CHAPTER 11: GHOSTS AND OTHER DEAD MEN
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(October 17)
Marco had helped Mike into what was usually his own seat on a resplendent Engine 51. The B-shift engineer was behind the wheel, Derek's captain on C-shift next to him, and Marty Rodgers the other C-shift lineman beside Mike. The fourth member of the engine crew at the time of the accident had moved out of state about a year ago, leaving the final spot open. Chief McConnikee had brusquely informed Stoker to take his place on the engine shortly after Patty and his brother had delivered Mike to the staging area. Henry had given his stern-faced brother an approving nod before going to park the car.
Marco fell back to walk with the rest of men from his shift just behind the engine. When it was time to dismount, Marco stepped forward briskly to assist Mike, who didn't seem to be interested in waiting for help from his self-appointed aide-de-camp. That was how he saw Mike's good leg falter and Mike's face go white as all of his weight fell onto the banged-up leg. Marco was there before Stoker toppled but it was clear he'd aggravated his knee.
"Let me get Johnny or Roy, amigo," he said softly as he leaned into Mike to keep him upright.
"No!" The refusal was soft and intense as Stoker regained his equilibrium. "I'm not – I have to – I can handle it." He pulled the crutches out and positioned them carefully, trying to make a point about his ability to continue. "When we're done, I'll get checked out," he added, the light sheen of sweat on his face belying his efforts to appear pain-free and mobile.
"I'll be right next to you until you do." He placed a hand on Mike's back. It was a casual gesture but allowed Marco to keep track of the strain of his muscles, the quality of his breathing, and the stability of his gait. If Mike started to falter, Marco would know and could act at once. The tight nod let him know Stoker wouldn't try to shake him off and they moved forward as one. Despite the fair skies and buttery sunlight, the action briefly reminded Lopez of backing Kelly up on a hose as they advanced into the dark, smoky hell of a peculiarly fickle fire where anything could happen.
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Henry and Patty stood back as row after loose row of firefighters made their way down the street behind the engine carrying Derek Watson's coffin. He had his arm around her protectively as they joined the end of the procession with other non-departmental personnel. He could tell the whole sequence of events had unnerved her. His baby was thinking about what the future could hold for her, if things worked out with Stoker. Not for the first time, he wished his wife were there to help him, to help Patty. Henry could offer his perspective but having a woman around to give advice would be – .
"Aren't you Michael's friend?" a soft voice asked from behind them.
Henry half-turned – and found himself face-to-face with Emily Stanley. His groin twitched despite the years that had passed. "Emily?" he said before Patty could respond.
"Hello, Henry," she said with a surprised smile. "Is this little – ?"
"My daughter, Patty, – and, yes, she's seeing Stoker." He hesitated, then gestured with his arm. "Would you like to walk with us?"
"We'd be delighted," Emily responded smoothly, motioning a fifteen-year-old boy who was a carbon copy of Hank Stanley forward. "My son, Daniel." She slipped her arm into Daniel's, and walked sedately beside Henry. For his part, Henry kept his arm firmly around Patty and carefully maintained a discrete distance from Hank's wife.
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The A and C shifts from Station 51 gathered at the Stanley residence after the funeral. B shift returned to duty, the creped engine's solemn duty concluded for the day.
Marco had given Roy the high sign before the graveside service, letting him know Mike would need the paramedic's assistance later. Stoker had been stubborn about standing until Derek's mother caught his eye and sternly motioned him into one of the chairs provided for the mourners; as a woman with four sons, she hadn't been fooled by his tough guy face. As the service ended, Mike had pushed himself to his feet and hobbled toward the Watsons. Marco had given him some space so he could have a few private words with them, but still overheard Mike apologizing again for having asked Derek to take part of his shift that day, for being responsible for his injuries and, ultimately, for death. Mrs. Watson shushed him firmly and pulled him down into a hug, whispering something in his ear and then pushing him back toward the chair he'd reluctantly occupied.
