CHAPTER 8: CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

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(September 23)

Although the extra rest had done Mike good, Chester B. Kelly had no intention of backing down. Whatever had caused Stoker to start catching shifts as a back-stepper hadn't resolved itself. Talking to him at the station hadn't worked, mainly because Mike wouldn't talk. Dropping by unannounced with a six-pack, ordering a pizza, and having a chat to clear the air seemed to be the next logical step. Since the regular shift schedule had them off for the next four days, it seemed like a perfect time to deal with it – if Mike wasn't subbing somewhere.

After sweet talking the scheduling clerk at HQ, Kelly had been able to confirm Stoker wasn't working anywhere tomorrow. Elaine had also obligingly let slip the engineer was scheduled to work five out of the next eight days, including another double. Station 51 would get the front end of it this time, but that only made Chet more anxious to get to the heart of the matter – there was no guarantee the crew at the other station would be able to differentiate between Quiet Stoker and Worn-out Stoker.

That was how he ended up outside Mike's apartment, shifting the beers from hand to hand as he nervously wiped first one hand and then the other on his jeans. He knocked briskly on Mike's door as the sun was setting, and waited, listening for sounds of life.

He froze when he heard a feminine voice call out: "I'll get it, specialist." Oh no. In his preoccupation with what he'd tagged in his own mind as The Stoker Situation, he'd forgotten about Patty. Chet was about to bolt in embarrassment when Patty opened the door – damp hair piled high on her head and one of Mike's t-shirts pulled on over her long, flouncy skirt.

"Hey, Chet, come on in," she invited with a smile. The smell of chicken broth from the kitchen suggested she'd been cooking something for their supper, adding to the domesticity of the moment.

"Oh, I didn't mean to, that is, I don't want to barge in," he mumbled behind his moustache. "I should have called first." I am dead meat.

"Nonsense, come in," Patty said, grabbing his arm as he started to back away and pulling him inside. You've got something on your mind. "We weren't doing anything special, just cleaning up after spending the day at the beach. Have you eaten yet?" She hadn't forgotten the sadness in Kelly's eyes when he'd delivered his message to Mike; Uncle Tommy's elaboration had widened her circle of concern to include the rest of the crew at 51s.

"Oh, Miss McConnikee, you haven't seen my shirt, have you – ," Stoker said as he walked into the room, towel over one bare shoulder, hair slicked back after his shower. "Chet? What's up? Anything wrong?"

"No, I, uh, I just was in the area and thought I'd stop by," he stammered. "I don't mean to intrude."

"I already invited Chet to stay awhile, Mike, and eat with us," Patty put in. "That's okay with you, isn't it?" She impishly snuck a quick kiss onto his jaw, wrapped an arm around his jean-clad waist and, slipping a finger through one of the belt loops, tugged him just a little closer.

"Sure," he replied. "I'll just go find a shirt to put on. The one I laid out seems to have, uh, disappeared. I wonder where it could have ended up," he added, eyeing Patty playfully.

"Gee, I wonder," she responded, a small devilish smile appearing on her face as she slid her free hand casually down the shirt in question – which extended past her hips and featured a Ward LaFrance logo with the words "My other vehicle is a" above it. Chet knew all the engineers at the station had received them when the new rig had been delivered a few years back.

"Uh, right, I shouldn't have, that is, I'll just, uh, talk to you later, okay, Mike?" Chet began edging back toward the door, uncomfortable now at having interrupted their evening. It was obvious Patty was good for Mike. The smile on his face right now was the most natural – albeit slightly lascivious – one Kelly had seen on the engineer's face in weeks. He didn't want to intrude on the good thing Stoker had going. I should have called first, he reprimanded himself, face beginning to pink up in embarrassment, even if it meant he could have blown me off.

"Chet, man, don't go," Mike said, moving forward to clap him on the shoulder without completely breaking contact with Patty. "We'll behave."

"Speak for yourself, big guy," Patty shot back, then stuck out her tongue, causing Chet to laugh and, after a moment, nod.

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After sharing a simple meal of chicken noodle soup and toasted French bread, the three of them ended up talking while playing rummy for a few hours. Chet soon stopped being embarrassed and started joking more freely, telling Patty stories about things Mike had done at work or play. Every now and again, Mike would growl, "Kelly!" warningly, only to have his vote overridden by Patty's enthusiastic "Do tell!"

When the well of stories had run dry momentarily, Patty noticed Chet sneaking glances at Mike in between studying the cards in his hand. What's going on here? He started to say something then met her eyes and closed his mouth firmly. Ah, I see. She checked her own cards and, after Mike discarded, laid down most of her hand with an angelic smile. Both men groaned and spent the next round trying to dump cards, already well aware what that particular smile meant. Patty drew the card she needed two turns later and dropped three aces to the table before tossing the three of hearts on the discard pile.

"I needed that," Mike said with exasperation.

"So did I," Chet put in, glancing at the cards Stoker had just tossed down. Both of us were going after the same cards. Geez!

"I know," Patty replied, rubbing in her victory just a little. Time for a graceful exit. "Let me know when you're ready for another drubbing, boys." She stood and sauntered across the living room and down the hallway toward the bathroom. Just before she entered the hallway, Patty turned her head and caught Chet's eye. Say what you came to say.

