Chapter 11

The blaring tones shattered the deep sleep of the four men of Engine 51. It was not another early morning trash fire, however, but the wake-up tones signaling the start of a new day.

At least we aren't being called out right now.

Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, the four men rested in bed a few seconds longer, listening to the long list of tones sound over the radio.

"Station 51, KMG 365."

Finally, once all the stations had responded, Hank uttered the first command of the day.

"Okay, let's get out of bed. Get breakfast."

"Hey, where's the squad?" Chet noticed the two empty beds.

"They got called out. Some call about an OD." Mike answered.

"Oh, I remember. Wasn't it an unknown rescue at a dance club?" Chet asked.

"I think you were dreaming." Marco piped in, patting Chet on the shoulder.

"When did they get called out, Cap? Was it before or after the trash fire? I can't remember." Mike asked.

"After. I think." Shrugging his shoulders, he walked into the latrine, Chet following.

"Well, I'm gonna put on some coffee."

"Not if I get to it first, Mike!"

Some things were habit, other things were routine.

Splashing cold water on his face, he bent over the sink, resting his weight on his arms. Purple bags nestled against his eyes.

At least I managed to get all the soot and smoke off of me.

He closed his eyes. He heard as the door opened, then closed, softly, footsteps tip-toeing across the floor. He tried not to smile, knowing it would give him away. A warm presence drew closer, but not too close. The picture was clear in his mind. There he was, resting against the sink, and there Chet was, leaning against the first row of lockers, standing in the aisle leading to the dorms. Chet was watching him closely, observing how he inhaled, held his breath, then exhaled deeply yet slowly, once. Twice. Three times. It was always three times. He kept his eyes shut for a few more seconds, not taking another breath, waiting for the familiar squeak of Chet's locker door, then the rustle of God-knows-what. It was only then that he would open his eyes and splash another handful of cold water on his face. He would stand straight before the mirror and ask Chet if he'd slept well.

Rinsing his face was a habit. It was something he did whenever he was tired. The deep breathing, the closed eyes, the listening—this was a routine. He couldn't remember when the charade first began; it just had always been.

He waited for Chet to play his part, to dig into his locker for whatever he looked for each morning. Nothing. No movement could be heard. That was Hank's cue that his lineman needed to talk.

Opening his eyes, he watched Chet in the mirror as the man watched him observantly, as if he was studying his captain.

"How'd you sleep?" Hank spoke first, turning to face his friend.

"You know…fine until we got called out."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

Normally a pensive expression on Chet Kelly's face meant trouble for John Gage. It was a tell-tale sign that The Phantom was plotting. However, that same expression could also be genuine. Today, it was genuine.

"Hey Cap?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?"

He looked down for a moment, trying to pull the conversation from his memory.

Oh yes, I called him to the office to check on him after the car accident.

"Yes, we were talking about the car accident."

"I was just wondering…How do you deal with that? We see gnarly things all the time and yes, it gets to us. Most of the time, those images will fade and be replaced by other things. Sometimes I'll have a flashback to a particularly horrible scene, but then it passes. How do you push those things from your mind?"

I don't.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

"I've always been honest about those things with you guys, and this is no exception."

He sat next to Chet, considering how to answer the question. From the bay, the rumbling of the squad engine grew louder as it backed in.

"I don't always push them from my mind. There are times when it's all I can see, all I can hear…Heck even smell and taste. Then there are those things that I can feel. Sometimes, no matter how much you want to forget, you can't. You can't forget because you can't unsee what you saw. You just have to carry it with you until you take the time to process it. Then, it starts to fade away."

"I got to admit that the car accident got to me a bit."

"I know."

"How?"

"Because I could see it in your eyes. You had that look, that haunted look."

"It was gnarly, I mean that person was just…" cutting himself off, he knew that describing the scene would only make him feel worse.

"I know. It's something I wish we didn't have to see."

"Did I let you down?"

It was the same question from yesterday.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, by having that haunted look, by needing to talk about what I saw, by not being able to handle it on my own. Does that let you down because you can't rely on me to do my job?"

"Chester B. what makes you say that?"

"I'm a fireman. I'm supposed to be tough."

"And you are tough. You do your job damn well. You've always got my back, you've always got their backs too." He motioned to the lockers, referencing the rest of the crew. "You know how to read a situation, you know how to speak up when needed. You know how to talk to victims and comfort them. You are one of the best linemen I've ever met."

