"Shit," Mike said, shaking his hand. He was working on a rocking chair for a fellow engineer, when a splinter lodged itself in his finger. Mike sucked his finger and glared at the offending piece of wood the splinter came from. He had just cut out the armrests, which meant the pieces weren't yet sanded. "Least I won't get another splinter," he muttered. Being a firefighter, he was superstitious. It was a common thought between any craftworkers that your first splinter on a project would be your last. Mike sucked on his finger a second longer before looking. "Ugh," he groaned in irritation, it appeared nastier than he first thought and he couldn't ignore it. He squinted and held his hand closer to the light. "Damn," He could actually see the splinter beneath his skin, it was a monster of a splinter. He switched off the radio and the electricity to the shop and closed the door behind him, heading for his house. Tramping upstairs, he pulled out the first aid kit in the bathroom. Thanks to Johnny and Roy, it was fully stocked, it even had a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. Hoping he would never need to use those, he dug out the tweezers, antibacterial ointment, and band aid.

Content with his now splinter free finger, he meandered back downstairs and restored the power to his garage converted wood shop. He remembered, with a smile, when he finally convinced Beth to give up the garage. It could be converted back if needed, but couldn't host a car right now. Mike had outfitted the garage door with a regular door, which prevented the garage door from rolling up. Maybe he'd convince Beth to let him build a proper workshop in the backyard. He was sure Johnny would help. Mind back to his project, he methodically sanded the cut pieces of the chair, extra sure to avoid splinters. He hummed along to James Taylor that was playing over the radio.

When he finished sanding all the pieces, he looked up at the clock. He still had some time before his girls came home. With a smile, he thought about how proud he was of his wife. She had decided to keep her fulltime job after they got married, and after having a kid. Not many women did, but she loved it and was very good at it. Turning his head back to his project, he re-measured everything, ever the perfectionist. Frowning, he looked at one piece, it was off by half an inch. With an eye roll at himself, he plugged his saw back in, ready to shave off the excess wood.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Beth pulled into the driveway. After turning the car off, she unbuckled Betty out of her car seat. "Wanna say hello to Daddy?" She asked. The door to the workshop was open. The only time the door was open was when Mike was inside. He was very careful about securing his workshop, it was a dangerous place.

"Yes!" came the enthusiastic toddler's response.

"Let's go!" Beth said with a laugh, plucking Betty up from her car seat and walking up the driveway. They could hear the radio playing from inside, but there were no working sounds. Beth shrugged, she thought he may be 'peering' at his work. If Mike wasn't pleased with something, or he thought something was off, he'd stare at it, until he either had an epiphany, the object gave him an answer, or he was interrupted. "Hi honey, we're home!" she said with a smirk, aware that the phrase usually came from the other married counterpart. Looking inside, she gasped. The workshop was empty. Instead of her husband sitting on the stool as she pictured, there was a bloody rag. Everything looked like he left in a hurry, the only exception was the unplugged saw on the counter. On the cord was even more blood. "Let's go inside," Beth uttered quickly, closing the door and making her way to the house, as there was no inside access. Mike's truck was still in the driveway, so he was still home she noticed, but what condition was he in? There was a lot of blood on that rag. "Betty, go play in your corner please," she instructed the toddler, "Mommy will be right back." She put Betty down in her play area, then walked up the stairs to their bedroom.

"I'm in here," Mike said from the bathroom when he heard footsteps. Beth altered her path. What she saw from the doorway was not encouraging. Mike was sitting on the floor leaning against the sink, his left arm raised above his head, gauze haphazardly wrapped around his left hand. He looked pale. The first aid kit was open and wet and bloody toilet paper was in the trash can. "Hi dear," he greeted her with a forced smile. "How was your day?" he casually inquired.

"What happened? Are you okay?" she asked, completely ignoring him and inspecting his wrapped thumb.

