Warnings: some strong language, deaths as a result of fire, PTSD

I did my absolute best to research what having a flashback feels like and what it feels like afterward. I know not everyone's reactions would be the same, but this scenario seemed to crop up often enough to make it feel common.

A/N: After the next chapter, I will be going on a short hiatus, the length of which is still TBD. I've been a little busier than usual lately and haven't had as much time to write as I like. Going on hiatus for a bit will allow me time to write some more and do a little more plotting. Thank you so much for being so wonderful and understanding.

"Alright, fellas, it's Fourth of July, and we all know what that means," Cap stated during roll call, "There's gonna be more than enough calls between the firecrackers and burning barbeques and drunk people and kids almost blowin' their hands off. Roy, Johnny, I'm sure you'll get the lion's share of the calls today, so be ready. Now, the duty roster-"

The tones dropped for the squad, man struck by a vehicle.

"So it begins," Roy said, hustling over to the squad with Johnny.

Chet watched them go, knowing they would have a busy day. It was never going to be a slow one when the first call came so early in the shift, especially on a major holiday. We're gonna be busy today, that's for sure. C-shift is gonna have a messy station tomorrow. Chet at least didn't get stuck with latrines today, though if Johnny was too busy on runs, someone would have to do latrines in his stead, anyway. He was hoping he'd be able to charm Mike or Marco into doing them so he wouldn't have to. After all, it wasn't entirely his fault he was always the last one in. He didn't try to be, and he was never late.

The engine was soon toned out to a trash fire, and that was it. If they all spent more than fifteen minutes together at the station at a time, Chet would be amazed. They barely had time to use the bathroom. Lunch was subs they could quickly scarf down in the apparatus, knowing the next call wasn't far off.

"Y'know, cops can call into their dispatch for a lunch break," Chet commented after their hurried sandwiches and third grill fire, "Why can't we do that, huh? Seems a 'lil unfair, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause the cops need a break from riding around in their cars all day," Marco chuckled.

Johnny snorted, the paramedics finally meeting up with their shiftmates for a brief moment since their first call that morning. Both looked a little worse for wear, and Roy told them he'd already been through one uniform shirt when a patient vomited blood on him.

"I just wanna know why people are so obsessed with puttin' things up their ass," Johnny commented, much to the amusement of Chet, Mike, and Marco, "I'm sick of goin' on rescues and havin' to take some dumb kid to Rampart 'cause he had a firecracker shoved up his ass."

"Really?" Mike asked, "People really do that?"

"Oh, that was just the first one today. I guarantee we'll get five more calls like that today, of kids damn near burnin' their nuts off for a few laughs. I bet Early's havin' a field day…"

Chet laughed, sharing a quick glance with Mike and Marco. Cap's H/T beeped, "Station 51, unknown type rescue…"

"Probably just some idiot with a firecracker up his ass," Johnny mumbled.

Thankfully, it wasn't that, just a little kid who sprained her wrist when she fell off her bike and managed to get her arm stuck in the storm drain. Once they got her free, the engine was sent to another call on its own, some kind of alarm that turned into a first alarm call. We're goin' almost nonstop… dunno how Johnny and Roy do it all the time. It wasn't as exhausting as some of the brushfires he'd been on, but Chet was definitely beginning to feel it.

"It's a good thing we've got four days after this," Mike said during a brief lull, "I think I'm gonna sleep for all of 'em."

Everyone agreed. After nightfall, the frequency of calls increased, especially for the squad, until 51s was called out to a first alarm structure fire near midnight. The scene was chaos when they arrived. A crowd was milling close by, probably the remnants of a block party. 127s directed them in.

"Hank, we've got the second floor fully involved, and we think the first floor may go soon-"

A woman screamed as Chet and Marco brought their line around, and Chet's heart sank. He waited for the imminent orders.

"Chet! Marco! Cover Roy and Johnny! We have a report of children possibly trapped on the second floor! Go!"

