Mike Stoker and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Shift

Mike Stoker glanced at his watch, cursing silently when he saw what time it was. Cap's gonna have my head! He groaned as he double-timed it through the parking lot towards the station. Forty minutes late! I'm dead!

He picked up his pace as he opened the back door and entered the firehouse. As he whipped around the corner to get to the locker room, his feet suddenly slid on the floor. All attempts to catch himself and keep from falling failed and he ended up on his butt. "Ow!" he couldn't help groaning.

Chet Kelly poked his head around the corner. "Hey, Stoker, you all right?" He straightened, coming around the corner. It was then Mike saw the mop in the other firefighter's hand and realized he'd walked onto a newly cleaned patch of floor, still slick with water.

Mike grimaced as he slowly got to his feet. "Yeah, I'm fine." He rubbed his sore rear as he inched over to his locker. Opening it, he proceeded to take off his civilian clothes and change into his uniform shirt and pants.

"Nice of you come into work," Chet remarked.

"Kelly, I'm not in the mood, okay?" The engineer fervently hoped his colleague would leave it at that. He started to put his badge on and gasped as he poked himself in the thumb with the sharp end of the pin. Grimacing in pain, he looked at his injured finger, then stuck it into his mouth to stop the slight bleeding.

"You all right?" There was concern in Chet's voice.

There's a first! Compassion from the Phantom's alter ego! Mike thought. He nodded quickly, not realizing how silly he looked nodding his head with his thumb stuck in his mouth.

"Well, you may not be. Cap's been worried about your whereabouts and you know how surly he can get when he's in that kind of mood."

Mike removed his thumb from his mouth, gave it a quick once-over, decided he would live and closed his locker. "Whatever. Don't you have to finish cleaning the floor?"

Chet held his hands up in surrender. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Mike nodded then started to walk away.

"Um, Stoker?"

"What?" he asked in slight irritation.

Chet pointed to the engineer's feet. That done, Chet ducked back around the corner to finish his station chores.

Mike dropped his head to find that he had forgotten to put on his shoes. He wiggled his sock-encased toes a second before turning around and going back to his locker. As he pulled out his work shoes, he thought, This is going to be a very long shift.

Now fully dressed, Mike walked into the day room. He figured he would check here first before going on to Captain Stanley's office. Marco Lopez and Bill Watkins, C-shift's engineer, were there, cleaning up the kitchen, but no Cap. As he glanced at Henry, the station's basset hound mascot, rolling over in his sleep on the old leather sofa, Mike turned to leave and collided with his superior, who was coming into the kitchen.

Stepping back quickly, Mike looked at Hank Stanley. "Sorry, Cap. I didn't see you."

"I should hope you didn't do it on purpose." Hank replied dryly. He stepped over to the coffeepot and poured himself another cup of java. "So nice of you to join us for work today, Stoker."

"Right. I'm sorry I'm late, Cap."

"This is the first in a long time. Everything all right?" Hank gave him a concerned look over the rim of his mug.

"Yeah. My alarm clock didn't go off, then my car got a flat on the way in and, well, I'm here now." Mike didn't bother to mention the speeding ticket he'd gotten when he was only two blocks from the station.

Hank nodded knowingly. "One of those mornings, huh? All right." He looked over at the two near the sink. "Bill, you can go. I appreciate you staying over."

"No problem," the blond engineer replied. "I'm glad it's nothing serious." He walked over to Mike and handed him the cleaning rag. "Hope your day gets better, Mike."

"Me, too, thanks, Bill."

Hank took a sip of his coffee. "When you finish helping Marco in here, the engine could use a good rubdown. She picked up a lot of mud during her last run. I told Bill you wouldn't mind." That said, the captain walked over to the doorway. Just before he left the room, he stated, "It's also your turn to cook today, Stoker."

Marco gave his fellow firefighter a sympathetic glance as the fire specialist walked over to join him. "We were almost done here. If you want to get started on Big Red, go ahead. I don't mind."

"That's all right. Thanks for the offer, anyway." Mike glanced around. "Floor still need to be done?"