Mike sat there for several minutes after everyone else had filed past one last time, staring at the flower-covered casket. He could see the gravediggers waiting politely just beyond the cemetery plot, neither shifting nor sighing at the delay. Finally, Marco stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on Stoker's arm. "It's time, amigo," he said softly. "And we need to check you out, see if you hurt yourself more." The tall man nodded, tears not quite slipping from his eyes, and attempted to stand, Marco's strong arm steadying him. A few minutes later, Henry McConnikee pulled the car up beside them. Marco helped Mike into the backseat with Patty then climbed in the front to direct them to Captain Stanley's home. He noticed Patty gently held Mike's hand and approved of the silent, low-key comfort she offered his friend.
Once they arrived at the Stanley residence, Marco ushered Mike into the spare bedroom Roy had commandeered.
"Let's see what you did to your knee," Roy began, after loosening the brace. "Definitely a bit swollen. Can you get your pants over it or will I need to cut 'em?" Mike shrugged out of his coat before undoing his belt. He slid his slacks down partway then sat on the bed heavily, allowing Roy to gently tug the pants over his knee. Marco took the coat and arranged it neatly over a chair in the corner before stepping out of the room.
After a few minutes of prodding, the paramedic sighed. "Well, it doesn't look too bad, but you need to let the docs know you banged it up again. Aren't you supposed to start the next phase of PT tomorrow?" Roy handed Mike two OTC pain relievers and the paper cup of water Marco had retrieved from the bathroom and just passed in. The door opened a crack and Johnny's arm slipped through to hand Roy an ice pack from the well-stocked Stanley freezer. Roy nodded at his partner, the door closed again, and Mike took the neatly-wrapped ice pack from Roy's hand.
"Fifteen minutes?" he asked, carefully placing it on his knee. He flinched then felt the cold's soothing properties kick in.
"Yeah," Roy confirmed. "Let's get your leg up here and then you can rest for a little while, give the pain meds a chance to work." In a few minutes, Stoker was settled on the bed, leg propped up and a light blanket spread over him. "Do you want some company, or …?" He draped Mike's pants over the foot of the bed, putting the leg brace he'd removed on the chair in the corner.
"I'm good, Roy, thanks." Roy nodded and left, turning off the overhead light and leaving Mike to his own thoughts.
Mike leaned back in the bed and wearily closed his eyes. He'd almost welcomed the physical pain as a distraction from the emotional, especially at the graveside. Now with his shoulders and sides aching from the crutches as well as the new and old pains from his knee and hip and a headache building, he only wanted some relief. It felt good to stretch out, to let gravity drag him into the soft mattress instead of onto the stiff armrests of the crutches. In a few minutes, Stoker hovered on the edge of sleep, then slipped over soundlessly.
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Emily had invited all of the McConnikees to join the rest of the 51 family at the Stanley home. Tom had politely declined, murmuring about returning to the office although Emily suspected he wanted to allow the station to grieve without an official presence inhibiting them unduly. Henry, on the other hand, had been obliged to accept since Patty couldn't have been pried from Mike's side with the Jaws. The young woman had watched with a worried expression on her face as Marco and Roy maneuvered Mike into the bedroom. "Come with me, dear, and let the boys work," Emily said, gently pulling Patty toward the kitchen.
Henry was left standing in the entryway, unsure of what to do. It had been almost fifteen years since he'd been here last and that had been under very different circumstances indeed. From where he stood, he could tell the house had been expanded and remodeled; he idly wondered if Emily had shared with her husband the design suggestions he'd made.
"Uh, we usually congregate on the back deck," Hank Stanley said from behind him. He'd stripped off his dress uniform and changed into dark slacks and a turtleneck, still looking very much like a fire captain.
"Oh, okay," Henry said, looking back at him. "I appreciate you allowing an outsider to join you today."
"I thought you'd been with the department, sir."
"Please, Captain Stanley, call me Henry. Tommy's the one who's a 'sir,' not me."
"Call me Hank."