Johnny and Roy stepped into the spray of their line, though he and Marco struggled to keep up. The air was thick with smoke, and Chet swore he smelled spent black powder. Something rolled in his stomach, crept up his spine, buzzed at the front of his skull. No, not now… please, not now… He swallowed, tried to force down the steeply growing hopelessness and dread. Marco must have sensed something because he tapped Chet on the shoulder, indicating he was ready to switch to the lead, and Chet was incredibly grateful. He shook his head minutely, staring through the smoke as Johnny and Roy checked the rooms upstairs. They'll come back with those kids or won't find anyone at all. Kids are probably at a friend's house or somethin'…

The paramedics came hurrying back toward the stairs, each carrying a small body that was limp and burnt. Like the flicker of film, images from nearly five years before were superimposed over the present, bunkers briefly replaced by BDUs, the roar of flames spotted with gunfire, constant heat trading places with cloying humidity. He shook his head again, felt his body tensing, wanted to be rid of this horrid feeling. The air in his bottle and mask wasn't quite enough. He quickly shook his partner, calling, "Marco, I need to get outta here! Get me out!" before it became too much. He was freezing up, could feel his muscles going tight. No… no no no, please, no… not again…

xXxXx

"Marco, I need to get outta here! Get me out!"

He didn't need to be told twice, especially not with the way Chet shook him, not with the fear evident in his voice. Is he hurt? Was he injured somehow? Is his air malfunctioning? Chet was stumbling as Marco helped haul him out, felt stiff and tense. Once outside, Chet pushed Marco away and ripped off his helmet and air mask, staggering toward the engine.

"What happened, Marco?" Cap asked worriedly, "Is Chet alright? Was he wounded?"

"I-I dunno, Cap. He just-… He kinda tensed up when we were inside, so I switched off for the lead. Then, when Roy and Johnny brought the kids down, it got worse. That's when he shook me and begged me to take him out."

"Go check on him, will ya? I'll get another team on containment."

Marco quickly followed Chet, passing Roy and Johnny as they uselessly treated the children. Mike was already there, though as soon as Marco stepped around, he returned to his panel, needing to keep an eye on the pump as another team used their line. Chet was sitting on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest and his arms around them, his face white. He rocked slightly, squeezed his eyes shut, was completely silent. Unsure of what else to do, Marco carefully pulled off his air bottle and sat beside Chet on the ground. A couple of minutes passed before Chet picked up his head, letting out a long, slow breath. Marco wet his lips and asked softly, "Are you okay, Chet? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. I'm not hurt," he sniffed, "I just-… I dunno what happened…"

I don't quite believe that. Marco asked, "Are you sure? Cap might ask you to go to Rampart and get checked out."

"He saw me?"

"Yeah, when we came out."

Chet sighed deeply.

"Honestly, Chet," Marco told him, "It would make me feel a lot better if you went to Rampart."

"Do I hafta? Will I hafta ride in the ambulance with those kids?" he asked, his eyes wide and wet and more than a little fearful.

"No, I think someone'll be able to take you in the squad, either me or Roy or Johnny. Will you be okay if I leave you here with Mike for a minute?"

Chet nodded, so Marco got to his feet and found Johnny.

"Is there an ambulance comin'?"

Johnny replied quietly, "Yeah, but they're not rushin'. Kids were dead when we got to 'em, just need a doctor to declare 'em in person."

"One of you gonna ride in?" Marco asked.

"I am. I don't want Roy around this any longer'n he has to be. Why? I saw you help Chet out. Is he Code I? Does he need help?"

"I-… I'm not sure, Johnny. He kinda… freaked out inside the house, asked me to get him out, but he won't tell me what happened. Says he doesn't know what, but I'm callin' bullshit. I would certainly feel better if he went to Rampart, maybe have Dr. Early look him over."

"Sure, he can ride with Roy in the squad. Who's with him now?"

"Mike's there."

"Alright, you go back to him, and I'll send Roy over in a minute."

"Is he alright?"

Johnny sighed, "Not really, no," and walked away, heading for his partner. Marco felt a stab of grief but pushed it aside. Now isn't the time. The sounds of chaos still reigned over the scene: roaring flames, gushing water, shouted orders, people yelling and crying. Marco sighed and returned to Chet. He found Mike fussing over the young lineman in the way that he did, not overtly fussing but hovering and keeping close.

"Well, Johnny's gonna take those victims into Rampart, and Roy's gonna take you in the squad once Johnny's all set," Marco explained, "I'll sit with you 'til then, okay?"