"Yeah," Marco stated as he turned back to wiping down the counter.

Mike went over to the cabinet that housed the kitchen cleaning supplies and pulled out the bucket and mop. Putting the bucket in the sink and allowing it to fill with water, he added floor cleaner, then moved around the table and picked up the chairs. The last chair slipped in his grasp, but he managed to prevent it from smashing down on his foot. He hefted it back onto the table and went back to the sink to retrieve the bucket. Marco had turned off the faucet to avert an overflow.

Mike nodded his thanks and grabbed the handle. As he was pulling the bucket over the edge of the sink, one end of the metal handle suddenly snapped off from its side of the bucket. Hot, sudsy water cascaded from the pail, all over the bottom half of Mike's pants and shoes as well as the kitchen floor. For a long moment, all Mike could do was stare, as the puddle of water grew larger and wider.

"It doesn't seem to be your day today, amigo," Marco commented, quickly grabbing the mop and trying to keep the water from flooding the entire floor.

Mike looked up. He placed the bucket back in the sink. "I guess not," he agreed. "Leave it, Marco, I'll mop up the mess after I change my pants."

"Are you sure you don't want to just get started on cleaning the engine?" Marco smiled, his eyes shining with laughter.

"I'm beginning to think I should have just stayed in bed," Mike replied, a smile playing on his lips. He never could stay upset long when Marco was in a good mood.

Just as he stepped into the apparatus bay, the tones sounded. Station 51, boy trapped in a tree. 1334 Jonesboro Road. One-three-three-four Jonesboro Road. Cross street, Reynolds. Time out 9:04.

Trailing water from his soaked pants and shoes, Mike quickly made his way to the engine, pulled on his turnout coat and climbed into the cab. He could hear Captain Stanley acknowledging the call as the rest of the crew scrambled to their respective vehicles. Starting the engine and flipping on the lights, Mike watched his captain jog in front of the firetrucks. Hank suddenly slipped, but caught himself on the front of the engine to keep from falling completely. Righting himself, he completed the dash to his side of the engine and got in.

"You okay, Cap?" Mike asked as he pulled out behind the squad. He turned on the sirens and blasted the air horn a couple of times to warn traffic of their approach.

"Yeah, some twit left water on the floor of the bay!"

"That was me, Cap," the engineer admitted sheepishly. "I spilled a bucket of water on myself and didn't get the chance to change."

"This really isn't your morning, is it, pal?" Hank answered as he recorded the address in the engine's logbook.

Intent on helping what he thought was a stranded cat, a ten-year-old boy had climbed into the upper branches of a tall tree. Once there, the cat had promptly found its way to the ground by jumping branch to branch. The boy, however, had gotten himself stuck in a fork and was unable to get back down. The situation was easily attainable with use of an extension ladder leaned up against the tree. John Gage scaled the ladder and got the boy down without much fuss.

By the time the boy was on the ground and being given a quick check by the paramedics, a small crowd, made up mostly of housewives and children, had gathered to watch. Mike helped Chet and Marco put the ladder back, then stepped beside the engine to watch John and his partner, Roy DeSoto, patch up what amounted to cuts and scratches on the boy.

There was a flurry of activity as a smaller boy chased a small, scraggly mutt that reminded Mike of Boot around the yard in front of him. The dog suddenly darted under the engine. The boy made to follow, but Mike quickly grabbed him before he could disappear. "Easy, kid, you can't go under there!"

The boy struggled against Mike's hold. "But Muffin! I have to get Muffin!"

Hearing the commotion, Chet and Marco came over to see what was happening. "The kid's dog went under the engine," Mike explained. "Hold him while I check."

Seeing his crewmates had the boy under control, Mike got on his hands and knees and peered under Big Red. Sure enough, the dog lay on the ground and stared intently at the firefighter. "C'mon, Muffin," Mike urged, reaching out. Muffin, however, was just out of arm's reach.

"You're scaring him with your big coat!" the boy sniffled. "Muffin!"