McConnikee nodded. "I was with the department for about five years, Hank, but that was a long time ago."
"You're still one of us, though." It was a quiet statement, made without hesitation. And it told Henry more clearly than anything else that Stanley didn't know all that had happened between Emily and him.
"I – thank you." He smiled slightly. "Out back, you said?"
"This way," Cap replied and gestured.
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Johnny stuck his head into the kitchen, not willing to insert himself into the female domain unnecessarily. "Mrs. Cap'n? I was wonderin' if I could get an ice pack?" He pulled back slightly to let a smiling Joanne DeSoto pass by with what looked like her made-from-scratch banana pudding and a straight-from-the-can three-bean salad which Johnny suspected Chet of bringing.
"For Michael?"
"Yes, ma'am. His knee's just a bit swollen." Johnny noticed Patty's worried look and smiled reassuringly in her direction.
"The extra ice packs are in the garage freezer; I had to move them out there for this. Oh, and don't use the blue ones. Daniel likes them after football practice."
"Yes, ma'am," Johnny said with a nod and headed to the garage.
"He'll be okay, dear. The boys are taking good care of him," Emily murmured to Patty as she reached around the younger woman for two more serving spoons.
"I should, uh, shouldn't I be – ?" Patty began, craving the older woman's advice.
"Not yet. For now, this is where you should be. Can you get the meatloaf out of the oven and slice it?"
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Patty was still in the kitchen when Roy came out of Mike's room. "Mrs. Stanley? Is Cap out back?"
"Yes, I think so, Roy. How's Michael?" Patty turned, knife still in her hand, when Emily asked the question she had wanted to. Eyes wide, she stared at the paramedic, who flashed a smile at her, the smile an emotional twin to Johnny's. Do they get training in that, too, at paramedic school? Reassuring Smiles 101? Comforting Phrases and Gestures 203?
"Oh, I think he'll be okay. He wrenched his knee a little getting off the engine but I don't think he'll need more than an ice pack or two. He will need some help getting up the stairs at his place unless Cap can convince him to stay here tonight. If, of course, you don't mind, Mrs. Stanley," Roy added belatedly.
"Mike's been staying with me, I mean, with us, Daddy and me," Patty said quickly, unsure how much Roy knew about Mike's recent living arrangements. Chet and Johnny knew, so surely Roy and the rest of the crew did too. Although Mike did mention returning to his apartment a few days ago. Maybe he'd called Roy about it?
"And, if I know Henry Malone McConnikee at all, Michael will have no stairs to navigate and all the comforts of home in the guest room. Right, Patty?"
"Uh, yes, ma'am," Patty replied, surprised Emily Stanley seemed to be familiar with her home.
"That settles it, then. Roy, take this," and she handed him the large platter of meatloaf Patty had finished slicing, "and let Hank know about Michael before he starts pacing this direction. Okay?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said with a nod, taking the platter.
"Let's get the rest of this food out there for the boys. Then, we'll get our plates and come back here for a chat. Okay?" Patty nodded, picked up two more bowls, and followed her hostess to the back patio.
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Henry McConnikee was uncomfortable – uncomfortable being in the company of so many firemen, uncomfortable being in Emily's house, uncomfortable being in Hank's presence. Patty's appearance brought a relieved smile to his face. After setting the bowls on the long table, she came over to him and squeezed his shoulder. "You okay, Daddy?" she asked softly.
"I'll make it," he said simply. "Just been a while." He watched Emily walk up to her tall husband and saw him bend down so she could speak softly in his ear. Henry felt something clench in his heart when Stanley wrapped his arm around his wife familiarly, nodding to the C-shift captain that they were ready. I miss you, love.
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Mike woke up about half an hour later when one of the younger Stanleys arrived home from school and ran noisily down the hallway. After a moment, he pushed himself up and slowly pulled on his slacks, noticing the swelling wasn't too bad. I should be with the others. He'd just started fastening his belt when Patty pushed the door open slightly. "Specialist?" she said tentatively without actually looking into the room.