Chet nodded. He looked exhausted. Mike had at least moved him to the running board, but the lineman was shivering despite the July heat, occasionally pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes or rubbing a spot near his temples just above his eyebrows. I wish he would just tell me what happened. Marco sat next to Chet on the running board and put a little space between them. Chet had pushed him away when they left the structure, so it was possible he didn't really want to be touched or coddled. He was in Vietnam, I remember… maybe it was one of those flashback things… Marco couldn't be sure. He'd always heard that flashbacks were a full body reenactment where the affected person believed they were back in combat, and Chet hadn't acted like that. He supposed it could be otherwise; that was only what he'd heard.

Roy slumped over a few minutes later, about the same time as the ambulance arrived. He looked utterly spent.

"You wanted to go to Rampart, Chet?" he asked, "Are you alright?"

"I think I'm okay, just-… somethin' happened and I-I wanna talk to Dr. Early about it."

"Okay… here, Johnny's got the-the victims into the ambulance, so come with me so we can follow in the squad. Do you need help? Were you injured?"

"No, 'm fine…"

Roy helped him to his feet though he looked unsteady himself. Maybe he should talk to Early, too… Marco watched them walk away, their shoulders slumped, looking as though they each carried the weight of the world.

"Marco!" Cap called, "I need you over here on a line!"

He pulled on his air mask and ran toward the still burning house, black smoke billowing into the sky.

xXxXx

"Joe! Joe, could we borrow you for a minute?" Dixie called from the bay station.

He turned. The head nurse approached with Roy and Chet Kelly. Joe knew the other fireman by sight but not as well as the paramedics who regularly came to the hospital. Both men looked like they'd been to Hell and back. I know Roy was on the recovery of those two victims, but Chet looks pretty bad, too. Worse, even. Joe stepped close and said, "Here, this treatment room is open. Let's go in here, fellas."

"You and Chet go in," Roy offered, "I'm, uh, I'm gonna wait at the bay station for Johnny."

"Was it very bad, Roy?" Joe asked, "I mean, I saw the victims, but…"

"Whole house was a loss, definitely. Whole second floor was fully involved when we got there," Roy explained, rubbing at the back of his neck, "Overheard some neighbors talkin', said they were shootin' off fireworks and one landed on the roof. Nobody noticed 'til it was too late. Heard the two kids were tired and wanted to go to bed, so they did. Never had a chance…"

Joe swallowed, not wanting the lump to form in his throat. It never gets easier… and if it does, I'll retire on the spot. Chet had been silent through the whole exchange, something Joe knew to be out of the ordinary.

"Alright, Chet," he said after a moment, "I can check you over and we can talk… come with me."

The fireman followed slowly. He was shaking finely, almost as if he were cold.

"So, what's brought you here, Chet? Why did you wanna talk with me tonight?"

Chet shrugged, started to mumble something, cleared his throat. Joe waited patiently for him to speak.

"Just-… I-… Somethin' happened at the fire, and I-… I thought it wouldn't happen again."

"It was something that happened before?"

"Yeah, a few years ago… happened a few times."

Joe tried to think of what he knew of Chet Kelly, tried to figure out the problem he'd been presented. It's just like any patient history. What could cause the problem? He'd treated Chet before, usually for the common ailments of the firemen, like smoke inhalation and minor burns. What was in his history? He asked, "Chet, I'd like for you to tell me what happened at the fire."

He shivered more obviously now, still in his heavy turnout. He was about twenty-five, that Joe was sure of, but he looked like a little boy sitting there on the exam table, a little boy playing at firemen. Army. I remember he was in the Army, in Vietnam. Chet picked at the sleeve of his turnout.

"There was-… the smoke kinda smelled like spent gunpowder when we went in… smelled like it outside, too, I guess 'cause of all the fireworks. I guess it-it set somethin' off in my head. I was okay, though… I was okay 'til Johnny and Roy brought down those kids, an-and I dunno, doc… there was just-… these memories came over me, like… like a ghost of an image laid over a scene… I saw soldiers carryin' dead Vietnamese kids, kids that died when their village was burned down… puttin' 'em in a mass grave."

"A mass grave?"

"The NVA killed the whole village. "

"And you said this kind of thing happened before? A few years ago?"

"Yeah, right after my discharge."

"Tell me about that. How long were you in the Army and why were you discharged?"

"I signed up for five years, but I was only in for two," Chet explained quietly, "My mom got diagnosed with cancer and I had to take care of her, so they gave me a hardship discharge. That was right after Tet. I'd been in Vietnam for about a year."

"Nobody else here could care for your mother?"

Chet shook his head, saying, "No. I don't have any other family. I had a brother, but he was a junkie, addicted to heroin, so he wasn't good for anything. Mom died a couple months later, and my brother OD'd like a year after that."

