Warnings: death in detail, language.

Sorry this is Tuesday and not Monday, but I ended up unexpectedly sitting with my sister in the ER for like four hours only for there to be nothing wrong with her (which is good but a little frustrating, nonetheless). There will be another short break coming at the end of the month because I will be going to Europe for about a week and won't be able to post.

"We had a crazy shift, fellas," Dwyer told them on his way out, "Hope you're prepared."

The shift all looked at each other, hoping the calm spring day wouldn't require them to go on too many runs. Nice days like this were a bit of a mixed bag. Sometimes they were busy since people were trying to get out of the house, other times they might only get one run. Mike noted there was a bit of clean up to do around the station since the previous shift had been so busy. Roy actually ended up with latrines that day, with Chet and Johnny on dorms, Mike with the bay, and Marco with the kitchen and meals.

About an hour into the shift, the squad was toned out for a heart trouble case, but unusually, both paramedics groaned as they got into the squad.

"C'mon, fellas," Chet said, "you haven't even gotten to the call yet."

"I'm tellin' ya, Chet," Johnny said, "We've seen that family three times already. It's always nothin'. This couple has a fight, she fakes heart trouble, we gently tell her off. Lather, rinse, repeat. I tell ya, it's ridic-"

His words were cut off as Roy pulled out of the bay. Mike stood with his hands on his hips, watching them turn onto the main road and speed away. Just because it's usually nothing doesn't mean it is this time. Always gotta act as if it's an emergency. He stepped back into the bay rather unwillingly. The day outside was calm and warm and beautiful, a perfect day to do anything but work. Mike had opened both bay doors, wanting to get the warm breeze and fresh air flowing through the station, enjoying spring's arrival.

Last week, they'd had the misfortune of working on April Fool's Day with The Phantom lurking around. Mike was proud to say he and Cap were the only two he didn't target, even if it was simply because good sense dictated you didn't mess with the engineer or the captain. The other three members of their shift, however, were borderline terrorized by Chet all day and into the night until Mike teamed up with them to get back at him. Mike snuck in while Chet was in the shower with a bottle of shampoo and kept squirting it on his head, watching him get increasingly frustrated by not being able to wash out all the suds. The cursing was pretty creative, at least.

Today seemed to be shaping up to be slower than slow, so Mike supposed The Phantom would be making a reappearance if Chet got bored enough. Maybe we can do something outside… shoot hoops or toss a ball or something like that. He took in a deep lungful of fresh air and continued his slow but thorough cleaning of the bay. He carefully swept up any dirt and debris first, hit all the corners, even pulled the engine up to sweep under that, as well. After that, everything got a good mop. Roy and Johnny returned during his cleaning, smartly parking the squad out front by the engine so Mike didn't have to scold them.

"Kept yourself busy, Stoker?" Johnny asked.

"Yup. Kept busy and kept outta everyone's business."

"That's the way to be, I reckon."

"Sure is… and if anyone messes this floor up, I'm gonna kick their ass and make 'em clean it again. Tell Chet I said so. Somehow, I feel like you two would be the main culprits."

"Mike, I'm wounded. I would never do such a thing."

The look Mike gave him should have explained everything. Johnny smirked, carefully skirting Mike's freshly mopped floor to get into the kitchen. Mike didn't think the kitchen would be Chet's first choice for a messy prank, though, since that was Marco's duty. The dorm, however, might be fair game since that was theirs. He just hoped his bunk wouldn't be collateral damage.

Cap managed to keep everyone moderately busy with little drills and some paperwork, as well as cleaning the apparatus thoroughly. Mike was ready to spend some quality time with Big Red, but unfortunately, Cap had other plans for him: helping with paperwork. This did not particularly excite Mike, but he wasn't going to tell his captain no.

"So… what've we got here, Cap?" Mike asked, less than thrilled.

"Just wanna take the opportunity to get everything sorted and filed while we have the time and figured two heads were better than one."

"And what did I do to deserve this again?"

"Very funny, Mike. Forgive me for taking you away from manual labor."

"Never. I love manual labor."

"Shut up and help me out," Cap told him good-naturedly, "Here, start with these reports…"

Mike sighed but did as he was asked, working as efficiently on the paperwork as he did everything else. The two senior firemen made small talk when necessary, but neither really spoke until about ten minutes in when Cap bluntly asked, "Have you ever thought about takin' the captain's exam, Mike?"

