Warnings: some language, funeral service, OC death (previous, mentioned)

Mike waited for his turn to speak at Bobby's service. Tears kept sneaking up on him at odd moments, like during breakfast or watching TV or doing laundry. Marco had been very patient with him and those random bursts of crying, ready to comfort him and dry his tears. He can't do that here. Marco sat with the rest of their shift and other firemen from various stations. Mike sat in the first row beside Maggie, Ellie, and Len, across from his fellow pallbearers as was requested in Bobby's will. He couldn't take his off Bobby's body in the open casket. He did not look asleep.

A chief got up to speak first, said all of the things chiefs are supposed to say about duty and honor and loss and courage, though he did have some useful things to say about Bobby personally. That was a nice touch. Their first captain from 69s, now older and much greyer, went next, sharing stories about his time working with Bobby.

"…but if there's anyone in the department who could say they knew Bobby Lee Starrett," Capt. Spahr said, "Mike Stoker could. He's the man who knew Bob best."

Spahr stepped back from the microphone, inviting Mike up to speak. He pulled Mike into a quick hug, offering quiet encouragement.

"Well… anyone who knows me is gonna be pretty surprised, 'cause I've got a lot to say about Bobby Lee, and it's not often I have a lot to say. Now… I've known-… I knew Bobby from the day I-I joined the department. I was a-a lanky, stupid boot, and Bobby was the engineer, and I liked him as soon as I met him," Mike told everyone, ignoring the murmurs as he spoke, sure to sign everything he said so Len could understand, "Bobby greeted me with a big smile, and he never took it off. He had a smile for everyone, all the time. He was kind and smart and knew his job inside and out, and I knew I wanted to be just like him. I looked up to him.

"I never thought he would become one of my best friends. For a while, he was just my mentor. He was the guy who answered all my questions and made sure I knew how to do my job. Then his son Len was born, and him and Maggie learned he was deaf. Most hearing parents would have been devastated, I think, would have been angry, would have been sad… but not Bobby and Maggie. Bobby just came into work and told me like it was no big deal, said 'Well, Stoker, guess I need to learn some of that sign language so I can talk with my boy.' I told him I could help, since-… since my parents are deaf and I've signed my whole life.

"That's when we really became friends. He invited me into his family, let me help them, let me watch their children grow up with them. You've already heard about Capt. Starrett, the fireman. I-I wanna tell you about Bobby, the loving husband, the caring father, the good friend.

"Maggie, he loved you so much. Every day, he would come in and say the most wonderful things about you. He always called you his love and his beautiful lady and his darling belle. I never even knew your right name for the first two-three weeks 'cause he never used it. He bragged about everything about you: your beauty, your cooking, your kindness… Bobby adored you above everything.

"Ellie, Len… he adored you, too, more than anything. Bobby was always proud of you, in all you did. He brought in your artwork for the station fridge… test papers, too. You were always the best, the brightest, the most well-behaved… and he was right. Ellie, you were his little princess, then his little rocket scientist. Len, you were his precious boy, his young man. He would have done anything in the world for you two, if only to make you happy. You being happy and healthy was all he cared about.

"Bobby Starrett had the-the biggest heart of an-anyone I've ever met," Mike went on, his voice beginning to waver at last, his hands shaking, "He was just the kindest person I knew. I never heard him yell in anger or speak poorly of anyone or turn away anyone in-in need. Bobby-… Bobby was al-always there for you if you needed him, a-a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on or-or cry on, an-and he nev-never judged. He truly meant it whe-when he said he said he-he loved everyone, a-an-and may-maybe that's why it wa-was his heart that gave out… be-because he loved ev-everyone too mu-much-"

A sob caught in his throat, his lip trembling. Knowing his voice wouldn't work, he signed, -Please remember… I will always be there for you… anything you need, you tell me. I can't replace him, but I can be there.-

xXxXx

There wasn't a dry eye in the house after Mike's eulogy. Hank's certainly weren't. I wonder what my friends'll say about me when I'm gone. Certainly won't sound that good. He watched as Mike and the other pallbearers bore Starrett sedately down the aisle of the church, Mike's face unable to hide his grief. Hank knew how he felt. He'd been in the same position twice before, had to take his friends and brothers to their final resting place. The feeling stuck with you, never forgotten.