He swatted her hands away, "Well," he started, "You know I'm working on Vincent and Barb's rocking chair?" Beth nodded, reaching for his bandage again. He pulled his hand away, "I just got it to stop bleeding."

"Oh," she said, dropping her hands and letting him continue.

"I miscut a piece, so I went to shave it off with the saw," he explained. "I knew it was close-ish to the time you got home, 'cause I wanted to beat you inside to start dinner, so I was listening for your car." He felt safe enough to re-raise his hand without Beth reaching for it, so he did. "Mid cut, I thought I heard you pull up in the driveway so, I looked up to see." Mike winced, remembering, "I shaved off a bit more than half an inch of wood," he finished sheepishly.

Beth's eyes grew wide and she clutched the sink's edge, "You," she paused, it was worse than she thought, "You cut off your thumb?" she asked breathlessly, not only was it traumatic, it could be a career ender.

Mike appeared to grow even paler and look nauseated, following Beth's line of thought. "No," Mike reassured, "Thank god no." He forcefully swallowed and puffed out a breath, "At least, not the whole thumb," he added, looking down at the floor. "I'm pretty sure it'll need stitches."

"Oh," she paused. "Okay then," Beth said, relieved his thumb was still there. "I'll get Betty ready to go." She turned around and left Mike sitting on the bathroom floor.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Soon the family of three were on their way to Rampart. Mike was in the passenger seat, still clutching his thumb, paranoid about it bleeding through his poor bandage job. Betty was staring at her parents from the backseat, not saying a word and clutching a favorite toy. Beth drove the unfortunately familiar route to the hospital.

"What part did you cut?" she asked. Wanting to know, and at the same time not.

"The inside of my thumb's sheared, but the blade cut a lac further down before I pulled away," Mike explained, using his good hand to point at Beth's as he talked.

"Ouch," she said, wincing in sympathy. After getting over her initial shock and fear, she was concerned.

"Just the hour earlier, I got a splinter," he practically whined, holding up his other hand with the band aid. Beth smirked, she knew the superstition between crafters.

"I hope I can finish the chair in time," he muttered.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Nurse Sharon Walters was sitting at the triage desk in the waiting room at Rampart. Between starting paperwork on patients, taking initial vital signs, then finishing paperwork, she was busy. The front doors whooshed as they opened again, indicating yet another patient. She sighed, "Can you stay closed for at least five minutes?" she mentally asked the doors. Huffing, she pulled out a blank patient form. Putting her 'Here to help' face on, she looked up. Her eyes furrowed in partial recognition at the couple. The man that caught her attention immediately went to sit in a chair. He looked familiar, but she couldn't place him. A woman she hadn't seen before walked up to the desk with a toddler on her hip.

"I'd like to check my husband in," she said politely.

"Sure Ma'am," Sharon answered, "Just fill out these forms. When you're done, bring him over to get his vital signs checked," she said, passing the forms over. The woman nodded and went to sit next to the man Sharon was trying to place. Someone clearing their throat brought her attention back, "Yes, how can I help you?"

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE

No matter how hard she tried, Sharon couldn't place him until the woman returned with the filled paperwork. "Mrs. Stoker," Sharon said, after a quick glance down at the form, "Does your husband happen to be a firefighter?" she asked, the name finally jogging her memory. "How could I forget?" she admonished herself, she sat across from him at the station on her ride along.

"Yes actually," she smiled, "He's the engineer at-"

"51," Sharon answered for her. "Ms. McCall and Doctor Brackett are working tonight, I'll go speak to them right away," she told her, motioning another nurse over to the desk.

Beth nodded in surprise and turned around. Sitting back down, she leaned over and said quietly. "She's going to talk to Dix and Doctor Brackett." Mike nodded, he thought she might be the young nurse who did a ride along.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"Ms. McCall," Sharon said, walking up to her Charge Nurse's desk.

"Aren't you supposed to be at triage Nurse Walters?" Dixie asked, eyeing the young nurse up and down.