"Come on in, hon," Mike said, one hand braced against the wall. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, and drew both strength and balance from her. As he slowly released her, Stoker ran his hands down her arms and brought her hands to his lips. "Thank you for being here today," he said softly.
"Where else would I be?" she asked with a slight smile. "Do you think you could eat now? There's this really terrific banana pudding you should try."
"Help me fasten that dumb brace on again and I'll be set."
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"Mr. McConnikee? Did you want a beer or something?" Chet asked as opened his second beer of the afternoon. "This brand's new but pretty good."
"No, thank you, I'll just stick with tea. It's Kelly, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," Chet replied and took the seat next to the older man, studying him out of the corner of his eye. "You sure look a lot like your brother."
"So, I've heard," Henry said dryly, aware of the curly-haired kid's regard. They're all kids, every last one of 'em.
"Uh, yeah, I guess you probably have. Sorry."
"Not a problem."
Chet was quiet for a few moments, taking another pull from his beer. "You ever have any fun with that?"
"It's happened." Henry chuckled. "More than once. And not always on purpose."
"Oh?" Kelly hitched his seat forward in interest, the bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. Henry's nostrils twitched slightly as he caught the distinctive resinous smell of Chet's craft beer and he launched into one of his twin stories with a desperate vigor.
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"Cap, I meant to tell you thanks earlier," Stoker said as the private wake for Watty wound down. If I'd shown up improperly dressed, Mr. Derek Stickler-For-Dress-Protocol Watson probably would have haunted me for years. Hank probably remembered that. "For loaning me your old bars, I mean," he explained when Stanley looked blank.
"I didn't loan you mine," Hank responded at last, catching up with his engineer's thought when Stoker tapped his chest where a fireman's ribbons usually rested.
"There was a note on my uniform, signed Henry, with an older style COURAGE pinned to it. I assumed it was from you."
"Not me, pal. If I'd known, I would have but – ," he said, shaking his head. What happened to Mike's own medal? Was that what Chet was talking about?
"If it wasn't you, what other Henry could have – oh!"
Mike looked across the room to where Henry McConnikee was laughing and swapping stories with Chet, looking more relaxed now. He knew the man had been a fireman, back in the day, but he'd never bothered to learn what kind of fireman he'd been.
Now, he had the answer: one helluva firefighter. The department didn't give out the Medal of Courage to just anyone, for just anything. The scar on Stoker's own right hand was proof of that.
"Henry Malone McConnikee, perhaps?" Hank asked softly.
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The afternoon sky held the merest suggestion of dusk when the last of the A-shift left the Stanley residence. While Marco helped Mike get into Patty's car, a smiling Chet clapped Henry McConnikee on the back. Johnny carried some of the leftovers out of the house and stowed them on the floor in the backseat after Mike was settled. "You got that list?" Johnny asked Patty quietly and she nodded; he knew Roy had given her a list of things to watch for concerning Mike's knee, before heading home with Joanne an hour or so ago. "Call anytime if you need anything," he added, thrusting a tri-folded index card through the rolled-down window.
"Thanks," she said, taking the card and slipping it into her purse without looking at it and – by a supreme act of restraint – not rolling her eyes. How many of these am I going to get? He nodded and stepped back when she turned the ignition key.
"That's a good group of guys you're working with," Henry commented after Patty backed out of the driveway and pointed the car toward home.
"The best," Mike responded.
"The one with the bushy mustache, Chet? He's a funny guy."
"He definitely has his moments. He's the station prankster."
"What's his specialty?"
"Water bombs." Mike smiled. "He's pretty creative with them, actually. Once he managed to prank Gage five times in one shift. And two of those times, Kelly got Gage to pull the cord on himself." Kelly had used a double-switch on the first one – the first pull armed it and the second triggered it. Before springing it on Gage a second time, he'd added another pull to the sequence. Johnny had insisted on pulling the cord first and nothing had happened. Chet gave it a yank with the same result. When Johnny pulled it a second time, the bottom of the bucket opened up and soaked Gage.
