Warnings: mild language, extremely brief mentions of illness and death in the family

...does the guys being super adorable need a warning, too?

"How do they do it?"

Roy turned to look at Johnny.

"How do they do what?"

Johnny gestured toward the kitchen, saying, "Mike and Marco! They're in there makin' dinner and not sayin' a damn word to one another! It's incredible!"

"Why? They've been doin' it for months now, Junior. Did you just notice?"

"I- wha- no! No, I didn't just notice! I just don't get how they do it, Roy."

"How they do what?"

Johnny was giving him the look that meant he didn't understand why Roy didn't understand. Roy knew he was wearing his usual expression of exasperation.

"Roy, the two of them know everything. All the time. Like right now they're makin' a whole meal and barely sayin' two words to each other. In fact, they barely ever say more'n two words to each other, but they still know things. Like, I mean, I know they hang out in their off-time, and they must talk then, but that doesn't explain everything. When do they talk?"

"I couldn't tell you," Roy replied, "Mike's just a quiet guy by nature, doesn't talk much, period. Most I've heard him talk was the other day when Hammer was leavin'. Why are you so concerned about it?"

"I just- it-it's just weird, is all."

"What, that they can go more than five seconds without talking?"

That earned him the signature dirty look. Poor Captain Stanley… man has no idea what he's in for… Hammer was promoted to chief, and their new captain was a recently promoted one, a man named Hank Stanley. Roy had asked around the department, and not one fireman had a bad thing to say about Stanley. He'd been an engineer for quite a while, and anyone who'd worked with him genuinely seemed to like him, (though one or two may have mentioned a high-strung moment at the station), said there wasn't a more level-headed man at a fire. Roy certainly hoped Stanley would be able to handle 51s.

"It's just odd that they both always know everything, including what the other is gonna say or do, all without speaking."

"What's so weird about it? You and I do it while we're on-scene."

"It's different. That's work. We can all do that with each other while we're workin'."

"Well, me and Joanne do it."

"That's different, too. You're married to Joanne."

Is it so different? Roy had noticed the interesting behavior almost from the first. Mike and Marco got along right away, started hanging out off-shift their first day off. Their ability to communicate without words was uncanny. A gesture or a simple look was all they needed, and it happened to drive Johnny and Chet insane. Like Roy had said, he and Johnny could do the same on a run, but Mike and Marco did it all the time around the station. If Roy were being truly honest with himself, the only time he'd really seen two people do that was when those two people were a couple… a married couple.

Now, Mike and Marco were certainly not married, not only because it wasn't legal but because someone would know. There would be signs, like them living together or-… well, that was the only one Roy could think of that he hadn't seen. They didn't act flustered around one another like someone with a crush might, but Roy recalled that he and Joanne had never been like that, either. From the day they met in fourth grade and Roy went home and told his mom and stepdad he found the girl he was going to marry, there had never been a moment of awkwardness. The two of them just fit together, right from the start. Maybe it was the same with Mike and Marco.

"Goddammit, Chet!"

Chet's cackling laugh floated into the bay. Roy just shook his head and went into the kitchen. He liked watching Mike and Marco work on dinner anyway.

xXxXx

Marco and Mike were the obvious choices to make Capt. Stanley's welcome dinner. They were by and large the best cooks, and they worked together best, worked in perfect concert, seemed to instinctively know how the other would move. It was almost a dance between them. Tonight, they were preparing spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, salad with homemade vinaigrette to start, and they were even making a small cake for dessert. Marco and Mike all but waltzed with each other around the small kitchen, stepping this way and that.

Mike was graceful, Marco came to notice, more graceful than firemen tended to be. When necessary, he moved with a fluid grace, easily sidestepping and turning. His hands were especially interesting to Marco. They were rough and calloused and big, firemen's hands, working hands. Those hands weren't meant to be graceful or move beautifully, but they did. His hands were expressive, even in their slightest movements. He could haul lines and operate a chainsaw and knock down a door, but his hands were delicate enough to carefully operate the pumps and cook a meal and comfort a frightened victim.

Everything about Mike was like that, somehow both strong and gentle all at once: his long limbs, his not quite rugged features, his big and expressive hands and fingers. Especially his hands and fingers. Shortly after he broke his ribs, Marco had come to a startling realization, one that hit him like a proverbial freight train. He found Mike attractive. More accurately, he was attracted to Mike. There was love, too, but love came easily to Marco. He loved all the guys at 51s, would lay down his life for any one of them, but Mike was different. He couldn't say he wanted to ravish the other man, but he could say with certainty that Mike was hot.