"But then there's this. Me sitting here upset because I had a dream about that rescue and that dead guy. Instead of doing captain things, you're spending the first few minutes of your day talking to someone who had a bad dream." Chet's voice rose, frustration more apparent.

"And instead of doing lineman things, you're spending the first few minutes of your day talking to someone who also had a bad dream." Calmly and honestly, Hank admitted.

Chet looked him in the eye, seeing the truth.

Quietly, he asked, "So that car accident bothered you too?"

Did it? I mean it did, but not as much as the woman from the fire. And not as much as the dream I actually had.

He shuddered.

"Yes, but not as much as the fire."

"Is there something wrong with me because I wasn't bothered by the fire?" Panic filled his voice.

"Absolutely not. There are somethings that stick with you more than others. For you, it was the accident. For me, it was the fire. What sticks with us depends a lot on how involved we were. You were around that victim for quite a while. I wasn't. At the fire, I had different responsibilities that I had to juggle. That's why it affected me more."

Seeing that Chet wasn't entirely convinced, Hank made another confession.

"Chet, if I'm being completely honest, the fire wasn't that bad. Of course the fire itself was bad and took hours to knock out completely, but the scene wasn't that horrific. No one was seriously hurt. There really isn't any reason why I should have been as bothered as I was. But even still, I dreamt about it last night."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"When we left the scene, you seemed upset about something. What was it?"

He stood up, returning to his place by the sink where he'd begun the conversation.

"There was a woman who lived there who had that same haunted look in her eyes as you did at the accident. Her reality was that she lost her home. She lost everything she had. And she has to live with that. Sometimes, seeing the victims of that reality gets to me.

"Did you dream about her?"

Hank hesitated.

"Yes."

But not just her.

Chet knew that there was something else bothering his captain, but he let it go.

"Oh."

"Am I letting you down?"

"What?" Chet asked.

"By not being as strong as I should be."

"No Cap! You could never let me down. You are the strongest person I know."

"Likewise, with you and the rest of the crew, you guys could never let me down."

"Thanks for talking with me Cap. I know you talk to us about this stuff all the time, but sometimes I just need to hear it again."

"Any time, Chester B. And, no matter what, you can always come to me when you need to talk. I mean no matter what."

Even when I leave the station.

"Only if you come to me first!" Chet smirked.

"Come on, let's grab us some coffee and check on the squad."

"Yessir!"

Marco and Mike walked directly to the kitchen. They knew they were alone.

"Why does Chet follow Cap every morning?" Mike asked.

"Well, it goes a little something like this. Have you noticed how Chet does this weird thing when he's thinking about something important?"

"You mean with splashing water on his face and breathing slowly three times?"

"Well, he got that from Cap."

"Really?" Mike reached the stove first, grabbing the pot to fill with water.

"Yeah. You know how Cap washes his face every morning?"

Mike nodded, turning on the stove.

"Chet thinks that if he imitates Cap, then maybe he'll get a promotion."

"That makes no sense."

"This is Chet."

"You know Marco, you're right."

The men laughed.

Just then, the rumbling of the squad engine grew louder as it reversed into the bay.

"Hey! They're back. I wonder how they're run was."

Leaning against the doorframe, Marco watched Roy back into the bay. Cutting the engine, the two sat in the squad longer than usual.

Oh no. Marco thought. Whenever they sat still like that, it was a tell-tale sign that the call hadn't gone well.

Then, the doors opened slowly, two tired paramedics sliding out.

"Morning." Marco spoke softly as they approached the door.

"Mornin'."

Dejection.

John walked past Marco into the kitchen.

"Coffee?"

"Working on it." Mike replied.

"Roy?" Marco stopped him before he walked into the kitchen.

"Elderly woman. About 87. Nothing we could do."

"Oh. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. So is Johnny. It's just not the kind of call we want to start our day with."

They walked into the kitchen and sat at the table.

"Hey Mike? Is it too late to ask for this coffee extra strong?" John sounded exhausted.

"It's already a strong brew. Anyone want it extra, extra strong?"

He held up the can of grounds, offering to add more to the not-quite boiling pot.

"Yes." Came a chorus of replies.

"I think you're right." Mike added two more tablespoons. "I know I'm gonna need it after yesterday."