"Yes Ms. McCall, but I made sure someone was there before I left," she explained. The triage desk was never to be empty.

"Good girl," Dix complimented. Nodding, she encouraged Sharon to continue.

"I wanted to bring you this file personally," Dix took the file Sharon offered and started to open it. "Mike Stoker is in the waiting room," she reported.

"What?" Dixie blurted, not prepared to hear that name. Opening the file quicker and scanning the contents, she called Kel's office line. "Thanks Sharon," she said with a smile waiting for him to pick up. Looking at the room assignments, she instructed "You can bring him back to 4."

Sharon nodded and went to retrieve the firefighter family.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"Alright Mike," Doctor Brackett informed, "This is lidocaine, it'll numb the area so you shouldn't feel anything."

"Right," Mike said, trying not to look at the massive needle Doctor Brackett was holding. Beth and Betty were waiting in the Doctor's lounge. Neither he nor Beth wanted their two-year-old to get scared. In addition to his child's concern, he didn't like getting stitches. It wasn't the first time, but repetition never made it a more desirable experience. He wanted to lick his wounds in peace without having to be the strong father figure.

"Next time you'll look at what you're cutting, right Mike?" Kel asked with a smile as they waited for the lidocaine to work.

"I normally do," Mike said, "I guess muscle memory got the best of me."

"What are you making?" Dixie asked, handing Doctor Brackett the sutures.

"A rocking chair, 36's engineer is expecting a kid," Mike answered, "It's their first too," he added with a smile.

"They're lucky to get a Stoker Original," Dixie complimented. Mike nodded, accepting the compliment.

"Can you feel this, Mike?" Kel asked, interrupting the conversation and gently poking Mike's thumb. When Mike shook his head, Kel continued, "You might feel a little tug every so often, but that should be all," Doctor Brackett advised. Mike licked his lips, that was the worst part. "It'll only need a couple stitches," Brackett finished. Mike nodded, otherwise remaining silent. He tried not looking at his thumb, but his curiosity got the better of him. It already looked better than when he first saw it, now it wasn't bleeding. A small part of the inside of the thumb was shaved off, with a laceration going further down to between his thumb and finger. Mike looked away, remembering the initial cut and feeling nauseous again, thankful it had stopped bleeding.

Dixie seemed to share his thought, "How much blood did you lose?" she asked. Mike frowned in thought, liquid in a rag and on the floor was incredibly difficult to measure. He went to shrug, but a tugging sensation on his thumb reminded him that might not be a good idea.

"I don't know," he answered verbally, "I put pressure on it right away though," he added.

"We'll make a paramedic out of you yet," Kel said between stitches with a smirk.

"Your blood pressure's been okay, so it must not be that bad," Dixie surmised. "But drink lots of water tonight okay? At least eight cups." Brackett nodded in agreement.

"Alright, all finished," Brackett said, standing and turning his gloves inside out. Mike blinked, that was quick. "Try and keep it dry for the next week," Kel advised, "Then you can come back and get them pulled."

Mike looked up, "Doctor Brackett," he said, wondering if he even wanted to broach the subject, "I'm an engineer…" he stated. "And I don't wanna miss work for a couple stitches." he added.

Brackett frowned and his face twitched, "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "If you can find a way to keep them dry, you can still work, just don't rip them," he ordered with a finger pointed in Mike's direction. With that he walked out the door.

"We'll think of something," Dixie promised as she placed a more permanent bandage on his thumb. While she was putting extra supplies away, she stopped mid motion, "I have an idea," she said, turning and promptly leaving the room. He nodded even though she was already gone and looked around to pass the time. He didn't know what half of the equipment did, but he could picture Roy and Johnny knowing what everything was and how it worked. There was a knock at the door, and Mike answered. Speak of the devil.

"You alright, Mike?" Johnny asked. Mike simply nodded. "Beth and Betty surprised the heck outta me in the lounge. What happened?"

Mike was sure Beth had told him, but he answered anyway, "I cut the side of my thumb off."