Straightening, though still on his knees, Mike stripped out of the turnout coat and laid it next to him. Going down onto his stomach, the engineer once again peered under the engine. Muffin continued to stare intently back. Scooting himself forward, Mike reached out, hoping to catch the dog's collar or scruff or at least a front leg. Muffin growled at the threat, then abruptly snapped at Mike's hand. Mike jerked his hand back. "Hey! I'm on your side!"

When the dog made another attempt to nail him, Mike managed to snag the collar and held on for all he was worth. "Got 'im!" he hollered. He could feel a pair of hands grab his belt and left shoulder to help him wiggle his way out from under the engine. Mike managed to keep his hold on the dog as he sat back. Just as he was about to release the pooch back to her young owner, Muffin unexpectedly sank her teeth into his bare right forearm.

"Ow!" Mike hollered.

Muffin's owner snapped her up and cuddled her. "Muffin, are you okay?" The boy glared at the injured firefighter. "You scared her!" Before anybody could do anything, the boy kicked the engineer in the shin. Hard.

"Ow!" Mike hollered a second time, reaching down to rub at his injured leg as he tucked his right arm to his body.

"Hey, kid, that was uncalled for!" Chet scolded. "He was only helping!"

"He scared Muffin!" the kid accused.

He turned to run off, but Marco caught him by the arm. "Hold on, kid, the dog has to stay here." He gently took the mongrel out of the boy's arms and checked the dog's collar for tags, more specifically, a rabies vaccination tag.

"Cap!" Chet called. "We need Gage or DeSoto over here."

Hank removed himself from where his two paramedics were finishing up on the tree victim and trotted over to the engine. Chet was helping Mike up so the engineer could sit on the engine's running board. Mike grimaced as he cradled his arm. "What's the problem?"

"This dog bit Mike, then the kid kicked him in the shin," Chet explained, gesturing to the boy and Marco, who still held the dog.

"There's no tags on the dog's collar, Cap," Marco informed.

"Terrific!" Hank growled sarcastically. He looked over his shoulder. "John, Roy, when you're finished, we need you over here."

"Coming, Cap," came Roy's voice.

As the paramedics came over to him, Mike heard Hank asking if anybody in the crowd knew who owned the dog, then his attention was diverted to his crewmates. John and Roy put their equipment nearby then knelt beside the engineer.

"Hey, Mike, how are you?" Roy queried.

"Fine, for somebody who was just bitten by a dog," Mike muttered. The way my day's been going, I'm not surprised that ungrateful mutt doesn't have tags! he thought with uncharacteristic anger.

"Well, then, let's have a look at that arm," Johnny said smoothly. He gently held the injured arm out full length as he inspected the deep puncture wounds. "Looks like Muffin got you pretty good there, Mike. When's the last time you had a tetanus booster?"

"I think it was due this year."

Johnny turned on the balls of his feet and reached into the black drug box. "I'm going to irrigate the wound and wrap it to keep it clean until you get it checked out."

Mike nodded, trying to relax as the other half of Station 51's paramedic team automatically checked his respiration and pulse. When Roy wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his upper arm, he protested, "Roy, its just dog bite!"

Roy smiled as he positioned the stethoscope earpieces in his ears. "Humor me."

Sighing, Mike leaned back against the engine. Hank walked up and stooped down beside his paramedics. "How is he?" he asked after the fair-haired paramedic finished.

"He'll be fine, Cap, though I think we should get him in to Rampart to get the wound looked at. It's fairly deep. It may need to be stitched. Also, he should get a tetanus shot."

"I'm fine!" Mike stated.

"It wouldn't hurt to get checked out, pal." When he saw his normally complacent engineer opening his mouth to protest again, he added, a little more sternly, "Don't make me make that an order, Mike."

Mike sighed. "Right, Cap."

"What's the story on the dog?" Roy asked as he took off the blood pressure cuff.

"Vince is calling animal control to detain the animal until they can locate the owners and find out if it's been vaccinated against rabies or not."

"I don't think she's rabid, Cap," Mike stated. "Just frightened."

"We don't want to take any chances. I certainly don't want to be the one to tell headquarters my engineer contracted rabies," Hank replied, deadpan. His voice lightened considerably as he added, "Imagine, a fireman who's afraid of water! We'd be the laughing stock of the whole department!"