She made it a point to take her time, even brushing her teeth with the toothbrush she'd stashed at Mike's. Patty lingered in the hallway, out of sight, relieved to hear Chet's more sober tones.

"Mike, you don't mind me telling Patty this stuff, do you?" She heard the cards being fanned together.

"Nah, Chet, not really. She's entitled to know as much about me as she'd like. Besides, your turn'll come one of these days." She could hear the grin in his voice as he said it, a grin confirmed by Chet's answering chuckle. The shuffling of the cards continued.

"Glad your side's better," Chet said suddenly. "A new engineer can be rough on the ribs, especially if you haven't worked together with the other lineman before." There was a pause. "I heard he's doing better so if you pick up more shifts at 86s you shouldn't have any more problems. And, you know, there's this trick to tucking the hose – ."

"Yeah, I know. Took me the better part of two shifts to remember it though." Mike snorted lightly. "It's amazing how many little things you can forget when you don't do something every shift. I used to think I was a pretty good lineman but now I'm not sure I was ever as good as I thought back then."

"Why'd you start picking up shifts on the hoses?" It was the question he'd been trying to get an answer to for weeks. The timing of it had bothered him. Chet knew he'd worked through his own demons unconventionally too. He wasn't sure how many Cajun restaurants he'd eaten at, trying to get past the burnt taste, since – .

"That fire, on Washburne. After, well, that fire, I just needed to reconnect to fundamentals again, I think. To get … involved again." To be hands on in saving people from the flames.

"I hear ya, babe, I hear ya." There was a small silence then the sound of cards being dealt. "How many more shifts are you thinkin' of workin'? You seem to be … better … too." Not healed yet, but better.

"I'm scheduled for two more." Another pause. "The other day, in the kitchen. What –."

Chet's deep sigh silenced Mike. "The girl, Maria. I gave her mouth-to-mouth and –."

"Ah." The short syllable, rich with understanding, seemed to rob both men of speech. It was all Patty could do not to peek around the corner and see what was going on. She put one hand against the wall, accidentally brushing against a framed photograph Johnny had given Mike for Christmas last year. The small sound it made when it slid across the vertical surface was apparently enough to break the Chet's reverie.

"Two more shifts, huh?"

"Yeah. I may grab the odd shift every now and again in the future but I've been neglecting some other things that are pretty important to me. I just hadn't realized it."

"Huh. Where is she anyway?"

"You know women and bathrooms."

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"Good night, Chet," Mike growled for a third time and pushed his friend through the door. Patty laughed delightedly and returned Chet's grin.

"It's okay, Chet. We'll meet for coffee and you can tell me the rest of the story," she said.

"Sure thing. Catch ya later, babe," Chet replied. "Uh, that is, uh, Miss Patty," he stammered hurriedly at Mike's possessive look, backing away with his hands up in mock surrender.

"I'm glad he came over," Patty said once the other man had left. "He's a good guy." And, he helped you, somehow. I owe him one for that. She turned to Mike as he pulled her closer, his hands on her hips, her arms stretched up to clasp his shoulders. "Where were we though?"

Stoker answered by kissing her, tasting a faint mouthwash mint now instead of the weird beer Chet had brought. He murmured something against her hair.

"What?"

"I was going to get my shirt back, I think."

"Oh, really? This shirt?" she asked playfully, sliding her hands down her sides and stopping when she reached his hands. Patty twined her fingers into his, dislodging them from her hips. The feel of his hands against hers made her heart beat faster.

"Yep, that's the shirt. You gonna give it back?"

"Hmmm. I dunno. I think it looks pretty good on me. Don't you?" she asked and spun back and away from him to model it.

"I have to admit Ward LaFrance never looked so good." I may never look at Big Red the same way again, in fact, he thought to himself wryly.

"If you want it back," she continued, taking another half-step back, "you'll have to," then another, "catch me first!" With that, she darted toward the kitchen. Mike chased after her, abruptly changing course and attempting to cut her off before she could make good her escape down the hall. Two trips around the kitchen bar and she was able to evade him, race down the hallway, yank open a door, and dart through.

Mike slowed as he saw where she went, deliberately stepping into the entrance in a manner which filled the doorway to his bedroom. He eyed her, now on the other side of the bed, catching on to the kind of recreation she seemed to want tonight. Stoker was never quite certain how far she wanted to take these games and treated it like ventilating a roof – testing the way carefully before taking the next step. "Looks like you're trapped, Miss McConnikee," he said with a smirk. "You aren't gonna be getting through me any time soon." He pressed his hands against the doorjambs for emphasis.

"Oh?" she said, walking toward him with a lilting gait that made her skirt sway invitingly. "You don't think I can get by you if I want?" she challenged softly. Patty reached up and kissed his throat. She pressed her palms firmly against his pecs and nuzzled his sternum through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, pulling the fabric taut as she moved down, down, down. When she felt his stomach contract, she smiled to herself, then ducked under Mike's arm to make an escape. Once more through the apartment and then – oops!

