DISCLAIMER: as much as I wish otherwise, I own nothing save for the plot of this particular story.

Captain Stanley walked into the small office adjacent to the apparatus bay, his faced flushed from the June heat in downtown Los Angeles, his regulation-issued uniform already pasted to his tall, slender frame. It was just his luck that A-shift was assigned to one of the most sweltering days of the year, and to make it worse, a heat wave already had the sunbaked city in its relentless grip. He shook his head, muttering to himself. With the intense heat came laziness and forgetfulness on the part of civilians, and that would undoubtedly lead to careless fires and accidents. Though being a first responder was the calling of every man on station 51's A-shift, they would all be lying if they said they enjoyed rolling out on a false alarm or a call provoked by nothing more than thoughtlessness, especially on a day as muggy and sticky as this one.

Frustrated, he noted the time, snagged his hat from the shelf, and marched over to the locker room, where Chet was frantically pulling on his uniform and trying to put his shoes on the right feet. Twit, he thought. He wondered whether the linesman would ever learn to leave his house five minutes earlier and get here on time. It would save him a lot of bonding with the floor of the latrine. Cap's shout of ROLL CALL brought a general shout of "sure, Cap!" from the adjoining room, and in a minute's time his men were lined up in front of Big Red, with Chet still buttoning up his shirt as inconspicuously as possible.

"Good morning, everyone," he said, trying to keep the weariness and irritation out of his voice. He glanced at the two eldest members of his team, engineer Mike Stoker and paramedic Roy Desoto, and his look softened a bit. "Roy, Mike. . . . Happy fathers' day."

"Thanks, Cap, same to you," replied Roy, a little smile on his face as he thought of his children's loving – albeit noisy and very, very early – onslaught of hugs and excitement he received as a wakeup call that morning. Mike, a man of few words, merely nodded his agreement to Roy's as he grinned, thinking of his own daughter and the handmade, Crayola-adorned card she made for him.

As for Cap, his two daughters were in high school already, and considered themselves to be too old for such a display of affection. Instead, they merely wished him a happy fathers' day in restrained, overly-formal voices as they left for school that morning. It didn't matter; he knew how they felt about him, and was in good spirits – that is, until he walked outside and was assailed by the brutal heat permeating his car and the air he breathed.

Cap shook his head slightly, breaking himself out of his reverie. "Mike, you're cooking today. Maybe something cold, would you, pal? Marco, you've got the dorm, John will take the day room, and Roy will take the bay. Chet: latrines. Everyone try to stay cool today, alright? Especially if we're called out to a lot of fires. The last thing we need is for someone to wind up at Rampart from heat exhaustion. Dismissed."

With that, Cap strode purposefully to his office, where he turned on the small window fan that offered the only relief to be found from the sweltering Carson sun. Adjusting it so it blew the air against his sweat-dampened scalp, he grabbed his fountain pen and began to plow his way through the mountain of paperwork covering his desk.

In the day room, the remainder of the crew gathered around the table, all talking at once in excited whispers so as not to draw the attention of the irritable captain. After a moment of this Roy intervened, raising his hands in a halting gesture until the crew quieted down.

"Alright, what's the plan?" he asked, looking at each man.

Marco took out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. "So far what we have is this. You and Johnny will stop at the grocery store after you 10-8 to Rampart and pick up the cake and ingredients for lunch."

"Make sure you get everything I need for pasta salad; I was going to make my spaghetti, but it's just too hot out for something like that," interjected Stoker.

"Sure, sure," intoned Chet. "Also, Marco and I have the banner—Charlie over on C-shift left it in my locker before he left this morning. We'll blow up the balloons and set up all the decorations. The only thing you guys need to do is make sure Cap stays out of the room until we're ready to start. He said we'll just be hanging hose – although God knows how he thinks we can do that in this heat – so we should be safe as far as that goes. Everybody clear?"

There was a general murmur of assent. "Alright," said Johnny enthusiastically. "Let's get on it, and everyone make sure to play it cool."

Chet snorted. "Cool, Johnny? In this weather?" Marco shot him a dark look.

