Chapter 6
The door shut behind him.
I know I should talk to him. I should tell him that I was up all-night thinking about taking the exam, and when I saw the sun rising, I got up and left before Hannah even woke up. I should tell him that I left her a note, that I needed to think before coming to work. It's not like me to do that, but I know she understands. Cap would understand too.
As Mike dashed for the security of the latrine, Chet and Marco peered out the rec room door, catching only a glimpse of him before he disappeared behind the engine and into the dorm. His step was that of a newborn colt, wobbly and uncertain. He slipped into the safety of the dorm, releasing the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Leaning against the wall, the ache in his leg made itself known.
I should've been more careful yesterday.
"How was it?"
"He wasn't mad. Just concerned."
"I told you. Hank reserves his frustrations for Johnny and Chet. Not you."
Mike leaned against the counter, looking in the mirror. For an instant, he swore that the familiar worry lines that often rested on Hank's forehead now rested on his. When he blinked, those lines disappeared without a trace.
"Mike? What is it?"
Taking a deep breath, Mike began, "You haven't told anyone about me taking the exam?"
"No. I promised you I wouldn't and I won't."
"Okay. I'm not ready to let that horse run yet."
"My lips are sealed."
"I guess I should let you get out of here. Anything happen that I should know about?"
It didn't feel like an office. It felt like a prison cell. It wasn't so much the room that incarcerated him, but an overwhelming attitude of disdain.
"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."
The words spun round and round.
What kind of a thing was that to say? I put my men into a dangerous position, then I don't notice when one of them gets hurt? They are supposed to be able to trust me and my judgement. They count on me giving them all the facts so that they can do their jobs properly.
Resting his face in his palms, the scene appeared before him.
"Police have confirmed this to be an empty building. Roy, John, grab an inch-and-a-half. You take the east side. Marco, Chet, each of you grab an inch-and-a-half. I'll back you both up. Let's take the north. Mike…"
The men made eye contact and Mike nodded, reaching for the controls on the pressure valves.
The other engines arrived as Hank was commanding his men. A quick conference between the three responding captains left Bard Reynolds of Station 10 in command as Hank joined his men at the front line. The flames were hungry. Like tentacles, they reached in every direction, seeking nourishment, sustenance. Pillars of steam tangoed with the thick smoke as the firemen opened their lines against the inferno. Hank watched the dance, one arm around Chet, one arm around Marco. Aiming the hoses towards the attic vent, where large volume of smoke was escaping, the siding melted from blue to black until it became just another tentacle of flame. Concentrating the hoses in this new opening, Hank couldn't understand why it was taking so long to knock down this section of the fire. The rest of the fire was under control.
"Cap? There's gotta be something fueling that fire." Chet aimed his hose just below Marco's.
Hank was about to call for another line when the explosion came. The remnant of the attic wall burst outwards, bits of debris flying over their heads. As the fire mushroomed into the sky, it looked fearful, as if it was aware that its time was near an end.
"Damnit Hank I thought you said that this house was empty!" Bard Reynolds yelled, masking his worry with anger.
"Yeah, I thought it was. That's what we were told when we arrived on scene."
"Are you boys okay?" Reynolds finally asked.
"Yes!" Came a triad of voices.
"Okay. Men, you take 51s lines. Hank, take your boys and sit down for a minute."
Leading his linemen to the engine, he was stopped by John, who reached out a hand to his shoulder. He knew he was fine but his young paramedic would want to see for himself. Behind him came a groan.
"Come on Roy, I'm fine." Chet protested as Roy grabbed for his turnout coat.
"Look, we got knocked down. Nothing hit us"
"Roy, I think that this time, we are all fine." Hank claimed.
"I'd feel better checking you all out anyways." Roy looked at him. He couldn't refute the gentleness in his eyes, the concern and love evident in them.
"And we will let you, won't we Chet?"
"We are all fine." Scoffing, Hank came back to the present. The engineer's job was supposed to be the safest. Mike was supposed to be out of danger. Pulled to the curb about fifty feet behind where Hank had stood, Engine 51 pumped water to her men, the pressure gauges carefully controlled and monitored by Mike. After the explosion, the other stations were busy putting out the remnant of the fire. He supposed that maybe because the lines from Engine 51 were being used, he assumed that Mike was okay. Afterall, someone had to control the water flow. It wasn't until later that night that Hank noticed Mike acting strange. He was a quiet man, but when he was silent, Hank knew that something was bothering him.
"Mike? Are you sure you're okay?" Sitting on the running board, his hand clutched the handle of a knozzle.
"What am I gonna tell Fred tomorrow?" Hank had smiled, aware of the bond between engineer and engine.
"Remember when Fred dented the fender driving over rocks?"
"Of course. Red was stiff for weeks after she came back from the shop."
