#and details Buck's first three months as a probie

[cross-of-my-calling]

Excerpt from Episode 1: Island of Misfit Toys

Bobby sits at the closest table to the edge, a heavy stack of forms before him. From the loft, up close to the vaulted ceiling, he can watch the others working, small shapes, quiet voices and squeaking boots. Bobby glances down off the railing, his shadow vague beneath him on the polished cement flooring. He opens his black notebook. Thirty six names so far. He thumbs through the lined pages, only six of them filled. The other pages are white and clear, carefully numbered along the edges all the way to one hundred and forty eight. The path to his redemption is crawling. Only thirty six names. He closes the book and places his whole hand over it, pressing it flat against the table. He wonders if his words carry up from inside this hall. But he asks God to give him something today. The bell goes off. Car vs tree. The driver is dead on arrival. The 118 is only there for extraction. Maybe it’s a message.

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[cross-of-my-calling]

Excerpt from Part 2 Episode 1: Island of Misfit Toys

Police response beats them to their call-out, and there’s a car flashing red-blue as they turn into Exposition Park. The 118 follow their beacon through a car lot and into the lanes inside the park, pulling up before the broad UFO-shaped LA Memorial Sports Arena. “Stay here for a second.” Bobby instructs the crew.  He recognises the squad vehicle number, and he’s jumping from the cab with a smile on his face before he can even look for their rescue. Sergeant Athena Grant is by far his preferred police responder to work with, their paths crossing semi-frequently on scenes, and even the odd occasion in social settings, given her friendship with Hen. He’d even met her husband at Hen’s birthday party.  Athena had given Bobby a hug that night– a casual, brief thing– as if they were friends.

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[cross-of-my-calling]

Excerpt from Part 2 of Episode 1: Island of Misfit Toys

“First order of business,” Bobby says, and points out the side bay, where an older model topless Jeep sits nose to nose with the Battalion truck. Buck’s car, he assumes. “You need to move that. Staff parking is around the back.”  The Jeep stalls when Buck tries to start it, making a horrible grinding then lurching against the handbrake. Buck flushes bright red, the pink tinge making the mark above his eye stand out more strongly.  “Problems with the clutch,” Buck says, barely audible over the sound of the car coughing as he tries again.  Bobby stands, clipboard folded under his arms, as Buck reverses a little before carefully navigating around the Battalion truck. The Jeep certainly looks like it has had a lot of wear, the blue paint sun-bleached, the make older than Buck’s driving permit would be. Rust creeps along the edges of the bonnet. A CB radio is clipped on the dash, the kind long haul truck drivers or caravaners might use. Buck’s hands settle into worn down indentations in the steering wheel. But as he finally rolls past, Bobby can see how the wheel wells are clean from a recent wash, the panels smooth from wax, the side mirrors bright. Cared for. Bobby only hopes it doesn’t end up too unreliable.

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[cross-of-my-calling]

Excerpt from Episode 1: Island of Misfit Toys

“First order of business,” Bobby says, and points out the side bay, where an older model topless Jeep sits nose to nose with the Battalion truck. Buck’s car, he assumes. “You need to move that. Staff parking is around the back.”  The Jeep stalls when Buck tries to start it, making a horrible grinding then lurching against the handbrake. Buck flushes bright red, the pink tinge making the mark above his eye stand out more strongly.  “Problems with the clutch,” Buck says, defiant and barely audible over the sound of the car coughing as he tries again.  Bobby stands, clipboard folded under his arms, as Buck reverses a little before carefully navigating around the Battalion truck. The Jeep certainly looks like it has had a lot of wear, the blue paint sun-bleached, the make older than Buck’s driving permit would be. Rust creeps along the edges of the bonnet. A CB radio is clipped on the dash, the kind long haul truck drivers or caravaners might use. Buck’s hands settle into worn down indentations in the steering wheel. But as he finally rolls past, Bobby can see how the wheel wells are clean from a recent wash, the panels smooth from wax, the side mirrors bright. Cared for. Bobby only hopes it doesn’t end up too unreliable.

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[cross-of-my-calling]

Excerpt from Episode 1: Island of Misfit Toys

Bobby hangs the turnout in Evan’s assigned gear locker, and starts his inspection of the new coat at the collar, working his way across the shoulders and down the sleeves, looking for possible defects. “What’s this? Did you write a personalised training schedule?” Chimney snatches up Bobby’s clipboard, flicking through the pages. “He’s not working twenty-fours until his third roster?” “Just want to make sure he’s got the basics covered before he has to perform under fatigue.”  “The academy covers the basics. The rest he's got to learn in the truck, with us. Not hanging from the side lines.” “Not how I’m running it, Chimney.” “Your kids must hate it when you coach their little league, huh.” Chimney mutters. Bobby stiffens. “Roberts hasn't checked the valve on his mask at least four times since I started. Porter is lazy when he lays the fold-outs. You guess the timestamps on your incident reports, and Hen has more missing insurance information on her forms than any two other paramedics combined.” Chimney pauses. And then with slow deliberation, snaps his gum. “And you never make mistakes, right, Cap?” Bobby dismisses Chimney with his silence. He moves on to Evan’s hanging turnout pants, critically inspecting every seam and clasp for possible damage. The slightest break in the chain could mean life or death.

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[cross-of-my-calling]

Excerpt from Episode 1: Island of Misfit Toys

“I’ve been thinking about that new recruit you’re getting. And this whole, reparation bent you insist on–” Bobby tilts his head, giving the Father permission to continue. “Will the lives he saves go in that book of yours?” “How do you mean?” “Well. You train him, you facilitate his ability to be a firefighter, ostensibly making you a critical part of his ability to save lives, which he undoubtedly will do across his career if he’s even halfway decent. So. What percentage of his saves do you claim?” “It doesn’t work like that.” “Why not?” Bobby can’t answer.

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