"Chet, don't you know that every time someone mentions the heat on a day like today, the temperature goes up by three degrees?"

Chet, looking properly affronted, actually stopped to consider that for a moment until understanding dawned on him. "Come on, Marco. The Phantom might fall for something like that, but not Chester B."

By some miracle, the station was only toned out a few times, and the county's only structure fire was clear across Los Angeles, so Engine 51 wasn't called out. Aside from a dumpster fire and a call to shut off a fire hydrant opened by some kids in an attempt to stay cool, the only runs for both the squad and engine were a bunch of overheated people who just couldn't seem to take it slow and drink enough water. By four o'clock in the afternoon the squad was running low on saline, and went 10-8 to Rampart for a refill.

At the base station, Dixie McCall was irritably organizing the duty schedule for the upcoming week, periodically wiping her face with a white linen handkerchief and fanning her face with the clipboard. Upon hearing her name she scowled, but her face brightened as she saw the person calling her name.

"Hey Johnny, Roy, what brings you our way in this miserable heat?"

"Not much, Dix, just need a refill on some saline and D5W. A couple of bags of dextrose solution wouldn't hurt either. Everyone we've treated today was a case of heat exhaustion – although one man was certain he was having a heart attack."

Dixie nodded understandingly. "Same thing here, Johnny. Although it's a relief we haven't dealt with any cases of heat stroke yet. I just need this heat wave to break, and soon. Kel is absolutely unbearable in weather like this." She pointed down the hall, where a student nurse was hurriedly trying to gather the supplies she apparently had dropped all over the floor. "See her?"

Johnny barely looked away, eyes fixed on the girl's shapely body as she desperately tried to pick up her fallen supplies. Roy followed his gaze and elbowed his partner in the ribs, bringing his attention back to Dixie. "Yeah, what about her?"

"Well," explained Dixie, "She just so happened to be in Kel's way as he stormed . . . that is, walked out of treatment 4 on his way to get some coffee. He, ah, made it clear that he wasn't happy about her meandering in the corridors."

"Made it clear?" voiced Mike Morton, who strolled by at that minute to pick up a patient chart. "You could hear him all the way down in pediatrics!"

Roy and Johnny tried valiantly to cover their chuckles. "Anyway, Dix," Roy continued, covering a smile with his hand. "We just wanted to let you know that the party is on schedule for this afternoon, if you want to stop by once you get off shift. It won't be much, but Mike's cooking and Johnny and I are on our way to get the cake."

Dixie nodded. "I can't, guys, but thanks. I have an appointment as soon as I'm out of here." Dr. Morton, though, looked confused. "Party? Is it Captain Stanley's birthday or something?"

At that moment Roy's HT went off, sending the squad to a possible heart case at the senior center. "Well, they're playing our song. See you tonight," he threw over his shoulder as he and Johnny ran for the squad.

Dr. Morton wrinkled his forehead. "Dix, what was that all about?"

Dixie only grinned and shook her head. "I'll tell you all about it next shift."

Once back at the station, Roy and Johnny joined the rest of the crew in the day room, eyeing the décor and setup with approval. "Looks pretty good, guys," said Roy as he put the cake in the refrigerator to keep the chocolate from melting. Chet only nodded their thanks, running around the room to straighten the banner and make sure everything was in its proper place. Mike, his back to the room, worked on preparing dinner, turning briefly to see their progress and express his assent. Marco was nowhere to be found, having retreated to Cap's office to discuss his health benefits as a delaying tactic. They didn't want the Cap coming in a minute too soon and seeing the celebration they had in store for him.

After a final cursory inspection of his surroundings, Chet grunted with approval. "You guys ready to start?" he asked, his boyish excitement getting the better of the occasionally-mature linesman. The others looked at each other, grinned, and nodded.

"Cap!" called Mike. "Soup's on!"

After a moment, Cap and Marco's voices could be heard coming towards the room. "Soup," Cap muttered. "How can anyone talk about soup on a day hot enough to cook it on the sidewalk?"

