't EXCHANGING one life for another. I hadn't CHOSEN to let Carrigan die so that Lopez could live." He waited for Hank to look at him. "I finally realized that it was okay for me to celebrate the joy that Chet and Marco were safe AND mourn the loss and injury of Carrigan and Jacobs."

Hank inhaled a ragged breath, fighting to keep his emotions in check. He allowed Mike's words to sink in, clenching and releasing the blanket that lay twisted on the lower half of the bed, an unintended victim of his nightmare. Moments passed with each man lost in his own thoughts. Both needed to find forgiveness within themselves for feelings which they could not control.

"I'm not a psychiatrist or anything, but let me ask you a question, if you don't mind?" Mike asked, finally breaking the silence.

Hank sighed. "Shoot, I'm not going anywhere."

"Chet and Marco are pretty sharp cats. They'll figure it out eventually. How are they gonna feel when they realize that you quit the department because of what happened – well, didn't happen - with them that night?"

Hank looked at his engineer as if the younger man had taken leave of his senses. "I'm not leaving because of them. They have nothing to do with it. They were just doing their jobs that night."

Mike used his eyes to pierce the soul of his superior. "And that's all you were doing that night, too. Your job. Nothing more, nothing less." He watched Hank shift uncomfortably in the bed. "I'm not asking you NOT to resign. Ultimately, that decision is up to you. But I am begging you not to do it under duress. Now isn't the time to be making these life-altering decisions," Mike pleaded, quoting the words of Dr. Early. "Give yourself some time; let things settle down. Then, when you can think clearly, if you still want to resign, then do it. But don't make this knee-jerk reaction when you aren't really yourself."

Hank contemplated his engineer's words. He thought back to what his younger paramedic had said to him. Then the voice of his precious wife echoed in his ears. Was he, in effect, divorcing his men? Was he letting them down and abandoning them when they needed him? Was he really the only person placing blame squarely on his shoulders for the death of Kyle Carrigan and the near-fatal injury of his partner? He looked around him at the quiet room and realized he felt better than he had felt in several weeks. Whether it was the medication he had been given, the one that had been removed from his system, or the relief in knowing that his darkest secret was finally out, he wasn't sure. One thing he did know for sure, he wasn't willing to walk out on the men who had taken such good care of him recently. He owed them more respect than to walk away now.

"Mike, I-I'll give it some thought. I can't promise you that I'll stay with the department, but… But if you men aren't going to file complaints against me and get me fired, then… Then, I won't make a final decision until after I've met with Dr. Robertson. He's the shrink that Brackett wants me to see."

Mike smiled. "I think we all need to see one of those from time to time, especially in this profession."

"Mike, I… I owe you an apo…"

"Nu-uh, don't start that sappy stuff," Mike admonished. "There'll be time for that later. Right now, just try to get a little more sleep. You have a couple more hours before they start coming in and waking you up."

Hank smiled at his engineer, the feeling almost foreign to his face. "Thank you, Mike. I really mean that. Johnny was right when he said that you men had been a good crew for me. Well, maybe he underestimated it a little. "You men are…," he hesitated, trying to put into words what he was feeling in his heart. You men are the best damn crew of firefighters ever assembled by the Los Angeles County Fire Department."

Mike nodded his head slightly. "Only 'cause we've got the best damn captain."

A/N: Thank you so much for the PM's, reviews and comments you've left for me on this story. I appreciate you all so much and can never thank you enough for helping me improve my writing. We're leaving Hank's story now and moving on to Roy's. Hank's story will continue as will Chet's but we've reached the point where it's time to focus on the DeSoto's. I hope you'll continue reading as we move on to part three of "A House Divided - DeSoto's Dilemma."