He wasn't entirely surprised by the question. Really, it was only a matter of time. He shrugged, shuffled some papers, said, "I-… I suppose I've thought about it."

"Just thought about it?"

"Yeah… not seriously, though, Cap. I just-… I've always wanted to be an engineer. I love this job. I get to work with my hands and think on my feet and help people. I like it."

"You get to do all that as a captain, too. It's not like I sit around twiddlin' my thumbs all day."

"I know, I know… but this is really what I enjoy right now," Mike explained, "I'm happy in this position, with the amount of responsibility I have, the work I do, everything. I'm happy at this station, too, with all you guys. It's not that I never wanna move up the ladder, but for now… I'm happy."

Cap studied him for a long moment, finally said, "Just wanted to be sure. Y'know, Mike, when you do decide to move up one day, you're gonna be a great captain."

"Thanks, Cap. I really appreciate it."

They finished their paperwork in relative silence, Mike working quickly so he could finish and go out to Big Red before Marco and Chet were done. He meant it when he said he loved manual labor. He loved working with his hands, always preferred it to paperwork. Cooking, cleaning, welding, mechanics, even the sign language he was taught since birth, all his favorite things required him to use his hands. Cap took pity on him after another fifteen minutes and let him go out into the bay.

The engine was called out to a structure fire that turned out to be a false alarm, though the police soon arrived to seize a great deal of marijuana and arrest two people. At least that had been interesting.

"I dunno know why anyone would wanna smoke pot," Mike commented at the station.

" 'Cause it makes ya feel good," Chet replied, "Just makes ya kinda chill and mellow… and hungry."

"No, I guess I can understand that part… but it smells awful. Smells like, I dunno, skunk and armpits or somethin'."

Johnny nearly spit out his milk, and both Marco and Chet snorted loudly.

"What? Am I wrong?"

"Nope… nope, can't say you are, Stoker," Chet agreed, still laughing.

Johnny and Roy got a run after that, leaving the other firemen in the station once more. Chet disappeared momentarily, presumably to set some kind of prank for Johnny, however, Marco followed him and led him back to the day room. Thoroughly bored, Mike said, "C'mon, guys, let's go outside and do somethin' fun. I'm gonna lose my mind if I hafta sit in here much longer. Don't we have a football around here?"

They were out back in the parking lot when the squad returned. Routine run. Nothing special. Johnny joined them in tossing around the football until Marco produced a soccer ball. He tried to teach them some simple tricks. Mike and Chet were fairly clumsy, but Johnny picked them up rather quickly.

"Roy's not makin' you fill out paperwork, Gage?" Chet asked.

"Nah, he knows I don't like bein' cooped up with that stuff on a day like this. I'll only sit in there and complain until he lets me go, and not even 'cause I mean to. I just really love bein' outside. I'm not meant to be indoors for too long. Comes from growin' up on a ranch, I guess…"

Mike stepped aside and watched as Marco and Johnny tried to teach Chet some more soccer moves, watched the muscles play under Marco's uniform shirt, just visible enough for Mike to enjoy.

"What, c'mon, Stoker, you just gonna sit there, or can we play a 'lil two-on-two?"

Johnny grinned at him as he got up, tossing him the soccer ball and saying, "Alright, me and Chet versus you and Marco."

"Sounds fair to me. Let's play, fellas."

xXxXx

"A moustache?" Mike asked incredulously, staring at Marco.

Chet and Cap snorted. Johnny and Roy were out on a run, accident involving a bicyclist, leaving their shiftmates at the station with a B-movie on TV.

"Yeah, a moustache," Marco shrugged, "What's the big deal? I'm thinkin' of growin' one."

Mike sputtered quietly, much to Marco's amusement. He can't argue in public when Chet's the only one who knows about us. It was fun to watch his lover struggle with a proper argument to use in front of Cap. Chet spoke up, "Good for you, Marco. I think you oughta go for it. A moustache adds an air of authority to a guy's face, makes a guy look attractive and mysterious to the ladies."

He winked, obviously knowing Marco wasn't exactly concerned with what the ladies thought.

"Is that right?" Cap asked, "So, Chet, are you gonna grow one, too?"

"Uh huh, very funny, Cap, very funny…"

Cap smirked, turned to Marco, said, "Well, Marco, it's your face. You can grow anything on it you like, I suppose, as long as it's within regulation, of course."

