Lieutenant Isabela Delgado led them in, radiating the same calm, focused authority I'd seen that first night when she'd brought Cap to us. Behind her were three firefighters I didn't recognize, all of them moving with the easy confidence of people who knew exactly what they were doing.
Her eyes found mine across the department, and for just a moment, I saw her professional mask slip. A quick smile, there and gone, but enough to make me feel like an idiot for grinning back.
"Lieutenant Delgado, Engine 18," she said to Carly, all business again. "We're here about your locked door."
"Thank God," Carly said. "Right this way. The electronic lock system fried during a power surge, and we can't access any of our orthopedic supplies."
As Carly led them toward the supply area, explaining the situation, Izzy fell into step beside her. But before they disappeared around the corner, she caught my eye again and mouthed, "Hey."
Such a simple thing. One word that wasn't even spoken out loud. But it sent warmth spreading through my chest like I'd just had a shot of something much stronger than hospital coffee.
The actual work took less than five minutes. I could hear the briefdiscussion about the best approach, then the sharp, decisive sounds of professional competence — metal on metal, the snap of a lock giving way, the satisfied grunt of a job well done.
When they reappeared, Carly was practically beaming. "You guys just saved our night. Maybe our whole week."
"Just doing our job," said one of the other firefighters — an older guy with salt-and-pepper hair who had the weathered look of someone who'd been doing this for decades.
"This is Jimmy," Izzy said, and I realized she was introducing me to her crew. "He's the nurse who took such good care of Cap when we brought him in."
The change in their demeanor was immediate and obvious. The polite professionalism shifted to something warmer, more genuine. The older firefighter — Thompson, according to his name tape — gave me an appraising look that felt like an evaluation.
"Cap speaks highly of you," he said, extending his hand for a firm shake. "Says you actually listened to him instead of just treating him like another old man complaining about pain."
"Cap's good people," I said simply. "Easy to care about."
"Damn right he is," said another firefighter — Martinez, young and eager-looking. "Man taught half the department everything they know about running a scene."
The other firefighter, who'd been quietly coiling up their entry tools, looked up. "Thanks for taking care of our guy."
It was such a simple exchange, but I could feel the weight of it. This wasn't just polite conversation. These were Cap's people, and they were taking my measure. The fact that I'd treated their mentor with respect and competence had apparently earned me something valuable — their approval.
"We should get going," Izzy said, though I noticed she didn't move toward the door immediately. "Let you guys get back to work."
Her crew started heading for the exit, but she lingered for just a moment, letting them get a few steps ahead.
"Cap's doing better, by the way," she said quietly. "Margaret said he's been sleeping through the night, and his appetite's coming back."
"That's great to hear," I said, and meant it. "I was wondering how he was doing."
"Thanks again for everything you did for him that night. For both of us."
"Just doing my job."
"No," she said, and there was something in her voice that made me look at her more carefully. "It was more than that."
We stood there for a moment, the noise of the ER fading into the background. There was something in her eyes, something that made me think about tres leches cake and the taste of possibility, about the way she'd kissed me in my kitchen and left me standing there like a lovesick teenager.
"Lieutenant?" Martinez's voice carried from the doorway. "We're good to roll."
The spell broke. Izzy's professional mask snapped back into place, but not before I caught a glimpse of something that looked like regret.
"Be safe out there," I said.
"Always am," she replied, but she was smiling when she said it.
I watched them leave, the diesel rumble of Engine 18 fading as they pulled away from the hospital. The ER settled back into its normal rhythm, but I found myself standing there for a moment longer, replaying the brief conversation, the way her crew had looked at me, the moment when her guard had dropped just enough to let me see the woman behind the lieutenant's uniform.
"Earth to Jimmy," Carly called from the charge desk. "You planning to stand there all night, or are you going to help me figure out why Room 3 is asking for a priest and a lawyer?"