"You know how it wasn't Fred's fault that it happened? He had no choice?"
"I think I know what you're trying to tell me. It wasn't my fault. It just happened."
"Exactly."
In the moment, Hank assumed Mike's demeanor was caused by his injured engine. Reflecting on the memory, Hank realized that maybe he'd been wrong this whole time. When he'd first seen Mike after the explosion, the fire was out and being overhauled. No one was near Mike, yet he'd seemed to be hiding behind the engine, awkwardly hunched to the side, leaning against the passenger door.
"Mike, you okay pal?"
Jogging over with concern, he reached out a hand to pat Mike's shoulder.
"Yeah Cap." His voice was strained.
"You don't look so good."
"It's not me you should be worried about."
"I don't follow." He gave Mike a once-over to assess his condition.
"I'm serious Cap. It's not me. It's…her." He patted the engine.
"I don't see anything wrong here…"
"That's because it's not this side. It's the other side." Mike emphasized.
He looked at Mike, then walked around the front of the engine to the driver's side. Mike followed. The sight surprised him. The paint was scratched and several small dents speckled the door. A few feet in front of the door was a rather large piece of plywood.
When did this happen?
"See Cap? She's hurt." Hank admittedly had to swallow a chuckle. The bond between Mike and Big Red was endearing.
"Mike, I think she'll be okay. Those dents don't look to deep, should be able to pop 'em out. Some new paint and no one'll ever know she hit some…" Hank looked around, "…some debris" he finished.
"I'll know."
After a slightly awkward paused, Hank sighed, understanding that his engineer was upset and would worry about his girl.
"And she'll know that you took care of her." Hank smiled. Mike smiled too.
He began to walk away, but stopped, that question still on his mind.
"What happened?"
"When the house exploded, the debris flew back and hit the door."
It was only then that he'd realized just how close Mike was to the flying boards.
"But you're okay?"
"Of course!"
"Were you?" No one was there to hear the words he's accidently said out loud. He sunk lower into the chair, half compelled to find Mike, half embarrassed to look his friend in the eyes.
How could he have hurt himself two weeks ago and I only noticed today, and today of all days? How come I didn't pick up on his injury sooner?
Tsk.
His head snapped up, expecting to see someone standing before him. He was alone.
Tsk. He stood straight up.
Tsk. His eyes snapped towards the clock on the wall.
Tsk.
As the second hand stuttered its way around and around in circles, Hank's eyes found themselves in the crosshair of Chief McConnicke's ever-present gaze, his eyes targeted directly at Hank as his picture sat in the clock. The nagging feeling came again, dizziness in close pursuit. He tried to shove it down, to forget about it. But the nightmare that had plagued him for the past few weeks came back. Like the raging flames desperate to eat something, the vision of his failure returned.
"Really Cap? And we trusted you? We trusted you with our lives?"
He wanted to tell them that they could trust him, that they could rely on him. He wanted to tell them that it was impossible for anyone to know what was in that building.
Boys, I promise you that if I had known, we would have approached the fire differently and there never would have been an explosion.
His thoughts were drowned out by the persistent flames of this emotional inferno.
"And to think, this whole time I've supported you and your dream to be a chief."
"Oh, Mike. Now I've let you down. I'm sorry."
Startled by another knock at the door, Hank was momentarily granted a reprieve.
"Come in."
"Hey, Cap! I just filled Mike in on everything, he's working on the latrine. I'm just gonna sign the log, then I'll be out of your hair."
"Okay."
"Cap? The log?"
"Oh! Yeah. I suppose I better get that out for you."
Merrily skipping out of the office, Fred's every movement was carefully scrutinized by Marco and Chet.
"How is he?" Chet asked.
"Which one?" Abbott asked.
"I guess both." Marco inserted.
"Mike's fine. Just got held up this morning. Cap seems to be fine."
"You mean he's not mad?" Chet asked, almost offended. Marco chuckled.
"You know Chet," Fred patted his shoulder, "I think that if you didn't have as many wild tales as you do, then maybe Cap would be a little more lenient with you."
Failing to hide his laughter with a cough, Chet glared at Marco.
"Okay, Marco! See if you're still laughing when the Phantom comes."
Throwing his hands in the air, he stepped towards the doorway, sharing an amusement look with Fred, who was doing a much better job of containing his laughter.
"Well guys, I'm gonna leave. Stay safe out there."
"See ya Freddy!"
An unusually silent morning in the station, Marco and Chet added to the unusual silence. Sitting at the table, they didn't speak. They only listened to the stillness, anticipating the squeak of a door followed by purposeful footsteps. It wasn't long until that anticipation was met.
"Mike!"
"Mike! How are you pal?"
"Great! Look, I'm sorry I'm late. It was a bit of a hectic morning."
"Sure it was," Chet smirked.
"Oh Chet, lay it off will ya? This is Mike after all, not Johnny."