"Not so fast, Patty Mack," he said, thwarting her by swinging his arm down and catching her by the waist. She laughed and tried to squirm out of his grasp, prompting Mike to use both arms. Keeping her close, he slowly walked her backwards, away from the doorway. "So does this qualify as caught, hon?" he began to ask with a cheeky grin when she suddenly pulled back, letting her body go limp in his arms. The surprise move caused Mike to stumble slightly and they fell toward the bed, Mike rolling to avoid landing on her. With another laugh, Patty scrambled to get back up.

Mike quickly threw one leg over hers, tangling in her skirt as he pinned her firmly to the mattress. He kissed her deeply, unrelentingly exploring her sweetness until she gave a small, breathless moan, all her laughter gone. Sweet petunia, specialist, how do you manage to do that to me?

"How 'bout this? Is this caught?" he asked softly then while dribbling kisses over her face, sensing her complete surrender was near. Easy now, Stoker, easy. Make sure she's with you.

"You still don't have your shirt back," she protested, saying the first semi-coherent thing that came into her mind, causing him to chuckle.

"Hmmm. We'll just see about that." Mike pushed himself up to a sitting position, catching a glimpse of her bright green eyes from under her lashes as he pulled back. He slid his hands up under the hem of the t-shirt and pressed his thumbs into her hip bones, anchoring her to the bed. Almost immediately, Patty's body yielded to his touch and sank deeper into the bed, giving him a startling, almost intoxicating sense of power.

She felt him hesitate, felt him holding her gently, felt his strong hands waiting for her consent. Patty gripped his wrists, not to move them away but to revel for another moment in the anticipation his considerate seduction was stoking in her. The hesitation allowed another semi-coherent thought to streak through her synapses; it shocked her with its raw intensity: Anything, anything he wants …. Stoker inched the shirt higher, rubbing small circles on her flesh with his thumbs, and she instinctively arched against his hands, encouraging him. "Ahhh." The small sound slid from her mouth as her hands slid from his wrists, lying limp on the bed beside her.

"Touch me," Mike commanded in a whisper. He dipped down to plant a soft kiss on her lips and met her eyes when his words unexpectedly reduced the willing pliancy in her body.

"I – how?" she asked, a hint of uncertainty coloring her voice, eyes shifting from his. Does he want something in particular? How should I – .

"Just touch me," he repeated gently, pulling back slightly to allow her access to his body. However you want to, hon.

Her soft hands slipped tentatively under the dark blue shirt he wore, then slid up his body swiftly, pushing the fabric up to reveal the tanned skin and fine dark hairs of his stomach. Patty gripped his sides, fingernails gliding lightly over his skin, then pulled herself up to plant a kiss on Mike's lower sternum, right at the xiphoid process. Ah, there, she's with me alright. He slipped his hands around to her lower back, supporting her lightly, and allowed her to take the lead. She continued upward until the shirt met the obstacle of his arms. "I want this," Patty said and tugged at his shirt, a smile playing across her lips.

"Oh?" he said with a smile then obliged her by releasing his hold on her and lifting his arms to facilitate her request. There was no hurry. He looked forward to slowly peeling what had just become his favorite t-shirt from her beautiful body and – .

Three sharp blasts of a vehicle horn sounded from the parking lot, startling them both and slicing through the sexual tension crisply. Mike recognized the peculiar warble of the horn when it repeated. "Not funny, Chester B., not funny," he muttered darkly.

Laughing, Patty took advantage of the opportunity and stripped the shirt over Stoker's head in a flash, clutching it to herself as she fell back to the bed. "That's two shirts to me, specialist!" she said triumphantly. Hair ruffled and shirtless again, Mike joined her laughter then leaned close to deposit a series of soft kisses on her lips, jaw, throat.

"Two shirts to you, Patty Mack," he murmured. "Two shirts to you." Mike pulled back only enough to search her face, fingers weaving into her hair. "Do I get another chance to get one or more of them back?" What's your pleasure, sweetie? A return to sanity or – . A brisk knock on the front door answered for her; Mike met it with a growl. "If that's Chet too, I'm gonna hang him from the hose tower by his toes." Patty giggled at the thought as Stoker pushed himself up and stalked down the hallway. He opened the door, ready to castigate Chet thoroughly, but the words stuck in his throat.

"Mom? Dad?" he squeaked instead. "What are you doing here?"

"Michael, for goodness sake, put your shirt on," Mary Stoker admonished and stepped past him calmly, surveying her son's usually neat apartment with interest. "And comb your hair." Dishes in the sink, a pile of playing cards on the table, a purse and shoes beside the couch, throw pillows strewn about the living room, lampshade decidedly askew. Looks like someone's been playing games in here. As she moved further into the apartment, she heard a door close down the hall and smiled to herself. So that's why that nice young man from Mike's station was honking his horn.

"We hadn't seen you in a while and we are leaving in just a few days," Charles Stoker said, "so Mother and I decided to come visit you." He followed his wife inside and closed the door. "You may want to wipe that lipstick off before your mother sees it, son," he added in a low voice, blue eyes twinkling merrily, and chuckled at the blush that engulfed his son from waist to whiskers.

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