"Every station has a guy like that, I think," Henry said with a chuckle when Mike finished the story. "I remember a guy who was a genius with fruit."
"Fruit?" Stoker was skeptical. Of course, with Cap's food moratorium, he had never really considered the possibilities of pranking fruit.
"He was able to slice bananas in the skin. Someone would peel one and all the pieces would just fall out all over the place. I'd say that was pretty good."
"Daddy, are you talking about Jackie Royal? He was always a lot of fun."
"Yes, that was Jackie. He and his brother were quite the pair."
"Did you know I sometimes helped him with those bananas?"
"No, but I do remember you used to have quite a crush on him," her father teased.
"Well, maybe a little bit," Patty admitted, glancing back in the mirror at Mike with a smile. "But I'm over it. And look, we're home," she announced before he could respond. "Daddy, will you help me with the food? Goodness! It looks like Mrs. Hank sent most of the leftovers with us." Discovering Emily Stanley was the Mrs. Hank of her childhood had been a welcome surprise.
"Emily has always been a generous woman," Henry said fondly as he picked up one of the boxes from the floorboard in the backseat of the car. Mike saw the expression but wasn't sure what to make of it. He filed it away for the time being and picked up the second smaller box to give to Patty.
After sliding himself toward the door carefully, he was able to make it to his feet before the McConnikees returned, ignoring the twinges in his leg. When Patty handed him the crutches from the trunk, Mike leaned toward her and mischievously asked about his competition. "Is this Jackie Royal someone I need to worry about?"
To his surprise, she didn't laugh but instead glanced at her father. "Jack Royal and his brother Frank were LODD when Patty was about thirteen," Henry said. When Mike opened his mouth to apologize, Henry waved it away. "You couldn't have known. They were both good men."
"They saved Daddy's life," Patty affirmed.
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Once he'd seen Stoker into the guest room and rewrapped his hip, checking the slightly swollen knee himself, Henry had withdrawn to his office. Patty tucked the food Emily had sent with them into the fridge, calculating the best way to use it over the next few days, and then went to see her father.
"Daddy? Are you okay?" she asked, tapping softly on his office door and pushing it open. Patty wasn't surprised to find him looking through pictures or wiping at his face. She hugged him gently, resting her head on his shoulder, and idly looked at the photographs as he flipped through them.
"I miss her, Patty, I miss her so much," he murmured finally, staring bleary-eyed at a color picture taken on their honeymoon. The breeze had whipped up just as the picture had been snapped, causing Morgan's dark hair to fan out to one side providing the perfect foil for her bright green eyes. They'd both been laughing, snuggled together, happy, impossibly young.
"I know, I know," she said, gripping his shoulder reassuringly as she stood. "Do you want – ," she began then paused. "Do you want a drink?" Patty said finally, tasting the bitter words.
"Yes," he said simply. His admission flopped onto the floor like a dead fish. "But you can't give me one." Henry patted her hand. "Go on back to your fella, baby. I'll spend some time with my memories and then go on to bed."
"Are you sure?" she asked. "We could play a board game or cards for a while."
"I'm sure. We can play tomorrow, okay?" Henry pulled a smile onto his face, despite the tears already decorating it. Patty nodded reluctantly and left the room as she'd found it – sad, quiet and full of longing for what could never be.
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Once she'd changed, Patty found Mike in the kitchen, leaning on his crutches and looking through the refrigerator. For a moment or two, she just watched him. He'd removed the leg brace, giving his leg a more normal appearance in the gray sweatpants but he still moved with a stiff painfulness she didn't like to see. The broad shoulders she loved so much drooped, testament to his weariness and discomfort. "Mike? Did you need something? Are you hungry?" When he turned, she added, "You really need to let me take care of you, you know." She folded her arms across her chest, a playful frown on her face.