Mike's face was pink, his lips pressed together, clearly trying not to say anything. Chet was trying not to laugh. After a moment, they managed to return their attentions to the movie, something with robots and a terrible script and worse special effects.

"There's always a romance in these things," Mike commented near the end of the movie, "and it never makes any sense. These characters meet, and two days later, they're plannin' marriage and babies and- ugh! It's ridiculous."

"What do you mean?" Marco asked, "I think it's nice."

"Oh, Marco, c'mon- look… this movie is a prime example. What point did that whole romantic subplot serve? He wasn't even the one who saved her at the end of the movie."

"The invincible death robot really put things in perspective," Chet smirked.

"Like anybody is gonna live through an attack by a death robot and then immediately wanna get married and have a family," Mike told them, "It's ridiculous."

"Is he like this all the time?" Cap asked Marco quietly.

"Pretty much."

"I heard that."

"Hey hey hey, fellas," Johnny greeted them, he and Roy returning from their run, "How was the flick?"

"The happy couple saved the day, as usual," Marco answered, "How was the r-?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Johnny said excitedly, perching in his chair, "Now, you heard the call, accident involving a bicycle, right? Of course you did. Now, what does that usually mean?"

"Drunk bicyclist?"

"Drunk driver hits bicyclist?"

"Drunk bicyclist hits someone or something?"

"Uh… drunk bicyclist attacked by invincible death robots?"

"Usually, yeah. Not tonight. Guy was DOA definitely," Johnny replied.

"How?" Cap asked.

"Well," Roy interjected, "he had a flashlight impaled through his head."

"What?"

"Aw, Roy, I wanted to tell that part."

"Sorry, I got kinda ahead of myself. Just tell the rest. Give the details."

"Fine- Well- Okay, so we rolled up on the scene, and Vince is there, lookin' for all the world like he's tryin' not to laugh. Now, Vince is stoic, never laughs at anything on the job, so we're wonderin' what in the hell is so funny. Then we find out. Apparently, this fella tried to commit a robbery and fled on the bike, but he left his flashlight in his mouth. He hit a rock, went over the handlebars, and wham, bam, thank you ma'am. That was it. That flashlight went clean through the back of his mouth into the base of his skull. Dead immediately."

"Ooh, that's rough," Chet grimaced, "Was the flashlight still on?"

"That's your question?"

"What? I feel like it's an important question! Like, was it just shinin' outta his mouth in your face?"

"It was, actually," Johnny answered, "It was kinda annoying."

"Yeah, and since it was evidence, we couldn't remove it," Roy added.

"Only thing is, Early isn't workin' tonight. He's gonna be mad he missed this one."

"Guess Dixie's gonna have to pass this one on to him. Say, is there another movie comin' on?" Roy asked, sitting down and grabbing the bowl of popcorn.

Johnny joined him, perched by him on another chair, shoved his hand into the popcorn bowl with Roy's. Marco watched his comrades for a moment. It was a strange dichotomy they had to contend with as firemen. On the one hand, they were expected to be tough and macho, to never be soft or weak or express themselves in any way considered to be 'feminine.' On the other hand, however, they couldn't be that way with victims. Victims needed comfort and softness in their time of need, as did their fellow firemen. We're closer to each other than anyone else. We deserve to be soft with each other if that's what we want, what we need. Firemen had emotions like anyone else. Why should they be expected to hide them?

Johnny and Roy were a good example. The two of them were the closest of partners, practically knew each other's thoughts, particularly when they were working. They cared about each other, worried about each other, sometimes fought, always had each other's back. Johnny seemed to have no qualms about slinging his arm around his partner's shoulders or stealing his coffee or eating off his plate, or doing the same to any of his shiftmates. It was expected. That was just Johnny.

Mike got up and wandered out back, and Marco decided to follow him. The engineer stood with his hands in his pockets, face upturned to the night sky. The stars were barely visible in the middle of the city. He could see lights reflected in Mike's eyes, saw them glimmer and twinkle and sparkle.

"You followin' me, Lopez?" he asked, smirking.

"Just makin' sure no one steals you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I've told you you're a good catch. Gotta make sure you stay my catch."

"That's nothin' you have to worry about… even if I worry someone'll come to steal you."

Marco smiled, repeated, "That's nothin' you have to worry about."