"I'm gonna need it after this morning." Marco said flatly.

"This morning?" Mike asked wide-eyed. "We only just got up a few minutes ago." He waved to the clock. 6:27.

"The trash can fire that woke me up from a sound sleep?"

"Oh yeah, that." Mike remembered. He hadn't slept well and had already been awake when the call came in just before 5:00. Roy looked at him with concern, but Mike had turned his back to stir the pot.

The four men embraced a natural silence that fell over the room, one interrupted every thirty seconds by the scrape of the wooden spoon in the brew. Even the ticking clock was quiet.

"Has anyone heard anything about the chief's exam yet?" John broke the silence.

The gazes between them shifted, Marco, Roy, and John, all finally resting on Mike who was still turned toward the stove.

Sensing their eyes, he turned.

"He hasn't said so, but I know that he has the results. He was acting strange yesterday."

"Strange, how?" Roy inquired.

"It was as if he was trying to apologize without trying to apologize. I don't know if that makes any sense, but it was like he was trying to tell me something without bringing up the actual subject he wanted to tell me about."

"That actually makes perfect sense."

"How Marco?"

"After that car accident, which I think we all can agree was bad, he asked me if I was okay. We got into the strangest conversation. He asked if I was happy with my career and I said yes. I have no desire to try for engineer, even though people pester me about it. Then he said something about how I had 'perspective' and that he was gonna have to do some thinking."

"…and maybe they'll even have breakfast ready!" Chet's voice interrupted the pensive atmosphere as it echoed across the bay.

"Did he say what he was thinking about?" John quickly asked.

"No, we got called out to that collapse." Marco finished speaking just as two sets of feet walked into the kitchen.

"Interesting." John said.

"What's interesting?" Hank inquired.

The sudden shift in mood cued him in.

They were talking about me.

"Marco here was just telling us about some perspective he's had."

The three smiled at Roy's quick-thinking response. They could always count on him to steer a conversation without having to lie.

"Perspective?"

"Remember how I told you about that guy from the car accident considering a new job? I was telling them about it."

"Interesting story too." John groaned theatrically.

"Got a problem there Gage?" Chet remarked.

"Tired. Coffee."

"Which by the way is ready and VERY strong today." Mike emphasized as he reached to the cupboard for six mugs.

"What's for breakfast?" Chet asked.

"How about left-over pasta? I made extra last night for this reason."

"Sounds like a gourmet meal, pal!" Hank approved.

Then the Klaxon sounded.

"Engine 51, trash fire in the alley. E 223rd St and Boyer. E 223rd St. and Boyer. Time out 6:32."

"Damnit."

"We'll keep the coffee warm."

"Oh ha." Chet grumbled.

"Engine 51. KMG 365."

As the engine company drove away, the paramedics were left alone in the station. Roy moved first, pouring the hot liquid into two mugs, placing one before John and the other before himself.

"Hey Roy?"

"Yeah."

"We've never really talked about it, but do you think Cap will leave?"

He sighed, recalling the conversations he'd had with Mike over the past few weeks, culminating with the reality they'd both neglected to accept the night before.

We all knew that it was just a matter of time before one of us went.

"We all know he's gonna pull top of the list. We all know he wants this position. We all know why he wants this position. So yes, when a position opens up, he's gonna take it."

"I know. I was hoping you'd say he wouldn't."

Reluctantly, Roy began to accept the reality that he knew would be coming.

"Johnny? Remember when I was up for the promotion to engineer?"

"How could I forget?"

"If that law passes and we can still keep our paramedic license, would you consider a promotion?"

"I don't know. I guess I've never really thought about it. Would you?"

"I think I would at least consider it."

"Right."

Unnerved by how quiet the station was this morning, the kitchen clock began to chatter, ticking and tocking to fill the void. 6:36. They were on their second cup of coffee when the back doorbell rang. Roy answered.

"Oh! Good morning Chief McConnicke." John snapped into awareness.

"Good morning DeSoto. Gage?" He nodded at the sleepy, but alert, paramedic as he walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning." John fumbled out.

"I came to talk to Captain Stanley. I'll wait in his office. Mind if I take some coffee with me?"

"No, go ahead. Just be careful. It's really strong." Roy warned.

"Don't worry. On a day like today, I need strong coffee."

He poured a cup and walked to the office.

"What do you think this means?" John asked when the Chief was out of earshot.