He looked down the pew at his men. Roy was his other bookend, his expression resigned sadness, his clear eyes not quite blank. He's got a family, too. His funeral could be like this, with his widow and children crying in the front pew. It's what mine could look like for that matter. Funerals like this always hit close to home. Roy was doing his best to keep it together, and he was doing a pretty good job… which was more than he could say for some of his crew. Not that I can blame them…

Johnny was sandwiched between Roy and Chet, leaning closer to Roy. He was looking at his lap, his face wet, and Hank could hear him sniffing quietly, saw his shoulders shaking slightly. Maybe he was thinking of what he would say at Roy's funeral should it ever come to that. Hank had done it himself after a close call or a department funeral. It was only natural, really, to prepare for the worst. Roy had a hand on Johnny's shoulder, squeezed gently, leaned in (presumably) to tell Johnny it would be alright; it didn't seem to be working too well.

Chet was next, between Johnny and Marco, and Hank was almost shocked when he turned his attention to him. The young lineman's blue eyes were rimmed in angry red, were brimming with tears. He must have been crying the whole time. Chet looked miserable, utterly miserable, tears still rolling slowly down his cheeks. What has Chet lived through that he can cry so quietly? Hank remembered the young man had been in Vietnam for a time, wondered what he'd seen over there, prayed it hadn't been too horrible. He made a mental note to make sure Chet wasn't left alone following the funeral.

Between Chet and Hank was Marco. Hank thought back to when Marco's grandmother died. The lineman hadn't shed a tear at all through the service, and he hadn't through this one, though his eyes were wet like everyone else's. Hank recalled having a talk with Mike at that time about feeling helpless when someone you loved was grieving. Someone else may not have noticed that Marco's eyes were focused on Mike rather than the open casket, but Hank did. He laid a hand on Marco's forearm, squeezing comfortingly, murmuring, "He'll be alright, Marco… just take care of him, and he'll be alright."

Brown eyes turned to Hank, and Marco chewed his lip briefly, like a question was being asked.

"It's the same advice I gave Mike once," Hank explained.

Marco's gaze went back to Mike, following him down the aisle of the church. The burial wasn't much better. Mike's face was wet when he handed Maggie Starrett the folded flag that had covered her husband's casket. A strange cold gripped Hank's spine, and for a brief moment he saw his own wife weeping and accepting the flag. He shook himself minutely to rid himself of the vision. The cold grip remained despite the August heat.

He carefully cornered Marco before they left the cemetery for the funeral reception. Marco told him quietly, "I just feel so bad, Cap… I-I dunno how to help him, how to make him feel better. Just-… God, he's just hurting so much, and I don't know what to do. I don't like watching him suffer like this."

"He told me about the same thing when your grandmother died," Hank said, "and I'm gonna tell you what I told him. It never feels good when someone you love is suffering and you can't fix it. Trust me. I've been there. Sometimes, all you can do is be there to listen, be a shoulder to cry on, a comforting presence. We were there when it happened, too, which doesn't help. I think we all feel a little guilty, honestly, that we couldn't do more."

Marco sniffed and nodded. Hank whispered, "You just take care of him, and he'll be alright in due time. I know it," as the others approached. Mike rode with Starrett's family. Hank did not like how quiet his sedan was on the way to the reception. He didn't like it at all.

xXxXx

Mike stayed through the whole reception solely out of duty to Maggie and the kids. He didn't want them there alone. Neither Maggie nor Bobby had any family to travel to California for the funeral, only the family they'd made there in the department. It's my duty. They need me… and maybe I need them, too. His crew hung close by the whole time, especially Marco.