"That's a lot to deal with in such a short time," Joe told him.

He shrugged, picking at his coat still. Joe sighed and stepped closer.

"How are you feeling, Chet?"

The blue eyes blinked up at him, like he didn't understand the question, so Joe asked again, "How are you feeling, Chet? I get the idea no one's ever asked you that, or at least not often."

"I-… I'm just tired, doc… and cold and scared and-… I thought they wouldn't come back."

"Do you feel able to return to work tonight? You don't have to lie to me or feel ashamed," Joe explained, "I've read about Vietnam combat stress and battle fatigue-"

"But I left Vietnam in '68! It's been five years-"

"I know, but sometimes these things have far-reaching effects. Just because it's been a long time doesn't mean it can't still bother you. People see things in wartime that stay with them forever, that can haunt them for years to come. Trust me. I know from experience. Honestly, I think you had a flashback, Chet."

"But, doc, those are-… I didn't hurt anybody-"

"Not all flashbacks are like that. In fact, most aren't. Most of the time, a person having a flashback is perfectly aware they're in the present, that they're not back when their trauma occurred. Today, you knew you were a fireman, not a soldier, right? The sulfur smell of the fireworks brought back the memory of the destroyed village, and the sight of the victims aggravated it. I've seen it happen before, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. I presume they happened more often while you were stressed in that year following your discharge, what with your mother being ill and your brother's addiction and their deaths."

"Yeah… yeah, like once a week… usually as nightmares. I couldn't hardly sleep."

Joe nodded. He knew the feeling well, and he knew there wasn't an easy fix.

"I trust you to answer me honestly, Chet. Will you be able to return to work tonight? If not, I want you to stay with someone for the rest of the night," he told him.

"I can work. I… I don't have anyone besides the guys, anyway…"

"Alright. Do you think you could stay with one of them for a day or two? Maybe let them know what's going on so they can help?"

"Yeah… yeah, I think so."

"Good," Joe said, resting a hand on Chet's shoulder, "Now, listen, Chet… I want you to know you can contact me any time of day if this happens again. If I'm available, I will always be willing to talk, understand?"

"Thanks, doc. I really appreciate it."

"You're very welcome. I think Roy said he and Johnny would wait at the bay station for you. I'll see you around."

Chet offered him a weak smile and headed out of the treatment room, no longer shaking.

xXxXx

Mike was a bit nervous about having Chet stay over at his and Marco's apartment. Chet was far more astute than they gave him credit for, and he'd figured out the nature of their relationship on his own months ago. He hadn't outed them to anyone and swore he never would, but Mike still felt on edge. Chet knowing was one thing. Him seeing it was another. It almost felt like an intrusion, and Mike knew it shouldn't.

When Chet came to him and Marco after returning from Rampart, he wasn't very specific on why he needed help, only impressed upon them that he absolutely needed it. Chet's our friend, and we're all he has. We can't leave him when he needs us. They didn't even need to discuss it. A shared look, and they agreed immediately. Chet had to run home to pack a bag, and Mike was doing his best to quickly tidy the place up. Rosa and Tito were nowhere to be found, obviously anticipating the company and not happy about it in the slightest.

"Querido, calm down," Marco told him, stopping him from straightening up the coffee table for the third time, "I mean, have you seen Chet's apartment? It's a disaster area."

"I just want him to feel welcome and comfortable .We haven't had anyone stay over since we've been together, and I wanna be sure- shit, I gotta check the spare room."

Chet arrived about forty-five minutes after the end of their shift. Mike knew for a fact Chet didn't sleep when they got back to the station last night. He knew because he didn't sleep, either. No one did after seeing their friends carry two small, burned bodies from that house. Marco made breakfast while Mike helped get Chet settled, showing him into the spare room.

"Fellas," Chet spoke up after breakfast, "I, uh, I really appreciate you letting me stay here."

"Don't even mention it," Marco told him, "You're our friend, Chet. You know we'd do anything for you, anything to make sure you're alright."

"You're always welcome here," Mike added.

"Thanks, guys. Listen, I know it's probably super weird, havin' one of your shiftmates stay here and know what's goin' on, but I don't want it to be weird. I don't want you guys to feel like you hafta hold back or hide anything from me, okay? It doesn't bother me. Besides, I'm your guest, so you shouldn't have change anything here in your own place. I'm the one who should change."

