Characters owned by Mark VII and Universal. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N: From The Great Crash Diet. My favorite moment in the sequence of Cap getting electrocuted is when Mike, kneeling next to him, for seemingly no reason at all, grabs Cap's turnout coat lapel and lays it over him a little. To me, it's one of the most telling and poignant moments illustrating how Stoker feels about Cap. That one little act sparked this piece…

Grateful thanx to my beta-reader...

The Empty Seat

by Ariane Rivendell

Dammit.

Trying to negotiate these narrow canyon roads is not generally my idea of fun. In fact it's downright dangerous. Keep expecting some joker with a suped-up hot-rod to come racing out of nowhere and slam right into us just as I'm trying to straighten out from one of these hairpin turns.

This is usually about the time he makes some wisecrack about me careening all of us right off a cliff…

And it might just happen. She's handling a bit stiff, today. Like she knows something's not right. The familiar rumble of her engine is what I hang on to. It's comforting.

Because it was me that had to tell Dispatch we're unavailable.

Not like I haven't had to do it, before. But not when I've had to assume command. I don't mind being in command, but I want to earn it, not acquire it by default.

I don't like it, not under these circumstances.

It just makes me all too aware of that empty seat.

It's unsettling.

I keep looking over, expecting him to look back at me. Or see him staring out front, going over the logistics of the run. How it went, what went right, what didn't, what could be improved.

Some of it went right.

A lot didn't.

~!~

"…We also have a Code I at this location…"

Code I… For Idiot. Ignoramus. Imbecile. How the hell could he have let that happen? He should've been more on top of it, he knew that line was loose. Damn stupid, twit-headed mistake, that coulda cost him his…

Great, now I can't see. Good move there, Mike. Taking a hand off the wheel on these roads to wipe your eyes is not recommended. Don't start competing with Cap for the Stupid Award, Stoker.

Sizzled Stanley. You know that's what they're gonna call him now. Hell, I can just hear it: Sparkling Stanley, Stanley Sparkler, High Voltage Henry, High Wire Hank, Captain Current…

Fuck, Cap…

John and Roy will let us know his condition. He was conscious. Both of them gave him a good prognosis.

"Oh I think he'll be ok," Roy said. I must've had a weird look on my face because he reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder.

I trust him. But I don't believe him.

I can't help it.

Because I can't get that image out of my mind. Of Cap convulsing. On the ground, like that.

It's not natural. He's not supposed to do that. He's supposed to be standing around, giving orders and offering up wisecracks under his breath.

He does that, you know, when he's certain no one's around, about some of the jobs we get called out on; the birdbrained messes people get themselves into that we have to clean up. No one else hears him. Just me. And damn it if he tells me these things, knowing it's the funniest thing I've ever heard, just to piss me off, watching me struggle like hell to keep a professional composure, knowing full well it's killing me. And he'll time it, too. Right in full view of a crowd, he'll drop these one-liners on me, just deadpan. Then if he sees he's got me, he'll rattle off another line just to watch me squirm. Sometimes he can be such an asshole.

The worst was the call we'd gotten at a residence, coupla months ago. It was bad enough that he'd already had me going good, but then he got himself caught in his own joke and it pushed me over the edge. Right in front of the wife, too.

John, Roy, Chet and Marco were already on it and helping to extricate this asthmatic who'd gotten stuck in his own chimney, trying to break into his own house so he could collect insurance on the 'stolen goods'. I was by the engine, waiting to assist. Cap ambled over and managed to get off a shot about the guy that nearly had me doubled over. With the family standing right there. That bastard got me so bad, I went 'round the other side of the rig to get away from him and grabbed an axe just to make it look like I was doing something professional.

Which would've been fine if we'd been at a fire… The wife and kids had looked a little wide-eyed at the axe.

"What are you planning on doing with that?" the wife asked.

Cap had his hands on his hips, "With what?"

"That axe," she said.

Cap spun around and stared at me with a bit of confused panic on his face. "Oh, uh…"

I leveled him with a look, 'You got yourself into this, Cap, I'm not getting you out.'

"Uh, Mike," he shouted full of authority, "I said the wax, not the axe."

Wax, huh? He could see I was trying not to laugh at him and I threw him an 'oh this oughta be good' look. He shot me back a frantic 'oh, shut up' expression. He started moving toward me to distance himself from the wife, I suspect so he could hide behind me.

"You're gonna use the wax on my husband?" she asked, following him.

"Uh, yes, ma'am…" The look he gave me was sheer wide-eyed desperation.