"Hey, fellas, it's lights out in a few minutes," Johnny called out.

xXxXx

Johnny held the door for his two friends, noting the identical smirks they wore. He was hoping they'd all be able to get a full night's sleep tonight, but he knew the chance was small. The paramedics were usually called out a couple of times a night, sometimes more, rarely never. It was just another part of the job. There were nights when the whole station was called out a few times a night, most often for MVAs. More than once they'd spent the night cleaning up a car accident, had done it in heat and cold and pouring rain. That was the firemen's life.

The three men headed into the locker room. Johnny gave an exaggerated yawn, earning quiet huffs of laughter from his friends. Business as usual. He liked business as usual, liked stability and comfort and familiarity. Maybe that was from growing up in a small town. Nothin' ever really changes in a small 'cept people are born and people die. That's about it. That was part of the reason he left the small town, to get some excitement in his life, and damn if excitement wasn't what he got.

Johnny looked around at his shiftmates, smiled, felt warmth bloom in his chest. Excitement was why he joined the fire department initially, because the job was exciting and a chick magnet (maybe even moreso than being a cowboy), but he'd really found a home here. He still cared about the excitement, certainly, and being a chick magnet didn't hurt, but they weren't the most important aspects of the job now. Now the camaraderie was the most important thing, feeling like he was part of something bigger, part of a family, part of a brotherhood. It felt nice.

Not too long after they hit their bunks, the tones dropped, the lights jarring them awake.

"Station 51, Engine 36, man trapped at the sewage treatment plant…"

There was a slight pause in everyone pulling on their bunkers, followed by a collective groan. Oh, this is gonna suck real bad. Cap handed the address to Roy, who passed it on to Johnny. Both the engine and the squad hit their lights and sirens, pulling out onto the now-quiet street. Johnny looked in the side mirror and saw the engine keeping close behind. Mike held her steady, seemed to anticipate what the squad would do and follow suit. He was always impressed by Mike, had been from the first. Can't dwell on that now… gotta rescue some guy from Shit Creek.

The two apparatus from 51s pulled up first and were greeted by a big, worried man, probably the foreman.

"It's Ronny," the foreman told them quickly, "he fell into one of the tanks in the primary process, hit his head and fell. C'mon, hurry, fellas…"

The stench was fairly overwhelming, combined waste and standing water and who knows what, but Johnny forced down any reaction. He had to. He was a professional, and he had to act like one. We'll probably hafta shower six times to get the smell out, and who knows how we'll get it outta the turnouts later. 36s pulled up as they were going in, and the foreman led them all to the tank. It was not a promising or pleasant sight they found.

The injured worker was facedown and largely submerged under God-only-knows-what. There appeared to be a layer of grease on top of the wastewater, and they could just barely see him floating there. The foreman swore. That worker was definitely dead, and Johnny prayed the man never regained consciousness before he drowned.

"Alright, fellas," Cap said, "Recovery. Here, Chet, help Johnny with that catchpole. Marco, get in position with Roy to recover the victim… you, too, Mike, help 'em out."

Johnny made sure to breathe through his nose as he stepped closer to the edge of the tank and lassoed the victim with the catchpole. He felt Chet behind him, holding the waistband of his bunkers in a death grip, could almost feel the lineman's heels dug in. He hooked a limb and tightened the cord around it. Sorry this isn't more formal, pal… we just gotta get ya outta there. Johnny and Chet took a few steps back, gripped the catchpole, started pulling the body in. Cap stepped up beside them, adding his strength to help them.

At the edge of the tank, Roy and Marco were ready to pull the body up, Mike on his haunches behind them, holding their bunkers like Chet held Johnny's moments ago. None of them wanted to go toppling into that sludge. Two guys from 36s held Mike for added protection.

Once they had the body close enough, Roy and Marco grabbed the catchpole, pulling it closer. They carefully got to their feet, still held by Mike and the guys from 36s, and pulled the body up onto the platform beside the tank. Roy took the man's pulse and found none, which was expected. Thick, brown liquid leaked from the man's mouth and nose. The foreman swore again. Johnny set up the biophone, ignoring the soft choking noise Mike made behind him.

"Rampart, this is Squad 51."

"Squad 51, this is Rampart. Go ahead," Early responded.

"Uh, Rampart, we have a male patient, age… approximately 30. He, uh, he sustained a head injury while working at the sewage treatment plant and fell into a tank. We have recovered the victim, but he presents with no pulse. There-There's liquid leaking from the nose and mouth, as well. We believe he drowned almost immediately, and the victim's foreman says he's been in the tank for over fifteen minutes. Uh… permission to call the coroner is requested."