"Your concern is touching, Cap." Mike stated sarcastically, but he smiled at his captain's humor nonetheless.

Later that morning, Mike was getting the ingredients together to make lunch. Roy was again trouncing Johnny at a game of chess while Marco watched. Chet sat on the leather couch reading the paper as Henry snored softly in his lap. Hank stepped into the day room and wandered over to the sink. Mike was shredding lettuce for a salad.

"What's for lunch, Mike?" He reached into the bowl and snagged a large piece of lettuce, which he popped into his mouth.

"Just sandwiches, Cap."

"Hey, Mike, I found out why you're having such a bad day," Chet remarked.

"Do tell," Mike answered, meeting Hank's eyes as they waited for the firefighter to explain, both knowing it would be some strange thing only Chet, or Johnny, could come up with.

"Your horoscope. It's a real bummer."

"My horoscope?" Mike couldn't help turning and facing his crewmate. "You're kidding. I don't believe in that stuff."

"You should, man, because this one has you pegged for today." Chet rattled the newspaper as he folded it to the right spot. "'Things are at their worst today. Not a day to start new projects or take any risks. Avoid dogs, driving, and lifting heavy objects.'" The firefighter gave his colleague a pointed look.

"Kelly, you twit, that could apply to anybody if you tried hard enough," Hank informed.

"But none of us has had a run-in with a dog today and gotten a flat tire on their car," Chet stated matter-of-factly. He started to fold up the paper. "Maybe you'd better drive the engine today, Cap. Ole Mike here's libel to end up running into a telephone pole or something."

"Chet, do you honestly believe Mike's going to wreck the engine because of a lousy horoscope?" Roy said, moving a piece on the chessboard.

"Besides, those things are meant for entertainment purposes only, you idiot," Johnny shook his head, then grimaced as he looked at the move Roy had made. "Hey! What did you do?" he accused, peeved.

"Oh, checkmate," the senior paramedic smiled.

Mike had taken a tomato out of the refrigerator and began slicing it for the salad. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Roy." He glared at Chet. "I will not wreck the engine just because I'm having an off-day!"

Just as Mike returned his attention to what he was doing, the knife slipped, cutting a gash across his left index finger. He cursed as red blood welled from the wound. Hank reached out and grabbed his engineer by the wrist. He turned on the faucet and held the bleeding member under the torrent of water. "You're supposed to be slicing tomatoes, not your finger, pal. You wanna get blood on the salad?"

Roy and Johnny instantly forgot about their finished chess match. Johnny made for the first aid kit hanging on the wall near the side door as Roy approached the sink. Hank backed out of the way as Roy gently pulled Mike's hand from the spray of water. Blood still seeped from the wound as the paramedic looked at it.

"It doesn't look too deep. We'll put a dressing on it and wrap it, all right?"

"Sure, Roy."

"Ah ha," Chet remarked from his position behind Mike. "What did I just tell you about things being at their worst today?"

"Things weren't at their best before you read that thing!" Mike accused.

"Don't you have something you need to be doing?" Hank asked Chet menacingly.

"Not until lunch," the other answered casually, then caught the look his captain was giving him. "Oh, yeah, right, Cap, I do," he quickly added as he scooted out of the day room.

Johnny stepped into the position Chet vacated. He snapped open the first aid kit and pulled out some gauze. He gave the finger a cursory look. "You'll be fine, Mike," he stated routinely.

"I certainly hope you two can handle some thing as simple as a cut finger," the engineer retorted dryly. As the paramedics cleaned and bandaged his finger, Mike shook his head. This day is really getting to be a whopper!

Chet and John were just finishing up the scant lunch dishes when Mike returned to the day room. He picked up his leftover milk from the table and stood by the counter. Marco, who was chuckling, was seated at the table. Hank was leaned back in his chair as he gazed at the two at the sink. The engineer got the impression he had walked in on an existing conversation.

Johnny put away the dishtowel he was holding. "What do you mean I wouldn't make a good captain? I'd make a better captain than you would, that's for sure!"