Mike gave him a nudge, and Marco looked over to see where Mike was in his recipe, quickly retrieving what he needed and handing it over. Marco checked his watch and went to pull the cake out of the oven while Mike put the meatballs in.

"How'd you get so good at cooking?" Marco asked, working on his vinaigrette.

"I've told you that before."

"Well, tell me again. I like the story."

Mike smiled, a shy smile Marco loved, and said, "We had an aunt that lived with us, Aunt Stella, my mom's brother's widow. Originally Stella Colombera, then Stella Wright. She loved cooking. She could make anything after one look at the recipe, and sometimes she didn't even need that. She'd just make something up off the top of her head, just like that. I loved Aunt Stella, and the best way to spend time with her was to cook with her. She taught me how to bake and grill and sauté and make sauce. She even taught me how to make my own pasta from scratch. What about you, Marco? How'd you get so good at cooking?"

"I've told you that before," he smirked.

"Tell me again."

They shared a smile, and Marco explained, "When you're one of nine kids, you need to kinda learn to fend for yourself, but you also have to be able to take care of others, especially the younger kids. I was the middle child, five of nine, so I got taken care of and then had to take care of others. It was mi abuela who taught us niños how to cook. Told us we had to be able to fend for ourselves one day and that everyone should have a few things they could make from memory for each course. Cooking was something we could all do together, all us niños y mi mama y mi abuela."

"Guess we just have good memories from making meals," Mike commented.

"Yeah… Abuela still cooks at big meals, only she moves a little slower than before."

Marco looked at his friend and saw him wearing a wistful smile, the blue eyes full of remembrance.

"Aunt Stella died right after I graduated the Fire Academy, just about a month after. The night of the graduation, though, she made a huge dinner and invited the whole family. God, I still remember that spread. She made everything under the sun. We had leftovers for weeks. Then, it was about a month after that she had a nasty fall that put her in the hospital. She got septic, then got pneumonia, and that was it. Arrivederci, Aunt Stella."

Marco said nothing. He knew Mike would prefer it that way. Instead, he simply laid a reassuring hand on Mike's forearm, offering him a gentle smile. A rough hand rested on his briefly, sending warmth and lightness up his arm to settle in his abdomen.

xXxXx

Roy smiled behind his paper at the two men making dinner, slightly more curious than before. Mike and Marco silently nudged each other for ingredients, easily working in tandem. Maybe there is something there between them. Roy liked to think he was a modern kind of guy. He'd known some guys in the Army who were gay (closeted, of course), and there were one or two people he knew outside of work he was pretty sure were homosexual. He really didn't think homosexuals were different from anyone else. They fell in love and out of love and had the same concerns as everyone else. He was ashamed to feel a tendril of disgust when he wondered if either man had ever 'looked' at him. His friends should not disgust him, not just because they may be homosexual. Now, if they were serial killers or rapists or cannibals, that would disgust me.

Mike and Marco leaned in a little closer, speaking to each other in low tones, both wearing similar shy smiles. Roy would not have been surprised if they started giggling. They sure do look happy when they're together… and I suppose that's all that matters, whether or not they're happy. Marco laid a hand on Mike's arm, and Mike covered it with one of his own. The way they smiled at each other… Warmth bloomed in Roy's chest. The door to the kitchen opened to reveal Capt. Stanley.

"Cap, not yet!" the cooks chorused.

"Well, why not?" he asked, hands on his hips.

"Because we're trying to surprise you-" Mike started.

"-and if you see what we're doing, it's not a surprise anymore," Marco finished.

"You're lettin' DeSoto sit right there and watch ya," Stanley commented.

"We're not trying to surprise him," Marco replied.

Roy piped up, "I think they're tryin' to say 'shoo', Cap. If I were you, I'd go check on Chet and Johnny. They're being too quiet."

When Stanley finally gave in and left the kitchen grumbling, Roy decided to get up and follow him. He told Mike and Marco, "Good luck, fellas," on the way out, wondering if they would discern the double meaning.

xXxXx

"Is the coast clear?" Johnny hissed from outside.

"Yeah, hurry up," Mike answered.

Johnny and Chet snuck in with some decorations. Mike thought it was a little silly at first, to decorate and have a cake and everything, but Marco and the others convinced him otherwise. Light banter filtered in from Johnny and Chet while Mike and Marco finished the food.

"Y'know, Mike," Marco said quietly, "you should come to one of my family's dinners sometime."

There was a warm flutter in Mike's stomach.

"Oh, I couldn't. I wouldn't wanna impose-"

"It wouldn't be imposing. Look, my family's Mexican, and if there's one thing Mexican families like, it's getting together for a big meal, and mi mama is always looking for someone else to fatten up."