"Don't you mean huevos— er, eggs, Cap?" asked Marco, trying his hardest to conceal his grin as they entered the room.

"Eggs? Is that how the old saying—" Cap began to say, but broke off with astonishment as he surveyed the surroundings. Streamers covered the sofa and television set, balloons were tied in every corner of the room, and a massive cake sat in the center of the dinner table. He looked at his crew open-mouthed, trying to process the decorations and the cat-who-ate-the-canary grins of his men.

"Happy Fathers' Day!" they cried out, echoing the words of the enormous handwritten banner that adorned the far wall of the room. Despite his best efforts, Cap could only look at the crew with shock evident on his face, but didn't say a word. The faces of the men began to fall as seconds passed without a response from their superior.

"Cap . . . we hope this is okay," began Johnny. "It's just that you've always been a father figure to us here at the station . . ." he tried to explain, trailing off as his captain's face remained frozen.

"Yeah, Cap. You're always there to help us when we need it, you know, encourage us," tried Marco, as the others nodded their agreement, eyes fixed on Captain Stanley's expression.

Mike took a breath, a little concerned that their plan was turning into a bust. "What we're trying to say, Cap, is that we really look up to you. You always know what to do and how to help us . . . even when it means we need a good kick in the pants to get us back on track."

There was silence as each man watched Cap's face, looking for any kind of reaction.

Cap, meanwhile, was rooted to his spot as a wave of emotion crashed over him. He'd heard the impressed – if slightly envious – whispers from other stations about the close-knit bond between 51's A-shift crew, and had really come to feel that he and his men made up a family of sorts. Sure, all firemen were part of an inseparable brotherhood, but somehow the relationship between his crew went deeper than that. Despite all the ribbing, jokes, and good-natured arguments – or perhaps because of them – the six men on A-shift were best friends in addition to excellent workers and colleagues. When first assigned to the station, Captain Stanley had even been a bit nervous, wondering if he'd be able to make it with this tightly-knit group of coworkers. Though he was reserved and strictly professional with his men in the beginning because of this concern, he'd learned to open up with them and enjoy the teasing relationship they shared. He'd felt welcome in the group and felt a fatherly concern and affection for each of them – though he would never have said it out loud – and hoped, in the back of his mind, that they might feel like a family with him as well. To see them announce it so openly, though, actually brought tears to his eyes, and to his crew's dismay, he found he couldn't say a word.

At Mike's kick-in-the-pants remark he abruptly laughed, blinking the sudden moisture from his eyes, and chuckled heartily upon seeing his men's stricken looks. He moved towards his crew and embraced each man, slapping them on the back.

"Thank you guys . . . I'm so honored to be a part of this crew," he said, his voice growing hoarse at the end. Chet rolled his suspiciously bright eyes.

"Oh come on, Cap, don't get all mushy on us," he complained, though for a second it looked as if he was blinking tears from his eyes too. "Just come over here and cut the cake, alright?"

Everyone there had to laugh at Chet's brusqueness, but waved Cap over nonetheless. There were grins all around, but it wasn't until Cap stepped towards the table and a water bomb flew through the air to his face that the walls of the station shook with laughter. As Johnny, Roy, Mike, and Marco chortled with mirth, Captain Stanley slowly and precisely took the popped water balloon from his hair and examined it with a stoic expression. He looked up and fixed a stony glare on Chet, who was trying his hardest to look contrite.

"Er, Cap, the Phantom just figured that, you know, since it's so hot out, you could use something to cool down," he explained dramatically.

"The Phantom," he muttered, astonished, before throwing his head back with laughter that grew louder and louder. Normally he would have restrained himself a bit, shown a little dignity as the captain of a fire station, but right now he was a proud parent instead of a ranking official. Opening his eyes again, he looked each of his men—no, his kids—in the eye, and grinned.

"Alright, you twits, you need to help me clean this up, but after dinner you're grounded!" he called out, chuckling again as a chorus of yes, Dad replaced the usual sure, Cap.

Looking at the childlike grins of the crew standing around him, he had to smile yet again. He had the best kids—er, crew—a guy could ask for.