"Don't you worry about it, Chet," Mike said, "You just tell us what you need, and we'll be there."

The day passed in calm comfort. Chet's presence quickly became a nonissue. Mike and Marco felt quite comfortable lounging on the couch in each other's arms, the cats finally emerging after a few hours. Chet didn't bat an eye at their gestures of affection, engrossed in several copies of Fire Engineering, occasionally asked Mike for clarification on some point or another. He was much quieter than usual, but it somehow felt natural, if a bit sad. It's like he feels he has to put on an act around us and everyone at work, like we won't like him otherwise. Something twisted in Mike's gut, and Marco tightened his arm around him, as if sensing his discomfort.

They treated themselves to Chinese for dinner, arguing over who would pay. (Chet was rather put out when Marco slipped payment to the delivery boy after he thought he'd won.) Their guest became increasingly agitated as nighttime rolled around, however, as it came closer to the time for them to turn in. He couldn't seem to sit still, muscles twitching under his skin like it didn't fit right. Rosa and Tito together retreated to their unknown hiding place, likely feeling the tension rolling off Chet in waves. Around eleven, Chet shot to his feet, making both Mike and Marco jump.

"Fellas, maybe this was a bad idea, " he started babbling, pacing a short track in front of the chair he'd been sitting in, "I-I-I don't wanna be a-a burden or impose on you guys or nothin' like that so maybe I should just leave an-and-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, where is this coming from, Chet?" Mike asked, rising to still the lineman, "You were fine 'til a little while ago, 'til the sun set all the way. What's the matter?"

"Nothin'…"

"No. Don't do that. Don't lie to us. Not here. We agreed to help you, and we wanna help you, but you hafta let us help you. We can't do anything if you won't tell us what's wrong."

Chet twitched and shivered under Mike's touch, not looking up at him, and after a long moment he muttered, "I just don't wanna bother you guys."

"You're not bothering us. Why would you be bothering us?"

"Because… because I know I'm gonna have bad nightmares tonight, and I don't wanna wake you up with-… I don't wanna wake you up."

His face was red. Marco stepped in, saying, "Chet, that's why you're here, so you don't hafta be alone, so someone will wake up when you have a nightmare and be there for you. C'mon, let's all go to bed, and whatever happens is what happens. If you have nightmare, so be it. We'll be there for you when it happens, okay? That's non-negotiable."

"What is?"

"The fact that you're staying," Mike answered.

He led Chet to the spare room once more, making sure he was alright before heading into his and Marco's room.

"You're fussing, querido."

"Fussing?"

"Over Chet," Marco explained, lying on his side, "You all but tucked him in just now. You're treating him like a kid."

"I kind of am, aren't I?" Mike sighed.

Marco nodded. Mike said quietly, "I just can't help it. I only want him to know we care about him, to know he doesn't have to worry about bein' tough, that we're here to help him. I guess I come off a little strong sometimes when I get into 'fussy' mode."

"Well, most of the time, I like it, especially when you fuss over me," Marco whispered, kissing him softly.

They fell asleep quickly, their fingers twined, but their slumber didn't last. The two firemen were jolted awake by a loud scream. Marco was out of bed in a flash, practically ran to the spare room in his haste to reach Chet. Mike was more disoriented, stumbling after Marco in the darkness.

Marco was already in the room when Mike reached the door. He had Chet in his arms, the young lineman sucking in harsh, wheezing breath, blowing out weak sobs. Mike hung back at the door. They're partners. He knows Chet better than I do, better than anyone, probably. He almost felt like an intruder on an intimate scene. Chet was so upset he couldn't breathe to cry properly, instead wheezed and choked, curled up in a tight ball. Marco held the younger man tightly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, holding him like his arms could protect Chet from whatever horrors still lurked in his mind. His voice was low and soothing, only the low rumble audible at the door. Mike stepped further into the room, closer to the bed.

"C'mon, Chet, mi manito," Marco said softly, "breathe. I need you to breathe. You've gotta breathe or you're gonna make yourself sick… c'mon, just breathe…"

"De-Dead!" he choked, "All of-! Everyone's dead! They-"

"It's okay now, you're safe. Hush, manito, you're safe. It was a nightmare-"

"No! It's real! It happened! They killed them all!"