"Damn Stokes, is that all?" Johnny said, successfully combining concern and sarcasm in one sentence. Gage looked at the bandage Dixie had just finished, he could tell Johnny was seriously debating on unwrapping it and inspecting it himself.

"Sounds worse than it is," Mike brushed it off. "Needed some stitches though, so here I am."

"Who did your stitches?" Johnny asked, finally deciding not to unwrap it, instead throwing himself on the rolling stool Brackett vacated minutes ago, rolling hallway across the room before he stopped himself by grabbing onto a counter.

Mike smirked, then answered, "Doctor Brackett."

"Good, he's the best. Probably won't even scar," Johnny said, as if he had gotten stitches from every Doctor in Rampart. In fact, he had, Mike reminded himself. "How'd you cut off your thumb?" With a sigh, Mike explained his story again. "That's rotten luck," Johnny said when Mike had finished, "I bet you've done that a hundred times without lopping off your fingers."

Mike hadn't admitted to anyone he had. Not that he made a normal practice of it, sometimes it just happened. Nodding unhappily he said, "Guess I learned my lesson." To change the topic he asked, "Where you pulling overtime?"

"My old station." Mike nodded. "Not my old partner though," John clarified, he didn't want Roy getting worried or jealous, even though the chances of the older paramedic hearing, and or caring, were slim to none. "Pretty sure he's a Captain up in the second battalion," Johnny continued rambling. Mike nodded, rolling his eyes fondly. "He never got his medic, so I couldn't work with him, unless I picked up a lineman shift."

"Right," Dixie said, opening the door, effectively cutting off Johnny's rant, "This is my idea." She stopped when she saw Johnny, "Oh good, we can get your opinion."

"You, want my opinion?" Johnny said, splaying his hands on his chest, "I don't think so." Which caused Dix to roll her eyes.

Turning back to Mike, "Gloves," she suggested proudly, carrying several boxes. "They're waterproof, so wear them on calls, doing dishes, really anything that includes water," she passed her idea on.

Johnny's eyes widened in understanding, stitches needed to stay dry. "Isn't that a sign from the gods, our engineer can't get water on 'im." He stood, "That's just asking for a bad shift. I might call in sick," he said airily as he walked out of the treatment room, "Good luck," he uttered as the door swished closed behind him.

Dixie rolled her eyes. "Five bucks you'll see him next shift," she betted affectionately.

Mike shook his head, "Five bucks I'll see him and he'll complain about it the entire time." Dix nodded and the two shook hands.

"I'm going to regret that," Dixie said, "Never bet against the quiet ones," she admonished herself. After a pause, "Let's see what glove size fits you," she put her boxes of gloves down on the exam table.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"The guys at the station are gonna love this," Mike said, looking at the box of large gloves in his lap. "Johnny and Roy are paramedics and I'll be wearing gloves more than them!" he commented

"I don't think they'll care, you didn't leave them with a sub," Beth said, rolling her eyes. "You know Hank'll be thankful," she told him. That was the only thing Mike had talked about since they'd gotten in the car ten minutes ago.

Mike shrugged in admission. "You hungry?" When Beth nodded he suggested, "What about burgers?"

"Sounds good, you need to keep your thumb dry anyway." By order of Dix, she and Betty were brought back as he was getting discharge instructions. Dixie wanted a 'Responsible Mind' present, so Mike couldn't claim to forget anything. "Plus," Beth added, "I'd rather you not cook spaghetti, or anything red for a while anyway."

"Deal," Mike wholeheartedly agreed.

"Hey," she said gently, getting his attention, "Do you still believe in that old superstition?" she asked, wondering if this whole ordeal had changed his mind.

He remained quiet for a minute or two before answering, "I mean, this isn't a splinter, so it doesn't count," holding his left hand up. Beth rolled her eyes then laughed. There was a comfortable pause before Mike grinned, then asked, "Wanna help me finish a chair?"