Chet walked around his crewmate, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe anybody could be so stupid. "Gage, Gage, Gage. You, a good captain? Who would follow you? Not your men, that's for sure!"

"I don't agree, Chet. I think John would make a good captain." Mike interjected as he pulled a candy bar from the front pocket of his shirt. He put his glass of milk on the counter, opened the wrapper then picked up his drink again.

"You're kidding, right?" Chet accused in disbelief.

"No, really. His men would follow him anywhere," Mike paused. He could see the smile growing on Johnny's face. Then he added, straight-faced, "but only out of morbid curiosity."

The pleased expression dropped from Johnny's face as the others sniggered at his expense. The paramedic glanced at Chet, Marco and Hank, then back at Mike. "Funny, Stoker," he snapped, "very funny."

Mike chuckled at Johnny's scowl as the paramedic left the day room. He took a large bite of his chocolate bar then washed it down with a quick swig of milk.

Hank slapped the table in enjoyment. "Good one, Mike!" he cheered, giving his engineer an encouraging grin.

Suddenly, Mike dropped the glass. Shattered glassware and milk scattered across the floor. Mike's hands went up to his throat as he began choking.

Hank shot to his feet, swiftly going to his crewman's side. "Mike? You all right, pal?"

Mike shook his head frantically, his brown eyes meeting his captain's. The engineer's eyes were wide with shock and panic as he tried to draw in a breath and it did little good. Help me! he thought frantically.

The captain got behind Mike and wrapped his arms around him. He tried the Heimlich Maneuver. Once. Twice. Whatever was stuck in Mike's throat refused to yield. As he tried again, Hank ordered, "Marco, find Roy and John! Chet, call in a still alarm and an ambulance!"

Marco dashed from the day room and tore through the apparatus bay. He caught himself on the front of the engine when he spotted the two paramedics next to the squad. "John! Roy! Quick! Mike's choking!"

The two quickly sprang into action. They flung open a compartment on the squad, quickly grabbed the drug box, oxygen and biophone then raced into the day room. Marco followed with Chet, who had called in their situation to LA. Back in the day room, they found Hank easing Mike into a sitting position on the floor. The engineer was conscious and gasping. Hank knelt down, putting a hand on Mike's shaking shoulder. "It's all right, pal, you're going to be all right."

"You got the blockage cleared?" Roy asked, setting down the drug box as he knelt beside Mike.

"Yeah." Hank wiped his arm across his forehead.

Johnny automatically began taking Mike's vitals. "Mike, you still with us?" he asked as he put his penlight to use.

"Yeah," came the hoarse reply, a cough, then again, louder, "Yeah, I'm still here."

"How do you feel?"

"Stupid."

Johnny smiled. "Well, don't. It can happen to the best of us. This should teach you to make fun of me, huh?"

"What did you choke on?" Roy wanted to know.

"Almond from my candy bar." Mike answered sheepishly.

"That'll do it," Roy confirmed. He glanced at Hank. "Did you send for an ambulance?"

"Yeah, Chet called it in."

"Since you have one coming, I might as well contact Rampart and get him in just to be on the safe side."

"But-" Mike began.

"That sounds like a good idea, Roy," the captain stated, giving his engineer The Look.

Mike knew it was pointless to argue, so he didn't bother.

Fortunately for Mike, the rest of the afternoon was quiet, as far as being toned out was concerned, anyway. The one run the station got ended up with the engine being cancelled on the way to the call. Dismounting from the cab, Mike lost his footing and ended up slipping to the concrete floor. Only his pride was hurt. Numerous times over the next several hours he tripped on thin air, or so it seemed, and just as often dropped things.

Half-afraid he'd end up with hot spaghetti sauce down the front of his shirt if he made what he'd planned for dinner, Mike decided to take Joe Early's advice and ordered out pizza for supper. When the hot pizzas arrived, Marco paid for them with money Mike had left on the table. They all gathered 'round the table and snapped up triangular slices dripping with cheese before noticing one of their team was missing. "Where's Stoker?" Hank asked as the others settled themselves at the table.