"But it's over now… whatever happened, it's all over…"

Marco tightened his arms around him. Chet shook violently, his breathing still erratic but less harsh. Mike fetched another blanket for him, handed it to Marco, allowed him to wrap it around his partner.

"What can I do for you, Chet?" Mike asked softly, "Do you want anything to drink? Water? Or coffee maybe?"

"Cof-Coffee, please…"

"I'll get a pot started, pal. I'll be right back."

Something twisted painfully in Mike's chest. He felt so sorry for Chet, was upset at Chet's grief and terror. Chet felt almost like a little brother to Mike and was definitely a good friend. Mike never felt good when his friends were suffering, felt like their hurt was his own. He started the coffee and returned to the spare room. Marco had managed to get Chet into a sitting position flush against his side, his arm around his shoulders. Chet still shivered, wrapped in the blanket, his head resting on Marco's shoulder, his face wet with tears and sweat.

"Coffee should be ready in a few minutes," Mike said quietly.

He said nothing else, knew trying to comfort him would be useless, didn't want to press in and crowd him. A couple tears rolled down Chet's face, and he looked spent, utterly spent and exhausted. After a few minutes, Mike returned to the kitchen, poured three coffees, brought them into the spare room. Not sure any of us will go back to sleep tonight. We might as well have coffee and wake up a little. Marco set his coffee on the nightstand and took Chet's in hand, waiting for him to pull his hands out from inside the blanket. He murmured, "Just drink it slowly. Don't make yourself sick," before handing Chet the mug.

"Would you tell us what happened, Chet?" Marco asked after a few minutes.

"I can't," he rasped, "Not right now… 'm not-… I can't right now, fellas…"

The shaking, which had almost disappeared entirely, visibly increased. Mike gently took the mug from his hands until it subsided once more, telling him, "Don't worry. It's alright. You don't hafta tell us now. There's nothing you hafta do right now except relax. You're safe here, Chet."

Mike knew Chet had been in Vietnam, but now he wondered what exactly happened over there. He worked construction, but holy shit, what did he see over there? What could've happened to make him have such an awful nightmare? Mike set the coffee down and suggested, "Do you think you could go back to sleep? Chet, it might help you feel better to sleep and rest."

"I-I dunno, Mike…"

"I'll stay with you," Marco told him, "If you don't wanna be alone, I won't leave you… I promise."

"Yeah… yeah, tha-that would be good. 'm scared to be by myself…"

He shivered again, and Marco pulled him closer, whispering, "You're not alone. You don't hafta be alone anymore. C'mon, go to sleep, manito. I'll be right here. I'm not leaving, and if I do have to leave for anything, Mike will come in."

"Promise?"

"We promise," Mike agreed.

Chet settled in against Marco's side. Mike got to his feet, said, "Call me if you need anything, babe," squeezed Chet's shoulder, gave Marco a quick kiss on the cheek. He was sure there was no way he would really sleep, but his body and mind proved too tired. Mike was asleep in minutes.

xXxXx

Marco managed to wake with the sun, finding Chet still asleep, pressed close against his side. He cracked his neck, the vertebrae protesting at the unusual sleeping position. There was movement in the hall, and Mike appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"You alright, babe?" he whispered.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Chet's been out all night, so that's good. No more nightmares."

Mike hummed quietly and stepped up to Marco's side. Marco craned his neck, silently asking for a kiss he was quickly gifted.

"Do you need to get up, babe? I can sit with Chet for a bit."

"No, I think I'm alright for now," he replied, "Why don't you do what you hafta do and then maybe start some breakfast? I want Chet to sleep for as long as possible."

He got the feeling the smell of food cooking might wake Chet up, but he managed to sleep through it. Marco shifted carefully, not wanting to jostle his sleeping partner, his stomach growling loudly. Chet gave a soft snuffle against Marco's shoulder and nestled into his side. Yeah, just keep sleeping. You deserve some rest. He knew so little about Chet's past, only knew that he had no family, that they were all dead, that he'd been in Vietnam for about a year. He never confided in Marco how his family members all died. He'd just said they didn't go all at once, and Marco wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

"Time 'izzit?"

Marco looked down. Chet's eyes were slowly blinking open, a hand snaking out from the blanket to rub at them.

"It's still pretty early. You should go back to sleep and-"

"Is that breakfast?"

He had to laugh quietly at that, replying, "Yeah, it's breakfast. Mike made it."

"Thought it was Mike… doesn't smell like your breakfast, Marco."

