To everyone who has enjoyed and left positive or at least constructive reviews on this fic, thank you so much. I appreciate every word of constructive criticism and intend to use it to improve my future works.

I politely ask for any reviews left at this stage to be respectful and constructive. I ask that they only relate immediately to the story. I ask that folks not argue with each other in the reviews (as they have been doing). It gets very frustrating to see that I have a review and get very excited to see what people have to say about my work, only to find that it's just people arguing with each other over... whatever.

I hope you all enjoy the final chapter.

You've never been so happy to leave the station. The whole shift has been hell, between Johnny doing his damnedest to make you miserable and knowing your mom's not doing well and the bullshit that went on with Laura. Leaving won't necessarily be a relief, but it'll certainly be better than staying. You wonder if this has anything to do with the whole Indian thing from a couple weeks ago and chew your lip, thinking perhaps you ought to have apologized for what you said. If you weren't so pissed off at him and the world in general right now, you probably would.

You strip out of your uniform and start pulling on your civvies, changing into a fresh t-shirt and stepping into your jeans. Footsteps come up beside you, Johnny's footsteps, and you tense up. Why can't he just leave well enough alone?

"Come on, Chester B, what's the matter? That pretty 'lil thing you were seein' finally get sick of ya?"

Your nails dig into your palms, hands clenched into tight fists. Johnny continues, "Now, what was her-? Oh, Laura. That's it. Laura drop ya?"

Heat spreads across your chest and into your face. Your jaw is tight as you grind out, "Gage, I'm warnin' you. Drop it or I'll-"

"Or you'll what? Come on, I'm just tryin' to have a 'lil fun with ya."

"Well, I'm not havin' fun, so how 'bout you stop tryin'," you snap.

You can't understand why he just won't leave you alone and let you go home. Part of you wants someone to step in, to make him stop, to make him leave you alone and go away. Part of you wants an excuse to hit him. Every muscle in your body is taut.

"Aw, lighten up, Chet," Johnny smirks at you, "You been a wet blanket all day."

Somewhere behind you, Roy mutters, "Johnny, come on, Junior, just drop it and-"

"No! He's allowed to pick on me when I'm feelin' like shit! What, Kelly, can't take your own medicine?"

Rage bubbles hot in your chest. Is that what this is about? Jokes? Pranks?

"Goddammit, Gage, I told you-"

"At least I know it's Laura's got you upset-"

"Shut the fuck up-"

"Come on, why'd she do it, Kelly? She don't like your winning personality?"

Surely you've broken the skin of your palms by now. There must be blood dripping onto the floor. Your blood thunders in your ears, pulses violently through your veins. You want an excuse. Johnny's face is a cruel sneer.

"Or maybe it was your stupid fuckin' jokes? That dumbass moustache? Your shitty cookin'?"

"Gage, I swear to God," you bite out, "you shut the fuck up or-"

"-'cause it looks to me like maybe she was doin' the cookin' for ya. Givin' ya four meals a day, looks to me. Maybe that's her thing, y'know," he tells you, stepping closer, "feed a guy up then dump his fat ass-"

He jabs a finger into your side, and that's it. You throw a heavy right hook, and then the rage takes over. You aren't aware of anything until Cap has you pinned in a chair and shouts, "Sit here and calm yourself down, Kelly! You sit here and wait for me to come back, understand?"

You don't respond, your chest heaving. You can barely hear over the blood pounding in your ears. Tears blur your vision, but you can see Marco's face there in front of you. His brown eyes are lined and worried. You shouldn't be putting Marco through this, through this not-knowing, not a worrier like him. He's your partner, your best friend, and he should know why you're so upset, but not right now… later. You don't think you're capable of saying much of anything coherent right now. Marco's voice is low and soothing, telling you, "Look, it's okay, Chet. Whatever's goin' on, it'll be okay…" and it calms you some. It won't be okay, of course, but he doesn't know that. Your hands are still balled into fists.