"I was looking for an ice pack," he admitted, "and realized I wanted a drink, too." For a moment, Patty's heart clenched, hoping she hadn't fallen in love with a man who shared her father's taste for drowning his sorrows. Despite their first meeting, she'd never known him to drink much at all. Of course, he'd not just come from the funeral of a good friend on any of those occasions either. "But I didn't see anything in here besides that, uh, grapefruit juice."
"I can mix up some OJ or instant iced tea for you," she said, tempering the expression of her profound relief so she wouldn't have to explain it. "Do you need a pain pill?"
"It's been a long day but I'm not ready to go to sleep just yet and those meds can drop you into a hole. So I'd like to hold off if I can." After those first pain pills had repeatedly sent him into a babbling freefall, Mike had requested a different prescription. The new meds knocked the pain and sometimes him into a deep narco pit which wasn't much better but at least kept his tongue in check.
"How 'bout you sit on the couch and relax while I make some tea? We'll just … hang out."
"That sounds like a good prescription, Miss McConnikee," he said, accepting her peck on the cheek with a soul-weary smile. Having her next to him would feel good after today.
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"How does that feel?"
"Good," he said, settling the bag of frozen peas against his knee and leaning back into the couch. He'd thrown his regular cold pack across the bedroom in frustration that morning after trying to wrap his own hip. Henry had come in a few minutes later, his blue-eyed glare sufficient to refreeze boiling water between one heartbeat and the next when he saw Patty on her knees in front of a half-naked Stoker, beginning the wrap. He'd laid a hand on his daughter's shoulder to stop her, helped her up, shooed her out, and taken her place wordlessly. The cold pack remained against the wall, unremarked upon, slowly warming in the delicate sunlight dribbling in through the windows until they had returned.
"You know what, let's elevate that knee a bit, okay? Just turn like this and then I'll – ." Once he'd complied with her directions, he found his head cradled in the pillow on her lap and the rest of him stretched out on the couch, knee supported and iced, every need of his satisfied, every morsel of comfort provided. He looked up at her, blue eyes more peaceful than they'd been all day. How did I ever survive before you? he thought, shaking his head slightly in wonder.
The motion reignited the headache that had been smoldering under the analgesic's inhibition; a faint line of tension appeared on his forehead. "Still have that headache?" she asked and received a shrugged answer. "Well, close your eyes and relax," she instructed, "and I'll see if I can help."
Patty began to gently massage his temples, moving down his face, stroking his cheekbones, working slowly along his jaw, down his neck, and into his shoulders, always maintaining contact with his skin. "This time is all about you, specialist, all about you." The light smell of roses accompanied her hands. Starting at his forehead again, she began massaging his scalp, gently pressing her thumbs into his skull at various locations. She worked her fingers into the base of his skull, firmly separating the tense muscles of his neck with one hand until he relaxed and his head became dead weight in her other hand. Patty gently eased his head back into the pillow.
After squirting additional lotion on her hands and warming it between them, Patty returned to his face drawing fat, lazy lines along his cheek bones, jaw and forehead with the lotion. Although he obediently kept his eyes closed, he raised one of his eyebrows inquiringly. She laughed softly and dropped a light kiss on his lips. She began tracing her fingers over his face, gliding lightly over his skin with the help of the lotion. The small circular motions repeated over and over again around his eyes, nose, mouth, banished the remaining tension.
At last, she withdrew her hands from his head, resting them lightly on his shoulders. Her actions weren't intended to be sensual – and Mike knew it – but her mood was far from clinical. Do I encourage this mood? Do I want to? His knee gave a slight throb and he reluctantly opened his eyes. "Thank you. I can tell you've done that before."
"My mom used to have some bad headaches so Daddy taught me some things to help her when he, uh, couldn't be around." Her eyes were sad for a moment and he got the impression it wasn't on account of her mother. Hopefully, Uncle Tommy will get the message I left for him, she thought and brushed her hand across his forehead. Patty tangled her now-lotion-free fingers in his hair, combing through it, delighting in its softness. He wasn't sure why his hair held such attraction for her but he didn't mind. Her touch was especially gentle now, he noticed, in deference to his newly-eased headache.
