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“Oh! Eddie!” Chimney called, stretching out his arm to grab the firefighter by the elbow. “Can you grab the cast iron skillet from that cabinet up there?”
Eddie smirked. “What, did your step stool go missing? You know, I think I have an extra at home that Chris used to use…”
Chimney halfheartedly shoved him, frowning. “You know, I asked you because I thought you were the least likely to give me shit.”
Eddie laughed good-naturedly, stretching up to open the cabinet door. Even for him it was a reach and his fingers scrabbled slightly to balance the stack of lesser-used pans they kept up there. Just as his hand wrapped around the solid cast-iron handle, the bell went off. Instinctively, Eddie startled and the contents of the cabinet came tumbling down. Unable to resist looking up and attempting to control the deluge of cookware coming down at him, Eddie was hit square in the forehead with heavy cast-iron. Hard.
The firefighter blinked once and then stumbled backwards, his back hitting the kitchen island. With a grumbled “Oof”, he slid to the floor, head lolling to the side. Chimney’s hands were clasped to his chest as he anxiously looked between Eddie and the app bay, where the rest of their team were jumping onto the rig.
“Eddie! Chim!” Bobby called up towards the loft. “What’s the hold up? Let’s go!” Chimney jumped over the scattered pots and pans toward the top of the stairs. “Uh, Cap, I don’t think Eddie’s going anywhere - man just took a cast-iron skillet to the skull.”
Simultaneously, Buck and Hen’s heads popped out of the rig. “He what?”
Bobby let out a long suffering sigh. “Alright, Chim, you stay behind with Eddie and assess him. Based on what dispatch said, this call shouldn’t be too long. If he needs the hospital, take the SUV.” He turned back to Buck and Hen who were still hanging out of the rig. “You two, back in the engine, we’re headed out.”
As Bobby pulled himself up into the captain’s seat, Buck began to protest even as Hen slammed the door closed and the engine began to move. “I don’t want to hear it, Buck, I know you’re concerned about Eddie but we still have a job to do. Chimney’s got him.”
—
Chimney turned back to Eddie as the engine disappeared from view. “Alright my friend, let’s see how hard that pan got you.”
Eddie was still sitting on the floor against the kitchen island, legs straight out in front of him, rubbing at his forehead. Chimney squatted down next to him, having retrieved a kit bag. Eddie groaned and swatted weakly with his hand as the paramedic shone a penlight in his eyes. “Why’re there pots and pans everywhere?”
Chimney sighed as he gently palpated Eddie’s head. “Because we need to work on our kitchen organizational methods, evidently.” He replied. Eddie nodded seriously. “You should let Buck do that - the kitchen is Buck’s place. M’ not allowed. He and Chris banned me. From my own kitchen - can you believe that!”
“Considering you’re looking at at least a Grade 2 concussion here, yes. Now look at me, I need to test your vision - how many fingers am I holding up?”
Eddie squinted. “That’s not fair, your hand keeps moving.”
Chimney blinked. “It is not, and you’re going to the hospital.”
Slowly, he helped Eddie to his feet, down the stairs, and out into the LAPD SUV. As they pulled out of the station, Chimney called Bobby to update him on the situation. “Hey Cap, we’re headed to the ER now… yup LA General…at least a Grade 2, he’s pretty loopy-”
Eddie pawed at Chimney’s arm. “Tell them I say hi. Tell Buck n’ Cap n’ Hen I say hi.”
Chimney sighed, but dutifully relayed the message before hanging up the phone. The lights and sirens conveniently helped them circumvent much of the afternoon LA traffic, and they arrived at the nearest emergency room in just under ten minutes.
Once in the emergency room, Chimney sat Eddie down in the waiting area so he could go get Eddie checked in. “Stay here, don’t move, I’ll be right over at the desk - got it?”
The firefighter nodded, reaching for his head when the motion caused a surge of his already strong headache. “Wait, why are we here? We didn’t go on a call. My head hurts really bad.”
Chimney patted him on the shoulder. “You hurt your head pretty bad buddy, so let me go get a nurse so they can check your brain out.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “Oh I got bonked.” Chim cocked his head. “Not sure that’s the technical term, but sure.” Eddie smiled, “I learned that word from Chris because I’m a cool dad.”
“The coolest.” Chimney assured him. “Now let me go get someone who can see just how hard you got bonked.”
—
Chimney was slouched in a waiting room chair when the 118 came through the ER doors, led by Buck who was frantically scanning the room. As soon as he spotted Chim he practically sprinted over. “What the hell happened, how bad is it, where is he?”
The paramedic held up his hands placatingly. “Calm down a sec, Buck. They took him back for a CT scan a while ago to make sure it’s just a concussion. I’m sure they’ll be out soon.”
Buck was unsatisfied with that answer and continued to pace back and forth, rubbing a hand across his hair. “Okay but how did this happen - you said he got hit with a cast-iron skillet? What could Eddie possibly be doing in the kitchen that necessitated that?”
Chimney looked awkwardly at his boots and scratched at the back of his head. “Uh… he was going to make a, um, grilled cheese? Yup, a grilled cheese.”
Hen squinted at her partner. “And he wanted to use the cast-iron skillet that I didn’t even know we had to do that?” Chim nodded sagely. “You’ve been missing out. Everyone knows cast iron makes food taste better.” Hen quirked an eyebrow up at Bobby who nodded, confirming that that was technically true.
Buck let out a sharp laugh. “Eddie absolutely does not know that. What was really happening?”
Hen continued to stare Chimney down and Bobby went so far as to cross his arms and tilt his head (a very chastising image, truly).
“Fine!” Chim burst out. “I asked Eddie to get the pan becauseIcouldn’treachit.” Hen cackled. “What was that?”
Chimney shoved his hands into his pockets. “I couldn’t reach it.”
“Unbelievable.” said Buck, pacing in a circle and throwing his hands in the air. “My partner needs a CT scan all because you refuse to use a stepstool.” They continued to bicker, Bobby and Hen watching in amusement. Eventually they were interrupted by a nurse emerging with Eddie trailing behind.
“Family of Eddie Diaz?” She called. Buck threw his hand up in the air, practically stumbling over himself to get across the room. “That’s us, how is he?” His blue eyes tracked over Eddie carefully, immediately focusing in on the large welt that had formed on his forehead.
“Definitely concussed,” the nurse began, flipping through a clipboard of paperwork, “but the CT scan was clear, no bleeding in the brain or damage to his skull. Mr Diaz will need to stay away from screens and be in a low-stimulation environment for at least a week, but he’ll be just fine.”
Eddie grinned. “See, just got bonked.”