"Don't know," Johnny shrugged.

"Last I saw, he was by the engine, Cap," Chet answered before biting into his dinner.

Hank nodded, then left the day room in search of his missing engineer. He rounded the front of the squad and looked around Big Red. Not there. He checked the cab. No Mike. Rubbing his hands together as he thought, he headed for the locker room. A quick inspection failed to yield the man.

Hank finally found him in the dorm, lying on his back in his bed. "Hey, Mike, dinner's here."

Mike made no move to get up. "I think I'm better off staying where I am."

Hank sat on the bunk across from Mike's. "You don't believe all the horoscope crap Chet laid on you this morning, do you, pal?"

"I didn't, but I'll tell you, Cap, the day's really been one mishap after another."

The captain smiled. "We all get days like this. It's just your turn."

Mike sighed heavily. "I suppose you're right, but I'm almost afraid to drive the engine for fear of having an accident."

"If I thought you'd do that, I wouldn't let you near her."

A-shift's engineer raised himself on his elbows. He gave his captain a tentative smile. "Concede the point."

"You know, that pizza smelled awful good. We'd better get some before those twits polish it off without us."

Mike sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and getting to his feet in one fluid motion. Hank stood. As they began walking towards the door, Mike tripped as he rounded the corner. He caught himself promptly; they continued out the door and into the apparatus bay. "And for my next trick, I'll drop a slice of pizza down the front of my shirt."

"Just keep telling yourself you'll make it through this shift."

"In one piece, I hope!"

Before they could get past the back end of the engine, the tones sounded, sending the entire station off to a motor vehicle accident.

Mike carefully backed the engine into the apparatus bay. He shut down everything, dismounted from the cab, shucked his turnout coat, put it in ready position for the next run then headed straight for the dorm. If he didn't believe Chet's warning about his horoscope before being called out for the traffic accident, he was coming pretty close now. It was bad enough he'd almost dropped the jaws on his foot and tripping over the hose- not once, but twice! -was certainly embarrassing, but when the chain snapped during the extrication of the victim, while he had been operating the jaws, Mike decided the safest place was bed. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner he would wake up and maybe this nightmare called Let's Mess With Mike Stoker's Mind would be over and done.

Mike was glad when nobody came to check on him. He fell into a sleep that was so sound that even his crewmates' chatter as they turned in for the night didn't wake him. He slept deeply until the lights suddenly brightened the dorm and the tones activated. Station 51. Structure fire. 385 Ford Lane. Three-eight-five Ford Lane. Cross street, Ann Arbor. Time out 05:13.

The six firefighters sprang to their feet, automatically slipping into their turnout pants and boots. Pulling their suspenders over their shoulders as they made their way out of the now brilliantly lit dorm, they heard Hank acknowledge the call from the base station near his bed. "Station 51, KMG-365." Moments later, both emergency vehicles were on their way out the open bay door.

The upper floor of the two-story home was fully involved as they pulled up to the address. Everybody scrambled to his perspective job quickly and efficiently. As Mike manned the gauges in preparation for charging up the lines, he noticed the housecoat clad woman running up to Captain Stanley and frantically pointing to the house. Hank called over Roy and Johnny, who were already geared up with oxygen tanks and masks, ready to enter the burning structure in search of a victim. As the rescue team ran for the house, Mike saw Hank give the woman a comforting pat on the shoulder then turn her over to one of the police officers near by.

A few tense minutes later, the paramedics came out of the building with not one, but two victims. Hank gestured to Mike to help Johnny with his rescue since the man was leaning heavily on Johnny as they stumbled across the lawn. Mike dashed over and took the man's free arm over his shoulder. As they approached the squad where Roy had already gently laid his unconscious victim on the ground, Mike suddenly stumbled. He hit the ground hard, loosing his grip on the man. Johnny paused when he realized he was taking the man's full weight again, looked back at his crewmate on his knees then continued on to the triage area.

Mike grimaced as he pulled his left foot out of a hole. Pain shot through his ankle as he got to his feet. Can't worry about this now, he thought. I've got to get back to work!