"You learned all that from your father?" he asked a bit hoarsely. That man is full of surprises.
"Not everything. I also read a lot, specialist," she replied with gentle pertness. Patty slid her knuckles across his stubbly cheek, giving herself a small scruffy reward, and was surprised and a little dismayed when he reached up and took her hand away from his face. Mike slowly unfolded the hand, bringing it to his lips and softly kissing her palm, breathing in the smell of rose petals. Keeping it flat, he lightly moved her hand along his own bristly jaw line and was rewarded with a quick intake of breath. "Scruff's an unfair advantage," she reported lazily as he pressed another kiss into her palm. Patty felt desire beginning to unfold inside her but tried to temper her response. Ahh, no, this time should be all about him.
"Uh-huh," he murmured, capturing her other hand and administering the same sensual treatment to it. A delightful shiver ran across her shoulders. Maybe Uncle Tommy won't get the message … or he'll get lost … or something, she thought, torn between surrender and obligation as she bit her lip slightly.
After kissing her palms, Mike noticed the continuing tension around her eyes and sensed her ambivalence. He tucked her hands snugly against his chest, not taking her reluctance personally. There is a time for everything, he thought, and this is the time for talk. "Is your dad okay, hon? If I'd known about the Royals, I wouldn't have – ."
Patty shrugged one shoulder, unsure of what to say. "I know he's missing Mom tonight. Any firefighter's funeral brings back a lot of tough memories for him. It can take a while for him to get back on an even keel. And, well, this is the second one in two months."
"He went to Paul Kyson's funeral?" Mike said after a minute, mentally reviewing fire service funerals for the past few months. He had volunteered for the honor guard but everyone on the regular schedule had been available. Then, at the last minute, he'd picked up half shift at 8s when the regular engineer had come down with a stomach bug and he'd missed the funeral altogether.
"We both went. He was Daddy's engineer for two years, I think it was."
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Sobriety hadn't come easily to Henry McConnikee and he knew it was really only a matter of time before he took his next drink. He hadn't given up on leading a bottle-free life but he would prefer to yield to the siren song under controlled circumstances – the fireman's ball, for example, with someone ready to pull the plug for him – instead of waiting until it blindsided him.
Like tonight.
Seeing Emily again had been both an unexpected pleasure and a painful reminder of his years-long stupidity when the bottle had been more important than just about everything else. Hearing Patty refer to her as 'Mrs. Hank' again sent him down memory lane on the cross-time express.
A twisted part of him wanted a drink to dull the pain. But remembering how Emily had looked at him twenty-odd years ago before walking out the front door of this very house turned his stomach afresh, her angry whispers still clear in his ears. So – as he sat at the desk in his office, flipping through pictures, aching for his wife – Morgana, Emily, the Royals, Paul, Patty and even Tommy crawled through his brain, weaving together something painful and evil. The completed tapestry of how he'd hurt them was ugly and he wasn't sure he had the power to resist washing it all away with some smooth Irish whiskey. He even had the good stuff available to him for a change. Henry had been saving it for the special occasion he'd been expecting ever since he'd met Stoker at the burned out textile mill.
At the thought of it sliding over his tongue and down his throat, he swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry with his craving. He didn't want one drink tonight.
No.
He could ask Patty for her key, for one, just one drink. She could even pour it for him. 'Three fingers of whiskey and then lock the bottle back up, baby.' That's what he'd say. He could sip it slowly, savoring every drop. Maybe it would be enough. Of course it would be enough.
You're a selfish drunk not a father, McConnikee. Emily's voice echoed in his head. One was never enough, for him.
Okay, so it couldn't be that hard to force the lock on the cabinet, instead of asking Patty for her key, to spare her that, especially since he'd already told her not to give it to him.