Marco was a godsend. He kept Mike calm and grounded through the whole horrible ordeal. He keeps the anger away, keeps me from wanting to do something stupid. The urge was there even now, the urge to find something to throw or put his fist through, but he forced it down. What was his grief compared to Maggie's, who'd just lost the love of her life, or to Ellie and Len's, when they'd just lost their father? Mike having an outburst of grief here would be rude and ridiculous, the height of impropriety (as his mother would say).

"Mikey, darlin', you alright?"

"I oughta ask you that, Maggie."

"Don't you worry about me none, darlin'," she drawled softly, "I've made my peace with God. I'll tell ya somethin'… just like his namesake, Bobby Lee was fond of Stonewall Jackson, the Confederate general, thought he was a wise and incredible man. Now, he was a religious man, General Jackson, even once said 'My religious belief teaches me to feel as safe in battle as in bed. God has fixed the time for my death. I do not concern myself about that, but to be always ready, no matter when it may overtake me.' He gave himself over to God's will, and my Bobby did the same… and so have I. The kids don't feel quite that way just yet, but I'm hopin' they will one day."

"Why though? Maggie, why was it God's will tha-that his heart give out on a Tuesday? In front of his best friend? Why would God do that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice quiet.

"Why, that's hardly my place to say, for any of us to say. I know it doesn't comfort many folk these days, but I believe God has a plan for all of us, places obstacles and tragedy in our way as a test of strength, a test of faith. It comforts me, which I suppose is what really matters. I'm afraid it's the only way I know how to comfort others, however, whether they appreciate it or not."

Mike said nothing, mixed emotions swirling inside him. Maggie sighed, "I've had his gravestone picked out for years. It will say 'Robert Lee Starrett, Beloved Husband, Father, Friend,' and then have the dates of his life. Then it will say 'Let us cross over the river, and rest under the shade of the trees.' I should think he'd like it. They were General Jackson's last words."

"I think he'd love it, Maggie."

She turned to look at him, saying, "You look so tired, Mikey, darlin'. You go on home. You get that sweet man Marco to take you home and get some rest. We'll be alright."

Thankfully, Marco chose that exact moment to come over. Maggie reached out, telling him, "Marco, honey, you be a dear and take our Mikey home and take good care of him. He deserves a good rest after all this sadness and trouble, I should think. We'll call if we need somethin', Mikey. We'll call even if we don't."

Mike wrapped his arms around Maggie, hugged the children goodbye, promised to come by as often as possible. The rest of the crew had already left. Mike allowed himself to be led out to Marco's car, his body slumped, his feet heavy… his heart heavier. Marco whispered, "It'll be okay, querido. We'll just get you to bed, an-and things'll be better in the morning. Not by much, but better. C'mere…"

Something deep inside Mike ached hellishly, ached like it would never stop. It was awful. It made the anger come back. His hands balled into fists, shaking there atop his thighs. If Marco noticed, he said nothing, only keeping his eyes on the road. Maybe it was for the best. Mike was feeling the urge to lash out again. He'd felt rather stupid when he broke the mirror at the station, but he couldn't help it. He doesn't even remember doing it himself, only has memories like he was looking from the outside. He hated that he got so angry when he got upset, hated that he wanted to be violent, wanted to hit things, throw things. He almost wanted to hit Marco if only because he was there.

Marco carefully helped Mike out of his dress uniform, trying to comfort him. The gesture was a nice one, a loving one.

"Do you wanna talk, Mike?" Marco whispered.

"No… no, babe, I-I just wanna sleep. I'm exhausted. It's just been too much lately."

"Do-? Do you wanna hit something again? I understand if you do… and I'd like to be warned in case I'm in the line of fire."

"I don't wanna hit you. Fuck, if I hit you, I would die. I really would. I'd call the cops on myself."