It was an unusual request. The paramedics were not allowed to declare someone legally dead. Every patient was to be treated as a rescue, but sometimes, it was abundantly clear to all involved that the victim was not able to be revived. This was one of those cases. Even if they could get all that sludge out of his lungs, he was almost guaranteed to contract any number of horrible bacterial and viral infections from the noxious cocktail of excrement and chemical waste.

There was a brief pause before Early gave them the affirmative, asking everyone on the rescue to come in and make sure they were up to date on their shots and that they weren't in need of antibiotics. Roy, Mike, and Marco all simply disposed of their gloves, having handled the body the most, and Johnny was sure to douse his hands in alcohol to disinfect them, the other three following suit.

"Hey, Joe," Cap told 36s' captain, "why don't you guys go down to Rampart and get checked out? We'll wait here for the wagon. That way we won't back everything up."

"Good idea, Hank. See ya there."

The foremen left to guide the coroner in, leaving the six firemen with the body.

"Y'know," Chet spoke up, "this has got to be the most unattractive way to die."

"I'll second that."

xXxXx

For Chet, one of the hardest aspects of the job sometimes was remaining professional. That was not to say he couldn't do it or that he was immature. It was simply that some things were too much for a guy. Usually, it was because something was sad, however, sometimes it was because something was actually kind of funny. This one was kind of funny. He wouldn't say that out loud, of course. That would be too insensitive even for him. After all, there was a dead guy laying on the ground in front of him. But how many people in the world are able to say they've actually seen a guy drown in shit? This wasn't exactly something that happened every day.

He and the others were pretty happy to see the coroner arrive, turning the body over with a series of signatures so they could get to Rampart. It was usually best to leave before Quincy got going, which they'd all learned the hard way at one time or another. The firemen all trooped out to the apparatus.

"Alright, fellas, let's get to Rampart."

"At least the smell didn't stick," Chet commented, "Coulda been a helluva lot worse."

"Yeah, it coulda," Johnny agreed, "I coulda fell into that shit."

"You know I wouldn't've let that happen, babe. I wouldn't want Roy to deal with that."

"With what?"

"Uh, with the smell, for one thing, and you whinin' the whole time and tellin' the story for the next three months."

"I would not either do that!"

"Oh, yes you would!"

Johnny opened his mouth to say something else, but Roy cut him off and hustled him into the squad, stopping them from arguing further. Chet laughed quietly, climbed up into the engine, settled into his seat behind Cap, watched Marco sit behind Mike. Marco turned in his seat to say something to Mike, who laughed in response. The sight made Chet smile.

Knowing about Marco and Mike was nice, being trusted felt nice, but sometimes it could be a bit difficult. He knew his own discomfort was nothing compared to theirs, however, it was still not fun to be unable to tell people how happy his two best friends were with each other. Johnny had been asking some questions and making some comments that made Chet a little nervous, that he had to deflect. Thankfully for Chet, he was already a master at deflecting uncomfortable questions and comments, so it wasn't necessarily hard, but he didn't enjoy it. He didn't like to outright lie to his friends.

Mike got them to Rampart in short order, and the crisp night air was enough to cleanse the stench of sewage from their noses. Still, Early had them all scrub down and advised them to shower and change at the station. Thank God we're all up to date on our shots, anyway. Early was smiling the whole time, as usual whens something interesting crossed his path.

"Doc, I know we're not really supposed to just ask for a coroner," Roy said, "but on top of him being pretty obviously dead, we didn't think you wanted that smell in here. A panic might've ensued."

"Oh, I agree. There are sometimes exceptions to the rule in cases like this. You two are good, so I tend to trust your judgment when it comes to things like this."

Johnny smiled next to Roy, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. Genuine praise often did that to him Chet had noticed. I'm the same way. He may not have shown it often, but Chet was very fond of Johnny. They were best friends to be sure, as were all the guys on the shift, but there was something about the paramedic. The two of them just got along. Chet and Johnny were very much alike, after all. They were both the same age, born only a few months apart, shared a few life experiences, liked a good prank every now and again. In public, they put up a bit of an antagonistic front, but really, they were as close as brothers.

Chet suppressed a shudder as he thought back to October. Has it been six months already? I can still remember everything so clearly… He'd been the only one directly with Johnny on the way to Rampart after the snakebite, and Johnny had been pretty bad near the end of the ride. There were a few things he'd asked of Chet, things Chet knew he wasn't ready to do, like find his will and tell his aunt and pleaded with him not to leave him alone. He's here. He's alive. He's right here. Chet was not prepared to contemplate a world without Johnny Gage.