Don't bother pretending you care about that little girl – a nine-year-old shouldn't be mixing hangover remedies for her father.
Emily had been so right but he wasn't sure he could fight it much longer. Not today. God, why did You let her die? Didn't You know how much I needed her?
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"Mike?"
"Hmm?" She'd taken to playing with his right hand, splaying his fingers wide and matching her smaller hand up against his. He watched from under his long lashes, wondering what thoughts were causing her to frown.
"When was Derek's accident?"
"Three, almost four years ago." Her fingers slid between his. Mike automatically closed his fingers loosely over hers, sliding his thumb along hers lightly.
"Do you remember the date?"
"It's coming up soon. October 25."
"That's what – Mike, I'm so sorry." She released his hand guiltily.
"Sorry? For what, hon?"
"I heard you apologized to Mr. and Mrs. Watson for being late that morning, for asking Derek to take part of your shift, for him getting hurt … and everything."
"I did." A part of him would always feel responsible; in time, he'd have it packed away, tucked into a corner of his mind he didn't visit regularly. "What does that have to do – ?"
"Don't you remember?" she broke in. "I-I was the reason you were late that morning, Michael. You spent so much time taking care of me that night, you had to call in. If it hadn't been for me losing it when my dad got hurt, you would have been on t-time."
The silence was thick. Mike turned over all the things he could say in response then sighed.
"You're not to blame, hon, any more than I am. Watty's parents have set me straight on that several times over the past few years, including this morning. It was just an accident." A lousy accident that took the life of a good man. "In fact, if you look at it the other way, then you saved my life. If I'd been on time and been on that run, I could have been hit by that truck. It could have been me by the engine that morning or in a hospital bed for who knows how long."
"Or, in a casket today."
"Or, in a casket today," he admitted then paused. "But I'm not," he said as reassuringly as he could, feeling the ache when he remembered the friend who was in a casket today. The gravediggers would be long finished by now, the temporary copper marker in place, Derek's body wrapped in the cool earth for all time.
"No, you're not." She rested her hand on his chest, the beat of his heart welcome under her cold fingertips. Thank God, you're not.
=+++= / + ==+++
She'd begun idly tracing her fingers across the logo on his t-shirt, unknowingly creating warmth in his groin that was becoming uncomfortable. His girlfriend had no idea what kind of effect she could have on him. "You know, it's kinda funny," Mike said a few minutes later, shifting slightly.
"What is?" Patty was processing what he'd said, testing the hypothesis that she didn't need to feel guilty because she had needed him that night. It's okay to need him, she concluded.
"How well do you remember that night?"
"It's pretty clear in my mind, specialist, for a number of reasons." A smile played across her lips then and stilled her fingers. He'd gone to a lot of trouble for her that night, in more ways than one.
"Do you remember what was, uh, going on when we got the message your uncle called?" He let a small smile creep onto his lips, hoping to push away her gloom with a little silliness.
"I'm not sure what you mean … we were at your place after the concert and we'd just finished dinner and … oh! Dessert!" Patty blushed, recalling how obvious she'd been about checking him out and how oblivious she'd been when she had done so. She'd been practically drooling into her lap.
"Uh-huh. There's no guarantee – given the way you were looking at me – that I would have been on time even if your uncle hadn't called." His not-so-innocent blue eyes teased her now.
"You know I'm not that kind of girl!" she exclaimed in surprise. It caused him to chuckle. Yeah, he'd learned that despite her teasing and flirting, she really wasn't that kind of girl. Learned it the hard and embarrassing way.
"Well, you certainly looked like you planned to have your way with me that night, Miss McConnikee," he replied, wiggling his eyebrows at her and causing her to giggle.
"You were so good to me that night," she murmured sincerely, stroking his cheek, then kissed him lovingly.
=+++= / =+++=
It's been a tough six months or so; thank you for your patience and understanding. I'm still reworking this story - some characters just have to make life complicated - and I don't know exactly where it will be going. Guess we'll find out together, eh?