"Nine isn't enough for her to feed?" Mike asked.

"Well, there's seven kids, some of them have spouses now, boyfriends, girlfriends, a multitude of cousins and their spouses, boyfriends, and girlfriends… Our parties get pretty big, and there's still always too much food. We need someone else to take home leftovers. I'd love for you to come with me sometime."

Mike had half a mind to ask why the number of children dropped from nine to seven, but he thought better of it. Now is certainly neither the time nor the place. Not today. I hope he'll tell me one day, though. Family was one thing they never really brought up except for Marco mentioning he was one of nine children and where they learned to cook. There were things Mike absolutely wanted to tell Marco, that he already trusted him to know but wasn't brave enough to tell him just yet… the least of which being that he loved him.

He wasn't sure he was in love with Marco, but he was certain that he loved him. Mike did not love freely or easily, not like some people. He picked a few good people and latched onto them, and Marco was the best yet. He made Mike feel comfortable and warm and pleasant, and comfortable was the most important.

Mike liked everything about Marco. The man was kind, unselfish, good-hearted, and loyal. He always wore a smile, especially for Mike, one that reflected his warm attitude. His good looks certainly didn't hurt, with that handsomely tan skin, brown eyes that looked almost black but in sunlight took on a deep golden hue, toned muscle in his chest and arms and back and legs. Marco was nice to look at, that was for damn sure. His hands often drew Mike's attention, too. They were rough firemen's hands, calloused and scarred, but they were as warm and kind as the rest of him. Mike knew they could be gentle, too.

He'd seen Marco patiently administer oxygen to a family dog, carefully holding and distracting little kids after car accidents, comforting an elderly Latina woman whose husband was taken to the hospital, and now watched him carefully mix together the ingredients for the cake frosting and apply it to the cake. Mike would be lying if he said he hadn't wondered what those hands would feel like on his body.

"You alright, Mike?" Marco asked, "You look a little flushed."

"Oh, I'm fine. Just thinkin', is all."

"Musta been somethin' nice," he smirked, "Here, you write on the cake. You have better handwriting."

"Yeah, well, handwriting has nothing to do with cake decorating. You're lucky I've done this before or this would look six kinds of fucked up."

Mike made a little piping bag the way Aunt Stella taught him and carefully wrote 'Welcome to 51s, Cap' on top of the small cake. He and Marco popped the cake in the fridge, then helped Chet and Johnny finish setting the table.

"You think the new Cap is gonna like it?" Chet queried, sounding honestly curious.

They stepped back, looking over their handiwork. A banner hung over the table, proclaiming 'WELCOME CAP' in painted red block letters. Marco had procured a fairly nice tablecloth from his mother to make it look a bit nicer, and Mike had carefully arranged the tableware and everything so it all looked like a picture from a magazine.

"I think the new Cap is gonna love it."

Everyone turned. Capt. Stanley stood in the doorway, wearing a genuinely happy smile, his eyes suspiciously misty.

"Aw, Cap, you were supposed to wait!" Chet spoke up.

"Yeah," Johnny agreed, "we had it all planned out to surprise ya."

"Believe me, Gage. I am very surprised… and very happy," Stanley told them, "This is-… this is incredible, fellas. You all don't know how much it means to me for you guys to be so welcoming."

"We're glad to have you, Cap," Mike said, "We only hope you'll feel the same way about us."

"Me, too, Stoker. Now, c'mon, let's sit down and dig into this food…"

Marco sat beside Mike, helping him dole out food. Cap had nothing but praise for their skills, wanting to know if he could expect this kind of food every shift. There was plenty of laughter around the table that night, lots of joking and storytelling Mike kept himself out of, as usual. Marco helped him do so, expertly deflecting attention away from Mike when needed, something for which Mike extremely grateful.

The cake went over well, too, surprising Cap again with its kind message and the fact that it was all made from scratch.

"Thanks, fellas. I really mean it. It means a lot to have you guys bein' so welcoming to a-a new captain. I sure hope I can live up to your expectations. Now, someone go call us go us in available so we can go back to work, huh?"

Roy went to follow Cap's suggestion while Mike and Marco worked on cleaning all the dishes. Marco's shoulder bumped up against Mike's every so often, and Mike found he rather liked it. He liked the proximity, the closeness, the warmth.

"Thank you, Marco," he whispered before he could stop himself.

They turned to look at each other, smiling. Marco's dark brown eyes searched his briefly, and comfortable warmth fluttered in Mike's belly.

"You're welcome, Mike… for everything."

Mike inched closer to Marco there at the sink and passed him another dish to be dried. I think I'm letting myself get too deep… but goddamn, the falling is just so much fun.