"Okay, I'm sorry. I won't be too hard on you Mike. Everyone knows that you're the dependable one, so when something is off, we know that it's not just a wild story." He winked.
Rolling their eyes, Mike and Marco laughed. Noting the tension easing from his face, the weight lifting off his shoulders, Marco knew that whatever had been bothering Mike was, at least for the time, laid to rest.
You know Mike, it's okay. John and Chet are late all the time. It's not a big deal for it to happen once. You need to make sure Hank knows that you are sorry. And you need to talk to him about the exam. But, later. Right now, just get focused on work.
"By the way Mike, how's your foot, or hip? Whatever you hurt?"
"Yeah, are you gonna tell Cap?" Chet added.
"It's not a big deal. As long as I don't overuse it, I'm fine. It's tender today because I spent most of yesterday working on the garage. Of course it's still bruised, will be for a while."
"That's right! I forgot you were building that. How's it going?"
As they guys sat around the kitchen table listening to Mike's story, they found themselves laughing.
I wonder what's so funny.
Despite the closed doors and brick walls, there wasn't ever complete privacy in Station 51. Truthfully, it was hard to not overhear a conversation if one was nearby to where it was taking place. Though not close enough to hear the conversation, the bits of laughter cued Hank's attention to the overall demeanor of his men.
They're laughing. But this morning, they all had that blank stare when I…when I walked in. It is me? Did I really betray my friends?
He knew this was the edge. He would either control himself and step back from it, addressing the situation rationally, or he would stumble over the edge and spiral to the ground.
Get a grip Hank. Now!
The change was abrupt.
Okay Hank, what's happening? He thought the question but answered aloud.
"There's a fire in my heart. It was set by fear, smoldered in insecurity, and fueled by memories of all my short-comings."
Is there any immediate danger?
"No."
Are there any potential hidden dangers?
"Yes. If I keep acting this irrationally, I might put someone in danger."
How are the flames dancing?
"They're hot. They want to keep burning. They want to consume me."
How do you want to approach the flames?
"They always say that 'the truth will set you free.' Maybe it's time that I sit down with my men and tell them what's going on. Instead of mulling I should be proactive and ask them if I did something to endanger them. I should ask them if they feel betrayed by how I command them."
Should you call for back-up?
"Maybe Emily…No. I don't need to call her. She already told me the truth and I need to accept the truth for what it is. I need to do this on my own, to prove to myself that I can handle this."
I can't talk to them now. We are on duty, plus Roy and John are gone. But as I promised Emily, I will talk to them at the end of the shift. Right now, I need to go out there and face my engine crew. I need to check in on Mike, make sure Chet hasn't been too harsh with him.
So he stood up straight, albeit shakily, and putting one foot in front of the other, found himself nose to nose with the door. The strange creak the hinges let out as the door opened alerted Mike, Marco, and Chet to their captain's soon presence in the kitchen. The conversation ceased, leaving the tale of Mike's battle with plywood abandoned somewhere in all their minds. Though his footsteps sounded normal to anyone listening, Hank swore that each step got louder the closer he came to the kitchen. Inhaling a deep breath, he walked through the doorway.
"Morning, men."
"Morning Cap," came a chorus of three voices.
He felt awkward. He knew that in order to have a causal conversation with his friends, he would have to come clean. But he couldn't do that now, given the circumstances.
"I'm sorry I've been locked away all morning. I've had a few things that had to get done."
He made towards the stove, noticing the pot of coffee waiting to be poured. Taking his time, it was obvious to the others that he was stalling. Afterall, the coffee ploy was a trick each of them had used countless times. It provided the appearance of acting normal as a cover-up for something that needed to be hidden. Hank was painfully aware of his stalling. Time and time again, he'd called his men on their bluff when they'd done this very thing. He'd pulled them into his office to chat. Usually, it was related to a run, but occasionally it would be a personal matter that followed the man to work. If he felt like discussing it, Hank would lend an ear and advice free of judgement.
No Hank, you are not a hypocrite. As the captain you are responsible for your men. Your men are not responsible for you.
"Anyone want coffee?"
They all shook their heads.
Hank had just sipped his third slurp of coffee when the tones went off.
"Station 51, Motor Vehicle Accident. 14 Park Avenue. 1-4 Park Avenue. Cross Street Phoenix. Time out: 9:35."
"Engine 51, KMG 365."
As he jogged around the engine, he heard Roy's voice through the radio.
"Squad 51."
Author's Note:
Hello! Thanks for continuing to read my story. I know it got a little off topic. I'm working to refocus it and hopefully wrap it up in a few more chapters.
One episode featured a visit from McConnicke and the office clock had a photo of a chief in it. I'm not sure if was supposed to be McConnicke or not, but for the purpose of this story it is. I know it was a season six episode.