I saw his face and lost it. All I could do was turn toward the rig and hide my face cause I had no place to run…

"You think that'll help?"

"Yeah, we have a special, uh, industrial-grade foamy wax, ma'am, but it'll, uh, it'll depend on the, uh, you know, the, uh, the condition of the, uh…" he cleared his throat. "Uh, the brickwork and the mortar in the, uh, in the interior portion of the chimney, of course, because we don't want to strip the, uh, the sealant. Do we, Mike?" He patted my shoulder. I couldn't stop shaking.

Oh, yeah, Cap, that foamy wax will do it every time…

"Why is that fireman crying, mommy?"

"Is he alright?" the wife asked, sounding pretty worried.

"He's, uh, he's very…sensitive about…chimney's…"

Fuck…

"His favorite uncle…Chester… very tragic…Christmas… you understand…"

"Oh, how terrible. I'm so sorry to hear that."

I couldn't stand up anymore...

"Thank you, ma'am, I'm sure he appreciates it—" He grabbed me as I started down. "Uh, let me get him up into the rig. Yes, Mike, it'll be alright. There, there." Cap patted my arm, then grabbed me with a vise grip that I felt for several days afterward, practically hauled me up and I pretty much died right there on the steering wheel.

Gage and DeSoto determined, after some detailed consultation with Marco, that Cap's industrial-grade foamy wax wasn't gonna fly as it was too toxic to use on the victim. Chet called him Hoisted Henry for the rest of the shift.

I still have to get him back for that. Guess I'll have to wait awhile…

How can he be ok? After being electrocuted, like that. From a power line. How can he be ok? Just like that?

His wisecracks had bothered Marco when Cap Stanley first took over from Captain Hammer. Marco's a man of deep feelings and one of the sweetest guys I've ever known. I think he first thought that Cap was some kind of a shallow jerk. But later, he realized that Cap's humor is part of his defenses for a man like him in a job like ours. Deep down, Cap is really a compassionate, sympathetic man, at least to his crew. He always pats the Squad when Roy and Johnny get called out. Chet joked that he called us 'pal' or 'babe' to cover the fact that he couldn't keep our names straight. But I noticed it didn't take long for Chet to start doing that, too. He's kind of a touchy-feely kind of guy, Cap, always ready with a pat on the back or shoulder when we're on a run. It's his way of keeping us safe. Like he's marked us that we belong to him and Fate isn't allowed to touch us.

I can imagine how hard he'd take it if one of us didn't come back.

Sometimes I'm not sure if I'd be able to handle it. God knows, there've been enough times…

~!~

"Hey, Mike..."

A soft voice right at my ear and it startles me. We're back in the barn, but…I don't remember backing in. God, I hope I didn't hit something. Are we even at the right station…? I look over and Marco's on the running board, hanging on the door, looking at me kinda worried.

"I called you three times. You OK?"

I must've looked a little depressed or something because he grabs the back of my neck and shakes me a little. "Hey, no long faces. He's gonna be OK, OK?"

It takes me a second to orient myself. How long have I been sitting here? I just nod.

"I just talked to Roy. Cap's gonna be fine. He has no external burns at the point of contact and they're gonna leave him overnight at Rampart. So, barring any complications, he should be back in a couple of days."

"Thanks."

"The guys should be back soon. I hope they bring pizza. We're gonna need it if Chet cooks up one of his health food disasters." He looks at me again, deep concern on his face. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah."

Marco pats my arm. Just like Cap. And then he's gone…

He's in good hands at Rampart. And John and Roy – hands down – they're the best paramedic team in the county, I'd never want Cap in anyone else's hands but theirs. If Roy says he'll be ok, he'll be ok. Roy doesn't sugarcoat stuff.

Cap's gonna be fine.

I know all this.

But I still look over. To that empty seat.

And I want, suddenly, more than anything, to have one more chance for him to mutter a wisecrack that makes me want to keel over. He'll face his back to the crowd, pretending to have a professional conversation. I'll watch his eyes twinkle as they follow me, struggling like mad to keep a straight face as I lay that 'damn you to hell' look at him. His eyes'll crinkle up and that devil's smile will appear on his face. He'll lean against the rig with this wholesome, serious look, pinch the bridge of his nose and rip off another line just to try to push me over the edge. I'll have to turn away, at that point, and do something on the discharge panel.

He'll know he'll have gotten me and it'll just egg him on to do it the next time.

But I can't help it.

Because I have to get him back.

One more chance.

That's all I ask.

fin