Cap comes back into the office, making you jump. He's surely going to suspend you, probably without pay. That's something you can't afford, that neither you nor your mother can afford, not with your elder brother refusing to help or even acknowledge what's happening and with not allowing your sister help, not when she's just a waitress and can barely pay her own rent. Panic starts to bubble up in your chest, but you feel Marco's hand on your shoulder, a comforting weight, and it eases the panic some. Cap pulls a chair around to sit in front of you, something you don't quite expect. His expression is unreadable, and the panic starts to come back a little, though he doesn't look angry.

"I'm sorry, Chet."

That's not what you were expecting, either. You blink at him, unsure how to respond to something so unlike what you were anticipating.

"I mean that. I should've spoken to Johnny earlier about his behavior," Cap explains calmly, almost solemnly, "I shouldn't've let him push you like that. I honestly think he started out joking, but at some point it crossed a line, and that's when I should've stepped in. I guess I was hopin' he'd shape up and listen to Roy so I wouldn't have to step in. I guess I wanted to see if you guys could handle it yourselves… and I didn't think it was so serious it would come to blows."

"I'm sorry, Cap, I didn't mean to hit him," you blurt out, "Honest I didn't. I just-… he just kept pushin' and-and I couldn't-… I was just so mad, Cap. I-I didn't even realize I was-"

"It's alright, Chet. I'm not gonna punish you for something that's not your fault. I would like to talk to you, though," Cap says, then looks to your partner, "Marco, would you give us some privacy please?"

You don't want him to go, and you know he doesn't want to go, either. Still, Marco replies, "Sure thing, Cap. I'll wait up for you, amigo," giving your shoulder a squeeze and heading out. You watch him go, still tense, still upset.

"Would you like to talk to me about what's going on, Chet?" Cap asks, his tone far gentler than you deserve, "It seems to me like there's been a lot on your mind since you got here yesterday morning."

Your stomach bottoms out.

"Did I screw up on a run-?"

"No, no, you did just fine on those few runs we had," he tells you, and relief floods your system, "just as good as usual. Just… that was a very strong reaction you had in there, and you weren't yourself here around the station this past shift. I can tell something's bothering you. Marco, too."

You look down at your lap. You don't want to tell him, not really. You don't want him to feel sorry for you. People have been feeling sorry for you and your family since your father died, and quite frankly, you're sick of it. You hate the looks of pity and sadness. You hate the murmured words behind your back saying what a shame it all is. You hate the sanctimonious and empty 'we-wish-we-could-help's. That's why you haven't said anything. If the men you work with were to start doing that… maybe Cap won't, though. He's only been at 51s a few months, but he seems like a good man.

"It's-… will this stay between us, Cap? Just me and you?" you ask thickly.

"Absolutely. I won't share anything you don't want me to."

You still can't look at him, not with tears in your eyes and your lip trembling. You take a minute to compose yourself, to make sure your voice will be steady, and you finally tell him, "It's-it's my mom. She-… she was, uh, was diagnosed with-with lung cancer earlier this year, and it's-… she's not doing too good, Cap."

There's a brief pause in which you can almost hear him processing the information.

"Chet, I'm very sorry to hear that. I wish you would've told me sooner. I'd have arranged some time off for you."

"I-I can't. I have to help pay the medical bills," you reply hurriedly, "She doesn't have any money anymore, and my brother-…nevermind. I've been pickin' up OT, actually, just to make ends meet for me and her. Last week, I-… she asked me to clean out her apartment and-and let the landlord know it was open to rent out again. He was, uh, was really good about it, but I just finished yesterday, and-… it's just-…"

You stop, pulling in a shaking breath and wiping at your eyes. You don't want to cry in front of Cap.

"Is there anything else bothering you? I mean, that seems like enough, but I feel like there's a little more behind it. Please, Chet, keep talking."

"There's just been a lot to deal with lately, with Mom bein' sick, and I- now you gotta promise not to laugh, okay?"

You turn pleading eyes on him, needing him to understand that what you're about to tell him is important, that you don't want to tell him but feel you need to. Cap reaches out and lays a hand on your shoulder, saying, "I promise, Chet. I won't laugh."