"Definitely not," he agreed, "Mike doesn't make chili for breakfast… or anything with peppers."

Chet gave a quiet laugh, sat up all the way, let the blanket fall from his shoulders, wrinkled his nose.

"Hmm… think maybe I oughta shower."

"Yeah, I think maybe you should."

He made a face, pushing more of the blanket away. Marco didn't move, didn't want to move until Chet said it was okay for him to do so.

"Marco? You, uh… you were here the whole night?"

"Of course I was. You asked me to be," he replied, "You said you didn't wanna be alone."

Chet looked up at him, opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, shut it again. His face was red.

"Hey, manito, why don't you go get a shower, and I'll make sure breakfast is hot. Maybe I'll even make some chili to go with it… if you wanted."

"I wouldn't turn my nose up at some chili, I guess."

Marco got to his feet and instinctively helped Chet up. Mike sat in the living room, his empty plate beside him.

"Everything alright?" he asked quietly.

"For now, anyway," Marco answered, "I'm gonna add a little onto breakfast. Chet likes my chili. Woke right up to smell of food and then knew it wasn't mine."

"So mine's not good enough?"

"Oh, he didn't say that, querido… but I thought he would like it."

Mike came into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, asking, "Did he tell you anything this morning?"

"No… he only asked if I really stayed the whole night, and he seemed kinda surprised when I said I did. When I think about it, it's kinda sad, that he didn't think I would…"

Chet should know better than that by now. He should know we care about him, that we only want him to be happy and healthy… that we would never leave him if he needed us. Marco sighed, continued to work on breakfast, listened to the sound of the shower. He remembered something Chet told him on New Year's, something that made his stomach flop uncomfortably. Chet had told him that he didn't like getting close to people, that those people tended to die, people he loved. Who else could he have lost to make him feel like that? The thought wasn't pleasant. Mike seemed to sense his discomfort and stepped up behind him, wrapping his long arms loosely around Marco's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. The warmth steadied him.

By the time Chet emerged from the bathroom, Marco had everything ready.

xXxXx

"Here, Chet, Mike'll get you all set up with food while I use the bathroom, okay? Be right back."

Chet watched Marco go, feeling a sense of mild apprehension. He's only going to the bathroom. He'll be right back. I'm gonna be fine. Mike gently ushered him into the kitchen to get breakfast.

"Heard you weren't exactly excited when you figured out I made breakfast today," Mike teased.

"Aw, no, Mike, you know I love your breakfast. Why, is Marco tryin' to make an excuse for makin' chili this morning?"

"He never needs an excuse."

Chet let out a huff of laughter and filled his plate, making sure to get plenty of chili. He looked around his friends' apartment as he ate, feeling an onslaught of conflicting emotions. He was happy, of course, so happy to know he had friends who trusted him and cared about him enough to let him stay over, so happy they loved each other. It made Chet feel downright privileged. On the other hand, however, he still felt crushing doubt paired with lingering anxiety. The flashback (or whatever it was) late on Wednesday night followed by last night's nightmare left him feeling off. They had both taken a lot out of him, physically and emotionally, left him drained and hopeless and anxious. Even here in the safety of Marco and Mike's apartment, Chet felt like he had to look over his shoulder. He tried to focus on the good feelings instead.

That was harder than anticipated. I forgot exactly how bad these things fuck me up. Like he'd told Early, things were really bad during that first year he was home, with his mother's illness and death, joining the department, and his brother dying. The stress gave him nightmares once a week, but he thanked every god there was that he never had one of those flashback things during training, or he probably wouldn't be sitting here today. Hell, maybe I'd be dead, too. Maybe I'd've OD'd or shot myself or somethin' like that… Chet only ate half the food he'd piled on his plate.

Marco and Mike were both quiet, barely speaking even to each other. The anxiety reared up again in Chet's mind. Holy shit, they had a fight 'cause of me. Something I did made 'em fight. He felt the heat color his cheeks, felt his chest tighten.

"Chet?" Mike asked, "Chet, are you alright?"

"Yeah… yeah, I'm okay-"

"C'mon, Chet, don't lie to us," Mike said firmly, "What's wrong?"

"I made you guys have a fight," he blurted, "and I don't know what I did so I'll leave and-"

"What? Chet-… Chet, we didn't fight," Marco told him, "Why would you think that?"

"You guys were jus-just sittin' there and bein' real quiet and-"

"We're always quiet."