"Okay, fellas, c'mon," Cap said, "Back to the barn. The night's passing, and we all still hafta shower. C'mon, let's go…"

Everyone bid Early farewell and headed out to the apparatus. Once back at the station, once they showered and changed as per doctor's orders, they all went back to bed. Chet curled up on his bunk, settled in, heard a soft scratching at the dorm door, grinned. He got out of bed and went to the door, cracking it to let Boot in. The little mutt followed him to his bunk. Chet laid down again, scooting closer to the edge of the bunk, to allow Boot to jump up and sleep beside him, the dog curling up against his chest. He pulled the blanket up over both of them. Dogs know when you need 'em.

The paramedics were called out alone overnight for a shooting victim. Chet wrapped an arm around Boot, scratching his ears idly. Shootings were never good. He wondered who'd been shot. Was it a man or a woman? Was it a kid? Was the wound very bad? Was the victim already dead? Chet shivered involuntarily. Boot made a soft noise and licked at his face briefly. The first hints of daylight were visible through the window, the inky black of the night sky giving way to dark purples and blues. Quiet sounds of movement reach Chet's ears, slightly muffled by the short wall separating Chet's bunk from Mike's. Mike was clearly not sleeping tonight.

Honestly, I'm not gonna sleep anymore, either. Carefully, Chet sat up and stepped into his bunkers, picked up Boot, and carried him into the kitchen. Coffee was brewing.

"Thought Roy and Johnny might want some," Mike said very quietly, "We all know shootings are rough. Never know what happened, who your victim is, how bad they are…"

Chet hummed in agreement, still holding Boot as he sat next to Mike. The engineer gave a soft smile and pet the little mutt, lingering a moment on the soft ears. Their friends would smell the coffee soon and come to join them, unable to sleep when they knew the paramedics would need them. Chet whispered to the dog, "Now listen up, Boot. You be nice to Johnny when he comes back. We're all gonna be nice to him because he's on a hard run, and he's gonna need his friends, okay? You gonna be his friend, Boot, huh?"

He got a quiet 'boof' in reply. Mike chuckled. Chet turned his head to look out the window, saw purples and blues fading in the light of the rising sun, watched the slowly shifting lavender and pink and orange swirl in the clouds. I wonder if that gunshot victim is alive. Did they get to see this sunrise? Did they live to see a new day? He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.

Marco and Cap wandered into the kitchen after a few minutes more, though no one touched the coffee, saving it for Johnny and Roy. The paramedics returned after about an hour, neither looking happy, Johnny looking worse. Roy came into the kitchen to get coffee, but Johnny merely poked his head in and went into the dorm. Chet carefully set Boot down and followed Johnny, hearing the little dog behind him. That's it, Boot, come on…

Johnny lay sideways across his bunk, arm draped over his face. Chet walked over and sat next to him, asking, "You okay, man? You wanna talk about it at all?"

The arm shifted, brown eyes peering up at him, and he shrugged, said, "What's there to talk about? Street girl got shot by a john, died in the ambulance. There was no reason for it 'cept for the john was drunk. Just dumb shit… it's heavy, y'know?"

Chet just nodded. After a moment, he offered, "We should hang out today, do somethin' fun. We can go get food or catch a movie or somethin' like that. Huh, Johnny, how's that sound?"

The hint of a smile crept onto Johnny's face. Boot jumped up onto the bunk with them, settling against Johnny's side, his tail wagging. The paramedic's smile grew.

"Yeah, Chet, that sounds good. Not sure which exactly, but we'll figure it out."

"Awesome. I'll leave you and Boot alone for a bit. Boot's a good dog. He knows when you're feelin' down, and he's good at makin' ya feel better. Trust me."

"Oh, I know. Boot's a great dog, even if he don't always like me. Which, I dunno why you don't like me, Boot. I like you. I love dogs…"

Chet smiled, gave Boot a little pat, left Johnny with the little mutt for the time being. Nothing particularly exciting happened for the rest of the shift, so when B-shift arrived, A-shift headed out. Johnny met Chet out by his van.

"Well, what are we gonna do today, Chet?"

"Whatever you wanna do, babe. It's all you."

"Right now? I think I wanna eat breakfast."

Many thanks to everyone who's been following this and keeping up with it. Love you all so much!