The engineer limped back to the engine. He figured that since he could put some weight on his injured foot, it wasn't broken. He still had a job to do and a slightly twisted ankle wasn't going to keep him from it. He stood awkwardly on one foot as he rested the toe of his boot on his wounded foot lightly on the ground to maintain his balance.

Roy and Johnny soon had the victims stabilized and left for the hospital. Since Mike had gone right back to work, and with the flurried activity that accompanied helping the victims, Johnny forgot about his coworker's mishap and failed to check on the engineer's wellbeing. It was another hour before the engine crew got the fire under control. Leaving Marco and Chet to finish checking for any hotspots, Hank approached his engineer. Right away he noticed the awkward way Mike was standing. "Mike, you all right?" he asked, his weariness evaporating into concern.

Mike grimaced as he accidentally put weight on his injured foot. "Twisted my ankle."

"When did you do that?"

"Helping John bring that man out of the house."

"That long ago?! Why didn't you say something?"

"It wasn't really that bad at first," Mike lied. "Besides, you needed me here."

Hank removed his helmet and ran a sleeve over his sweaty brow. "Next time, you say something, you hear me?" he ordered sternly. "I won't have my men hiding injuries, got me?"

Mike managed to look contrite. "Right, Cap. I'm sorry."

"You should be." He gestured to the running board. "Sit! I'll get this. When Chet and Marco get finished, we'll head over to Rampart and get that ankle checked."

Knowing better than to argue, Mike hobbled over to the running board and sat. A short while later, Chet and Marco came out of the house. They packed up the gear and hoses then got Mike settled in the passenger seat.

"How's the captain's seat feel, Mike?" Chet joked.

"Kelly," Hank stated, "I'd worry more about what's going to happen to your seat if you don't move it."

"Right, Cap." Ignoring Marco's chuckle, Chet scrambled into his own place on the engine.

Mike settled himself back against the seat as Hank climbed into the driver's position. He tried to relax and enjoy the ride, but had a hard time keeping his mouth shut at the little things his captain did differently than he did when operating the big rig. He was thankful the ride to Rampart didn't take very long. He feared the way things had been all shift, he would inadvertently say something insulting to his superior.

He also realized how hard it must be for Hank to put up with his little foibles with the engine. After all, Hank had been an engineer at one time, too, and in charge of his own engine. It was no secret the man loved fire engines. It couldn't be easy to relinquish "control" of his station's engine to a subordinate just because he was now a captain. Mike glanced at the lanky man. Though Hank was concentrating on the road before them, Mike could see the slight smile etched on his face. Yeah, the engineer smiled to himself, he still loves it.

When they got to Rampart, Chet and Marco linked arms to form a two-man fireman's carry. When Mike balked, Chet said, "C'mon, Stoker, you're getting the royal treatment here."

Glancing at Hank, Mike noticed the jovial glint in his eyes and knew this was his captain's way of getting back at him for not revealing his injury sooner. Hank gestured. "You heard the man, Stoker. No need to tie up a wheelchair when this will do."

It was thus Mike found himself being carted into the emergency entrance at Rampart General. Dixie's eyes widened when she caught the unexpected sight of the firemen. She met them near the waiting area. "Do I want to know?" he asked Hank straight-faced.

"Mike twisted his ankle at the scene, but neglected to inform my paramedics. I didn't know he was hurt until we were gutting the house," the captain explained.

"Ah, Cap, could we stop the chit-chat?" Chet queried, fidgeting. "He's no light-weight, ya know."

"Speak for yourself, Kelly." Mike shot back.

"Better Mike than you, Chet," Marco retorted.

"Hey!" Chet snorted. "I'm offended!"

"Can it, you twits," Hank told them. He looked back at Dixie, who couldn't help smiling. "I swear I'm running a preschool sometimes."

"Well, you missed your other 'kids' by half an hour," she reported. She nodded down the hall. "Treatment One is open."

"Not again, Mike!" Joe Early's surprised voice greeted them. The older physician walked up to the group. "Now what did you do?"

"Lost a confrontation with a hole." Mike nodded to his left foot.