There is heat rising in your face, and you sniff, taking the time to put the words together before they come out of your mouth for once.

"Well… like I said, I been under a lot of stress, and when I'm stressed out, I… I eat a lot. More than usual. And Johnny was right. Laura did break up with me… like two days ago."

"Did she say why?"

You almost snort, replying, "Yeah… yeah, she told me I wasn't payin' her enough attention, you believe that shit, Cap? My life is a fuckin' disaster right now, and she's pissed I'm not takin' her out enough. Add that to me puttin' on some extra weight, especially when I was picked on as a kid for-for bein' fat, and Johnny just got on my last fuckin' nerve in there."

"Sounds to me like he deserved it," Cap replies, gently, "Thank you for telling me all that, Chet. I know how hard it can be to confide in your captain, especially a new one. I just wish you would've told me sooner. We're here to help you, every man on this shift, and I wish we could've helped you before now, in anyway you needed us to. We're not just your coworkers here. We're your friends. If you want my opinion, I think you oughta tell the guys what's going on, but it's entirely up to you, and I promised you already I wouldn't share anything without your go-ahead, and I can't tell you what to do. I would like to be informed of what's going on with your mother, though, especially because it's upsetting you, okay, pal?"

You nod, "I will, Cap. I'll keep you updated."

You don't agree to tell anyone else, though… except maybe Marco. You'll tell him, but no one else.

"That means you call me whenever you need me, can call my home day or night. I want you to ask for help if you need it. You don't have to go this alone, alright?"

Something warm flares in your chest, something nice and bright and comforting. Yes, Hank Stanley is a good man.

"Yes, Cap."

"Good. Now, are you alright to drive home, Chet?"

"I think so. I think I'll be okay."

The smile Cap gives you is gentle and almost paternal as he squeezes your shoulder. You try to smile back, but your heart's not in it. Cap lets you leave, and you shuffle out of the office, slightly embarrassed at realizing you're only half-dressed. Your heart leaps at seeing Marco there waiting for you, just as he said he would be. He wears a warm smile and puts an arm around your shoulders, leading you into the (blessedly) empty locker room. You finish dressing in silence, and you're grateful to him for not trying to make you open up or talk as you pull on your t-shirt and sneakers. Tears inexplicably fill your eyes. It's been like this lately, where any little thing could have you in tears. Right now, it's Marco's unabashed loyalty and patience and love.

"Can I talk to you, Marco? Outside?" you sniff, "Uh… in my van, maybe?"

"Of course. You can talk to me about anything, Chet. C'mon…"

Cap and Mike enter the locker room as you leave, though you keep your head down. Your tears are coming with no way to stop them, like a dam ready to burst. You're both barely into the van when a choked noise escapes your lips, and you cover your mouth to try and keep another from joining it. Marco's grip is gentle and reassuring, squeezing just above the elbow. Tears fill your eyes, ready to fall.

"Hey, manito, cual es tu problema?" he asks quietly, "C'mon, talk to me."

You shake your head, unable to speak. It's too much. The dam could go at any second. Marco squeezes your arm reassuringly, saying, "Please, Chet… please talk to me."

His presence is warm, calming, strengthening. It's just enough.

"Mar-Marco-… it's… it's my mom," you finally choke "She-she has lung cancer an-and she's dying-"

You fight down a sob, squeezing your eyes shut and sending tears rolling down your cheeks. That's the first time you've really said it. You usually just say that she's 'in a bad way' or 'not doing well.' By not saying it, you could keep the knowledge at bay, but no… not anymore. She's dying. Marco's voice is a rough whisper, "Chet, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…"

"It's-it's not fair!" you burst out, tears rolling freely down your cheeks now, "She was diagnosed in-in March and by the end of the month they told her she was gon-gonna die. She's-… I cleaned out her apartment, Marco, 'cause she spends all her time in the hospital, and I hafta work OT to pay the medical bills when all I wanna do is-is spend time with her. An-and that bitch Laura dumped me 'cause I wasn't payin' her enough attention and I'm puttin' on weight from all this fuckin' stress and I-I can't-! Fuck, Marco, I can't take it-!"