"I promise you, Chet," Mike explained calmly, "Me and Marco didn't fight. We're always like this, especially in the morning. Even after coffee we aren't usually chatterboxes. You know that."

"I do, but I'm –I can't make myself believe it right now. I'm too messed up."

"You're not messed up-"

"I am! I'm fucked up!" Chet half-shouted.

"Why?" Marco asked, not raising his voice, "Why, 'cause you had a nightmare? 'Cause seein' the bodies of two dead kids bothered you so much? That happens to a lot of people."

"Not like this, pal. Not like this… Y'know what Early said happened? He said I had a flashback, and y'know what that means? I'm crazy. He's probably gonna tell the department about this and that's it! You can all kiss my ass goodbye 'cause they're gonna ship me off to the funny farm and-"

"Stop that," Mike said, getting to his feet, making Chet realize he was standing, "Stop talking like that. Dr. Early would never do anything like that, and you're definitely not crazy. This was a one time thing-"

"No, it wasn't!"

They both blinked at him.

"I got 'em when I came back from 'Nam," Chet explained, "I had a lot goin' on. My mom was dyin' of brain caner, my brother was addicted to heroin, and deployment hadn't exactly been a fuckin' pleasure vacation. Add the stress of fire academy, and it was like boot camp all over again and bam! It was the perfect cocktail for my brain to go nuts. I told you, I'm fuckin' messed up!"

"But we don't care about that," Marco replied, "Well, I mean we do care but about you and that you're upset and this is bothering you. We only wanna help you, messed up or not."

"You just need to be open with us," Mike added, "We really want to help you, but we can't unless you let us help you. Talk to us, Chet. We'll listen."

Yeah, right… He couldn't believe that. No one wanted to listen to him.

"Listen," he snorted, "Yeah, that's why everyone always tells me to shut up all the time."

They did look rather sheepish to have that brought up. Marco spoke up, "This is important, Chet. We know the difference. Something really upset you the other day, and we wanna know what."

"You wanna know why I'm upset?" Chet snapped, "I saw Johnny and Roy carry two dead kids out of a burning house that reeked like gunpowder and all I could think of was the time the NVA slaughtered a whole village of women and children and old people and I had to dig the hole to put 'em in! Okay? You happy?"

Neither of the others spoke, and Chet rolled on, fueled by anger and grief and nervousness (and oddly, relief), "I wasn't too pleased, either, especially not when the lone survivor returned from gathering water to find her whole family dead. She screamed even worse than that woman at the house fire. We used a bulldozer and a backhoe, the backhoe to dig the mass grave and the bulldozer to push all the bodies in. Wasn't exactly my favorite moment of the war, but I sure won't ever forget it…"

He'd stunned his friends into silence. Thought I might… Never have told anyone that… Chet was almost angry with his friends, angry that they could never understand what he'd been through and what exactly it had done to him. They could sympathize and feel bad, but they could never understand. He paced over to the window and gazed out. I won't get started on Melanie… They don't need to know about Mellie just yet… Chet looked back at his friends, saw the horror and disbelief and sadness in their faces, sighed long and low.

"I'll just-… I'll pack up my stuff and go-"

"Absolutely not."

Mike was on his feet again, He stepped up close to Chet and put his hands on his shoulders.

"You're still upset, still bothered by this, and we want you to stay here until things are better again. We don't care how long it takes."

"I can deal with it by myself, fellas."

"But you don't have to," Marco said, rising to join them, "I know you're used to dealing with stuff alone because you really had no choice, but you don't hafta be alone anymore. Me and Mike and all the guys are here to help you when you have a problem, no matter what that problem is. You've gotta remember that, manito."

Chet looked at his friends. He now saw determination in place of sadness, strength in place of disbelief, love in place of horror. Tears welled up in his eyes without warning, his emotions running high after spilling everything he'd kept hidden for so long. Chet ducked his head. Mike pulled him into a quick embrace.

"We'll hang out for a couple hours here," Mike said, smiling gently, "then we should go do somethin' fun. I know a quiet 'lil beach we could hit. Some sun, sand, and surf always helps me feel better after a rough time."

"Yeah, I think it'll do us a lot of good," Marco agreed.

Chet sniffed even as a little smile came over his face. It certainly won't solve everything… but it'll be a good start.

"That sounds great, fellas. Uh… got any spare trunks?"

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