"I was just directing them to Treatment One," Dixie informed Joe. "Gentlemen." She led them down the hallway to the appropriate room.

Chet and Marco eased Mike onto the treatment table then stepped back out of the way. Mike automatically laid down as Joe approached him. "Your two slaves can stay if they want," he said, nodding to the two firefighters. He didn't see Chet's scowl at the remark.
Marco elbowed his friend in the ribs, which earned him a glare in return. Joe moved to the foot of the table.

"He'd been on the foot for over an hour before we knew he'd been hurt, so I didn't take his boot off," Hank explained.

Joe nodded. "I don't know if you'd been able to get it off anyway if it's swollen. Give me a hand here, will you, Hank?"

Surprisingly, the boot came off easier than either man had expected. Mike's ankle was swollen and slightly discolored. A-shift's engineer lifted himself on his elbows so he could watch as the doctor gently prodded the area and moved it somewhat, to Mike's discomfort.

"I don't think it's broken, Mike," Joe told him when he'd finished his exam. "Just a sprain. Your shift is up soon, right?" He looked to Hank for confirmation.

Hank checked his watch. "Yeah, in less than an hour."

"Good," Joe nodded. He directed his gaze to his patient. "I'll wrap it and release you to the custody of your crewmates. Go home, keep off your feet as much as possible, try to keep the foot elevated and apply icepacks. Take it easy the next couple of days. You should be all right for duty by your next shift. But, if it still hurts or is swollen, I want you to take off the next shift." Before he could get any kind of argument, he swiftly added, "It won't get better if you don't stay off it." He glanced at their captain. "Hank, I expect you to make sure he's all right before he starts the next shift."

"Don't worry, I will."

"I figured as much," Joe smiled. He looked again at Mike. "I'll give you a crutch, but I want you to only use it if you absolutely have to get up, all right? Taking it easy is the prescription for the next couple of days. If you're in too much pain, a couple aspirin should help."

"Right." Mike nodded.

That said, Joe got the ankle wrapped and released his thrice-times patient of the shift. This time Mike was eased into a wheelchair for the trip back to the engine. "And Mike," the doctor said as the four started for the exit, "we've really got to stop meeting like this."

"No kidding. Thanks again, Dr. Early." Mike held out his hand, which Joe accepted.

"Take care. All of you," Joe added to the others.

By the time they got back to the station, B-shift's engineer had already arrived for work. He agreed to start a little bit early so Mike could get home. Mike had refused a ride home from anybody. Since it was his left foot that was injured, he would still be able to drive his car.

Hank helped him get into his car, handed him the crutch, and then slammed the driver's door closed. Mike rolled down the window on his side. "Sure you don't want to let me drive you home, pal?"

"I'll be fine, Cap, thanks anyway."

Hank raised his hands from their position on the car's door. "Whatever."

Mike nodded. He pulled out his keys, put the proper key in the ignition and turned it. The engine refused to start. Mike tried several more times without success before conceding defeat. After a long, silent moment of staring at his hands resting on top of the steering wheel, he finally raised his head and met Hank Stanley's eyes. "About that ride, Cap?"

"Let me see if Hookrader's here yet. Hold on a minute."

As Hank walked away, Mike folded his arms across the steering wheel, then laid his head against his arms. "I don't believe it, I just don't believe it!"

The Stoker Battalion Fanfic Challenge to include one or more of the following: chocolate, the quote "His men would follow him anywhere, but only out of morbid curiosity," a Mike owie, and focusing on Mike (of course!).

Title based on the children's book "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day," written by Judith Viorst.

Author's note: This thing began as a short piece involving Mike Stoker and a chocolate candy bar. Next thing I knew, it grew into the longer story you see below. The scene with Mike and the candy bar is included here in a very abbreviated form. I did not have time to get this beta'ed before the due date of the Challenge, so all mistakes (grammar, spelling, medical, characterization) can be blamed on nobody but myself. I do not own any of the characters taken from the show Emergency! I just borrowed them and hope they are none the worst for wear when I'm finished, especially a certain engineer from Station 51's A-shift.