The dam bursts. It explodes with violence and destruction unequaled. You can't hold back the miserable noise that issues from your throat, a wretched sound, something between a sob and a wail. Marco pulls you in to his shoulder, holding you close. You haven't properly cried since this whole thing began. You didn't cry when she was diagnosed, not when you learned the cancer was malignant and incurable, not when they informed you she only had months to live. There was always someone else to be strong for, whether it was your mother or your baby sister or any number of cousins or aunts or uncles. There just hasn't been anyone for you to lean on… not until now. It's almost a relief to cry like this, to have someone who won't judge you, to have someone who doesn't care that you're crying yourself into exhaustion but only cares that you're hurting and wants to help.

Marco's voice rumbles in his chest, though you can't make out the words. You feel his hand at the base of your skull, the back of your neck, rubbing across your shoulder blades and spine. Long minutes pass before you stop sobbing, before you're calm enough to sniffle, "I'm… I'm sorry, Marco. I just couldn't-"

"Don't be sorry, Chet. There's nothing to be sorry for," he replies, his hand still resting comfortingly on the back of your neck, "What's happening is awful, and I just wanna help you however I can. I mean that, too. Whatever you need, Chet, you make sure to call me day or night."

"That's what Cap said," you tell him.

"That's 'cause he's a good captain. Now, you let me drive you home, to my home, and I'll take you wherever else you need to go today. You can spend the night, play with the kids, have some good meals… then I'll bring you to work tomorrow."

"No, I-I couldn't, Marco. I couldn't impose-"

"It's not an imposition, Chet, you're my friend, one of my best friends, and I want to help, so let me."

You're ready to cry again. Marco's the best friend you've ever had, and true to his word, he spends the whole day with you. You're more grateful to him than he will ever know, grateful for him being strong when you simply couldn't anymore.

Johnny approaches you at the start of your next shift, and you feel yourself tense up. You really can't take any more abuse like he dished the other day. You're shocked when he actually, truly apologizes. He can't even look at you when he does so, and he's so clearly ashamed by his behavior you can't help but forgive him. Besides, he didn't mean it. Well, he did, but not in the same way that someone else would mean it. It's complicated, but you understand it, and that's what really matters. Perhaps you ought to apologize for the whole Indian thing from a couple weeks ago. Johnny deserves that much, at least. Perhaps you'll do it next shift and let him squirm a bit. Johnny kind of deserves that, too.

Catherine Mary Buchanan Kelly dies about a month later, in the late afternoon of 15 August 1971, having been unconscious for nearly five days prior. You're thankful to have been there when she was still conscious, when she could still see you and speak to you, you and your little sister. She didn't tell you good-bye. She only told you and your sister to both be good and look out for each other. Expected though it was, her death isn't easy. Your sister heads to a close cousin's for the night, and you go home to your own apartment. It's dark and cold and uninviting, though it's just the same as before she died. Grief and cold despair wrap around your heart, squeezing tight, and you just feel so goddamned lonely. Your lip trembles. You look around your apartment, your gaze settling on your phone.

"Hello, this is Hank Stanley."

"Cap? I-It's-It's Chet."

"Chet? What's wrong? What happened?"

"She's gone," you tell him, your voice thick and broken, "She-she died this afternoon with-without waking up."

There's a quiet, forlorn sigh on the other end of the line, a soft noise that speaks of sadness. Cap tells you softly, "You take all the time you need, Chet. I'll make sure everything at the station is taken care of. You do what you need to do, okay? It'll be alright."

"I know, but it doesn't make it any easier," you choke out, "It-… it hurts, Cap."

"Believe me, pal, I know it. I know. You want some company?"

"No," is your immediate reply, not wanting him to see you like the wreck you are while your soul desperately pleads for comfort.

"Do you need some company?" he asks quietly, gently, like he knows.

"…yeah… yeah, I do."