"I know that," Marco said quietly, "but if you get mad enough to punch something, you might not notice I'm in the way, trying to stop you from hurting yourself."

Mike shook his head fervently, telling him, "That's not an excuse, though. Me not knowing I did it still doesn't make it right for me to do, doesn't make it any less bad. God, I could really hurt you and not even know it. Tha-That would really kill me. I-"

Marco shushed him, and Mike realized how frantic his voice had gotten. Rough hands cupped his face, brushed his hair back, gripped his shoulders. Marco explained, "Please… I only mean that I want you to tell me if you feel like hitting something so I can calm you down. If you hit me by accident, then it happens. I know you would never do it on purpose, would never hurt me. Maybe that's why you and Starrett got along so well. You both have the biggest, kindest hearts."

Mike felt his lip tremble, and he wasn't able to stop his tears.

xXxXx

Ay Dios, I hope that was the right thing to say. Marco watched Mike's lip begin to tremble, his expression crumble, tears roll down his cheeks. He carefully coaxed Mike to sit on the bed, their backs to the headboard, and he draped an arm around the strong shoulders, pulling Mike flush to his side. Mike drew in a shuddering breath.

"It's no-not fair," he choked at last, "There are people out the-there who a-are murderers a-and rapists and child-child abusers and just really bad people. Why do they to li-live while Bobby died? Huh? Now, who's gon-gonna be there for his kids? Who's gonna ta-take care of them?"

"We all will, especially you. They're part of our family now, a firefighter's family. You know we take care of our own," Marco whispered soothingly, stroking the bare shoulder under his fingertips.

"We just got back together. We were just gettin' to be like we used to again, an-and just like that, Bobby's gone… died right in front of me."

"It's not an easy thing to see."

"He was li-like my brother… Shit, I loved him like he was my own brother, my own flesh and blood. Now, he-he's gone," Mike whimpered, "I still see it when I close my eyes, Marco. I can see him grab at his chest and fall down and there's not a goddamn thing I can do to save him, just like it was. It's not any better or worse, but even just like it was in real life is horrible enough. It's-… I can't sleep. I've barely slept since he died."

Marco felt a little stab in his gut, asked, "Mike, why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't wan-wanna worry you… didn't want you to worry about me…"

How did I not notice? He pressed a kiss to the brown hair, telling him softly, "Mi ángel precioso… I wish you would have told me… wish I would have noticed. I've been through the same thing, remember? I watched my brother die, too, right in front of me, with nothing I could do to save him. I know how it feels… and it feels like you're in a nightmare that won't stop, one you can't seem to wake up from."

"When does it stop? I need it to stop."

"It never really stops. It just kinda… fades. It stops feeling like a nightmare, but sometimes the nightmares come back. That's just how it is. Some days are great, and some are really bad. Most days are just… regular days, where you can sorta forget the ache for a while."

Mike still looked ready to break down, had for a few moments now. Marco remembered his own catharsis, remembered how much better he felt after he finally let go. Maybe it'll be the same for him. Besides, I wanna keep him from breaking anything again… the landlady might rethink waiving our security deposit. He brushed some hair back from Mike's forehead, kissed his temple, murmured, "I'm right here, Mike… I'm right here with you. Don't be afraid to let go. I'll be here to catch you, I promise."

The engineer leaned in, pressed his face to Marco's shoulder, and started sobbing. They weren't loud sobs, not particularly forceful or harsh. They sounded tired, almost weak. A lump sat in Marco's throat. He brushed some of the tears from Mike's face, but it was futile. His tears just kept coming. I wish there was more I could do for him, but we've just gotta ride it out. He held Mike as he cried quietly, shivering against his side.

"You'll be alright eventually, querido," Marco whispered, "but until then, I'm right here to hold you."

Mike curled up against him, pressing impossibly closer, and Marco tightened his arm around him.