CHAPTER 5

Half of him wanted to throttle Mike.

Do you have any idea how worried I was?

The other half of him wanted to grab his best friend, pulling him into a brotherly hug.

Do you have any idea how worried I was?

In the end, he grasped the arms of his chair to stop himself from running out there.

Mike will come and find me, apologize for being late. I'll talk to him then. But what am I supposed to say?

The slam of a car door sliced the seemingly tranquil façade of the station. From the latrine, Fred Abbott heard the commotion. His stomach dropped.

What should I say?

He didn't have time to think further on the topic, distracted by the voice of a frazzled Mike Stoker coming from the beyond the latrine door.

"Morning. Late. Change. Captain?"

"He's in his office." For once, Chet didn't have much to say so he watched his friend scurry towards his locker. It was almost humorous how Chet could gauge Mike's state from four single words.

Hank Stanley was in a stare down with the clock, each tick countered by the thud of a beating heart. According to the wall clock, it had been exactly two minutes and twenty-six seconds since the pick-up truck raced into the lot. He looked at his watch.

Two minutes and…well, at least my watch and the wall clock are keeping track of time at the same rate.

As Hank waited uncomfortably in silence, Fred watched his friend fumble in his locker, haphazardly thrusting his duffel onto the shelf, tossing his clothes atop the unzipped bag. Frowning, he watched his normally organized friend descend into a state of pure disheveled chaos.

He should be excited. I know it's a hard decision to make, but he shouldn't be tearing himself up over it.

Fred's heart ached for his friend.

I wonder if the guys on A-shift know…No. I don't think they do. Not yet. I think I'm the only one he's told.

Buttoning the last button, Mike turned to his friend.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be late…things just kinda happened that way."

Fred chuckled, "Don't sweat it. We know. And try not to worry too much about Hank. I don't think he's mad. Just worried. But, you should tell him sooner rather than later. You know that he's going to know just by looking at you."

"Yeah, I know. That's what I'm worried about."

Taking a deep breath, he knew it was the moment of truth. Before walking out the door, he looked at his friend.

"Thanks for staying. I'm sure he will want to talk to you before you leave, have you sign the time log…"

"Mike? Go talk to him. I'll be here."

With that, he tucked away his emotions, professionalism settling on his features.

A strong knock gained Hank's attention.

"Come in." Mike Stoker appeared in the doorway.

"Morning Captain. I would like to apologize for being late. I had to help my wife this morning and wasn't able to leave on time. I have already apologized to Fred for making him stay and cover for me. I would…" Hank cut him off.

"Mike, take a seat." Mike had expected the stern tone, but not the doubtful expression cast forth at his words.

He sat down slowly, lowering himself to the seat with his arms.

"Mike, we've known each other a while now. You're one of my closest friends. I'll be damned if I don't tell you that this is a conversation I never thought I'd have to have with you. I don't make exceptions, so I'll give it to you straight." He sighed, knowing that he couldn't be partial to his men when it came to regulations.

"You are approximately 20 minutes late. I appreciate that there are emergencies or unexpected happenings. You can't always get to a phone to let me know. But, twenty minutes is more than a traffic accident blocking the road, even a flat tire. Twenty minutes is a long time to be missing, especially as the man who is my second-in-command, the one who I have to rely on most." He paused a moment, considering his next words.

"I get that things can happen around the house. Lord knows Emily and the girls have needed me. I understand that maybe this morning Hannah needed you. But Hannah also knows that you have to be on time to work. Peoples' lives depend on it. So, why didn't Hannah call and let me know that you were running late? I have no doubts that if she knew you were running late, she would have called me."

He knew it was dangerous to press his engineer like this. When Mike didn't want to talk, quite simply, he didn't. He especially didn't like talking about his personal life while at work. Something about Mike's expression bothered him, he just couldn't place it.

"Cap, Hannah needed helping cleaning something this morning. She isn't working today, so she wasn't paying attention to the time. It was my own fault that I was late. I should have been paying attention."

For the first time, Mike Stoker lied to his captain and friend Hank Stanley. Attempting to stifle the guilt he was sure Hank could see, he locked eyes with Hank.

That's it! It's that same vacant look that's in all the guys' eyes today.

"I'm sorry I let you down." The apology was sincere, even if a ruse to keep Hank from noticing the guilt.

As if a sledge hammer had just swung into his gut, Hank instinctively curled at Mike's words. He wanted to tell Mike that he could never let him down. He couldn't.

Dammit Hank. You just told your friend that you were disappointed because you rely on him as your second-in-command. Now, you want to tell him you're sorry for something that is true? What if there had been a run before he got here? What if Abbott's judgement was off because he was tired? What if you needed to rely on the near-telepathic communication you and Mike use every shift? He wasn't there.

"Anyway Cap, I'll go touch base with Fred then send him to sign the time log. Then, I'll get started on the latrines. Anything else?" Mike asked, correctly guessing what Hank's next words would have been.

"No, no. That would be all."

As the quiet man made for the door, Hank noticed his friend limping. Concern etched his forehead.

"Mike?" He stood still, leaning forward slightly, shifting the majority of his weight to the left, never turning his face towards his captain. Sitting up straight, Hank recognized this posture. It was the same position that he'd found Mike standing in two weeks ago. The fire. It had been a bad one. The house was abandoned, but not entirely empty. Hiding away in the attic had been a small stash of paint cans and ammunition. Nothing that couldn't have been dealt with easily.

Nothing that we couldn't have handled if we knew it was there.

The tone of his internal voice shifted. Remorse. He recalled, too vividly, the flames first shooting out of the attic vent, before eating through the wall.

I should have recognized that it was too hot for an empty building. The fire was being fueled by something. I didn't see it.

He suddenly recognized the vacancy decorating the eyes of all his men.

My God, they could have been hurt. They could have died because of me.

Staring out the window of the office door, Mike didn't respond.

"Mike, as your friend, I want you to know that if there is ever something you need to talk about, you just let me know."