"Alright, I'll be right over, Chet."

And he is. He's there in less time than you expected. What a good man. He hasn't even been your captain for a full four months yet, and here he is on your doorstep, ready to sit with you for what could become a very long night. You invite him in, saying, "Sorry a-about the mess in here, Cap. Haven't really had, uh, had much time to-to clean. Um, here lemme, uh, le-lemme tidy up a-a bit. Just-"

"Don't worry about it, Chet. You just sit down and take it easy. Here…"

He takes your elbow and leads you to your couch, easing you down and sitting beside you. You're still on edge, muscles tense, wringing your hands in your lap. Cap ignores your rumpled, day-old clothes, his hand slipping around to your back.

"I'm sorry, Chet… I'm so, so sorry," he murmurs, "I know how you feel. I really do."

He doesn't really understand. He can't. Nobody can. Your life has never really gone to plan, and this is just another example of that. Tears fill your vision and roll down your cheeks. Alone. You'll always be alone. You choke down a sob, but the noise escapes anyway. The dam is faltering again, not rebuilt quite so strong as you thought. A broad hand starts rubbing your back, moving slowly along your spine. Why the fuck did you tell Cap to come over? You don't want to cry in front of him, don't want to appear weak in front of your captain. You wipe uselessly at your eyes, your breaths hitching almost painfully.

"It's okay, Chet," he tells you quietly, "You're allowed to be sad. This a sad thing that's happened. It's okay for you to mourn."

You nod, unable to speak around the lump in your throat. His hand still rubs your back. A low keening sound passes your lips, followed by a hiccoughing breath. Cap speaks again, his voice a bit rougher and thicker than it has been, "You're okay, pal. Come on… I'm here for you… You're alright, Chet… you're alright, I've got you… I've got you… you can let go now…"

Emotions crash up against the dam, its walls creaking and groaning under their weight and force, ready to burst. You suck in another shuddering breath, and that's it. The breaking point. A sob fights its way out, escaping your throat and lips in a violent outburst that makes Cap jump beside you. Raw grief comes pouring out. Just because your mother's death was expected doesn't make it any easier. She had basically died three times over: when she was diagnosed as terminal, when she went unconscious, when she finally died and ended her suffering.

Your stomach clenches when you realize some of your tears are of relief, relief at her not suffering anymore, and you only cry harder. They're great, heaving sobs, born of wretched wailing that leaves your body shaking and your stomach churning. You could probably throw up if you'd actually eaten in the last three days, but you can only cough against the burning bile crawling up your throat.

Cap holds you close, half against his side and half against his chest. His voice rumbles low in his chest, and you feel it more than hear it. You almost hate that it makes you want to curl up like a small child… almost. He just holds you until your tears finally run out, until the only sounds from you are ragged breaths, until you're limp against him. His voice still rumbles like thunder on the horizon.

"I don't want you alone tonight, pal," he tells you quietly, "so you've got two options: You can stay with someone from the station, like me or Marco, or I can take you to a family member's house. It's up to you."

"Umm… there's-there's my cousin's," you reply in a rough voice, "my cousin Frank and his wife Alice, I mean… my sister's there now."

"So why aren't you there, Chet?" he queries, his tone not accusatory but merely curious.

"I… I dunno," you mumble.

You don't really know yourself, honestly. Perhaps it has to do with not want to see those pitying looks you detest so much. Perhaps it has to do with the possibility of seeing your scumbag brother there… perhaps it has to with the probability he won't be there. Perhaps it's just because you don't want to see your baby sister cry anymore.

"C'mon, pal… go pack a bag and I'll drive you there."

"No, Cap, I can drive-"

"Like hell you can. You'd end up in a ditch or in the ass end of another car or worse. I won't allow you to put yourself in danger like that, not you and not anyone else. Just let me help you out, okay, Chet?"

His words cut right to your heart, nearly setting off more tears. You pack up your duffle and get into Cap's sedan, carefully building the dam back up, bigger, stronger. It mustn't break again, especially not when you'll have to be the strong one once more.