"I don't know."

A short while later, the engine pulled back into the station.

"I swear! One more trash fire and I'm transferring to a brush station."

"Chet, you said that the last time." Marco said.

"And the time before that." Mike also added.

"And the time before that." Hank stated matter-of-factly.

From their post in the kitchen, John and Roy chuckled.

Filing into the room, the kitchen was suddenly busy with a swarm of firemen seeking out even the smallest sip of some very strong coffee.

"Wow, Mike. This is really strong coffee." Chet observed.

"More like liquid gold if you ask me." Hank took a giant gulp, ignoring how the hot liquid scalded his throat as he swallowed.

Marco leaned against the counter, mug between his hands raised to chin-level, inhaling one massive sniff of the sweet aroma. The chaos tamed for the moment, Roy allowed them a moment of peace before motioning Hank out to the bay.

"Cap?" His voice was hushed.

"Is everything okay Roy?"

"Well, I don't know. You see…the Chief is here."

He wasn't sure if the look in Roy's eyes was one of fear, concern, or curiosity—probably some combination thereof. He wasn't sure if he was afraid, concerned, or curious as to what McConnicke would want this early in the morning.

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"No. Just that he'd wait for you in the office."

"Did he seem mad? Maybe it's because of yesterday."

"No. He seemed nervous, but definitely not angry."

"Okay. Well you know him. He's always got something up his sleeve." Suspicion veiled his face.

"He got here just after you left. I think he pulled into the lot right when the tones went off."

"Okay. Maybe I should get some coffee as a peace offering?"

"No. He already took some."

"You mean he took this?" He raised the cup. "Did he think it was too strong?"

"We told him it was strong but he said that he needed strong coffee so it would be perfect. Then he went to the office."

"If I don't come back by shift change, it's because I'm dead."

Roy had to suppress a laugh.

"Don't worry Cap. We won't leave you behind. We…" he felt his voice falter. "We never would."

"I know that." He gave Roy a firm, yet gentle, slap on the shoulder, accompanied by a nod of understanding.

It was a simply exchange, but it had a much deeper meaning to both men.

He's got my back. He always has and always will. No matter what.

He waited until Hank walked into the office before he wandered back into the kitchen, closing the door on his way in. A new pot of coffee was brewing on the stove and Marco was busily warming up left-overs.

"You know, with this one's appetite," he gestured toward John, "I'm surprised you two didn't eat while we were gone."

"I guess we forgot that we were hungry." There was no expression on his face; he simply stared blankly toward Roy, trying to read him for any information about what the Chief might want with Hank.

Carefully detailing the unspoken exchange, Mike spoke up.

"Where's Cap?"

Another unspoken exchange. Roy spoke first.

"The Chief showed up just after you all got called out."

The spoon Marco had been holding fell to the floor, clanking against the counter as it fell, spiraling into the tile floor with a reverberant clash.

"The Chief?" Mike asked, wide-eyed.

"Is here?" Marco sought more confirmation to Roy's statement.

"Right now?" Chet concluded the triad of questions, slightly horrified about his earlier remark about transferring stations.

"Yes." The paramedics answered in unison.

"Did he say what he wanted?" Marco dug for details.

"No," John began. "He just said that he would wait for Cap in the office."

"What did Cap say?" Mike turned towards Roy, deducing what their conversation in the bay had been about.

"He was suspicious, probably a bit paranoid as always."

"Do you think it's about the exam?" Chet brought up the subject that was on all their minds.

"I don't know. It could be. It's most likely about that or about yesterday. But we don't know."

"Wow." Marco turned back toward the stove, grabbing another spoon.

The five men slipped into quietness, each lost in his own mind.

His hands were sweating, though he wasn't sure if it was anticipation for what lay behind the closed door or if it was from the hot mug he firmly grasped. With each step, his body grew heavier; each step became more strenuous. As if a beam of steal was tied to each leg, his legs dragged behind him, almost making him stumble. The coffee swished.

Kinda like my stomach.

He could still feel Roy's cool blue eyes watching him.

Okay Hank. Let's see what the Chief wants.

And so he walked through the threshold, unsure of what was to come. What he didn't know was that once he went through that door, there would be no going back to the way things had been only moments before, when he and his crew, the five men under his command, had enjoyed a peaceful moment of silent companionship and coffee on a typical morning at Station 51.