Flirting with Protocol

The shrill ringing of his cell phone woke him from a dead sleep. Looking at the screen of his phone, he knew who was calling even though the bold "UNKNOWN" flashed at him urgently. It rang again, pulling him from his stupor and he hit the green 'Send' button and held the phone to his ear. It took a moment before his brain connected to his mouth. He couldn't quite make words to say hello, so it came out a grumbled, "mmlo."

"Good morning, Sunshine." Her chipper voice so early made him groan out loud. She giggled softly, paused, and then said, "I need you." She waited for his response as his mouth went dry.

He sat up in bed, ran a hand through his dark hair, and then asked intelligently, "What the hell time is it?"

Another stifled laugh, then, "0243 hours."

Business,

he told himself,

just business. My gorgeous dispatcher is calling her paramedic supervisor, not me personally.

Yet it was still his cock that got chub just from hearing her voice. Which was always a challenge since he had heard it all damn day for the past two and a half years.

Michael attempted patience and failed, saying on a sigh, "Cal, details please."

"Grumpy this morning, boss." The smile in her voice was clear. "Joey got an eye injury patient and they're transferring it out. I need you to come in and cover for it, please. Your junior tech is already enroute HQ."

He sighed, then, "I copy. I'll be enroute shortly. See ya soon." He hung up the phone, swinging his legs out of bed.

Another partial night of sleep,

he thought.

That brings the total to too-fucking-many

.

*-*-*-*-*

Finishing the last bitter dredges of crew room coffee, Michael opened the door to dispatch to find Callie reading, bare feet propped up on her desk. Wiggling her toes to some silent music, she looked up as he entered, smiling at him distractedly. He tried not to let his eyes wander too much, but it was too damn early to expect that much self-control.

"Awesome," she said, already typing, "Can I put you in service?" He saw that she had his badge number typed into her computer, one dainty finger hovering over the 'Enter' key.

"That depends on if you know where my fucking EMT is. Who is it again?" She didn't even flinch at his mood. He briefly wondered if that was a good or a bad thing.

"That new guy, Chris Something. Seems nice. I believe he's refueling and restocking," she looked at a security monitor. "Yep. Pulling up out front now. So... You're in service now." She gave him her best Cheshire grin, knowing he hated having to come in to cover. "I need you to...," she trailed off as a harsh beep interrupted her; sitting up straight, she answered a 911 line from the area Michael was now in service for. Cal pointed at him then thumbed in the direction of the door.

Guess that's my cue

.

*-*-*-*-*

It was another bullshit call, another nursing home RN needing bigger Band-Aids. He got to his station and sat down to start on his chart for the call, grunting gruffly at his junior tech. Bad enough that the kid hadn't brought in the right bag to the care facility, then he didn't fill out the papers correctly either.

Michael's pager started singing at him, but his partner's pager was quiet.

Looks like it's not a call

. He looked down to see a page from Callie: "Be nice to him. You were new once, too. C." Michael shook his head, knowing she was right, and tried not to sigh.

"So, Chris, let's go over protocol for..."

*-*-*-*-*

The dispatch center she worked in was run like a tight ship, but she preferred it that way. People always bitched about the dispatch supervisor expecting too much from her and her coworkers, but Callie appreciated the rigor. There was too much on the line to not have expectations of perfection here.

The crews were hers to take care of; that's how she saw it. Make sure they're safe, make sure they have the help they need from their company and other EMS agencies, make sure they get there. She cared about them. And okay, maybe she cared a little too much for a particular paramedic supervisor. But he was hot! And it had been a little too long since her last man, if you could call him that.

Between 911 calls in their rural county, she could read, she could doodle, write, chat, whatever. As long as the phone got answered when it rang, it was fine. What she mostly ended up doing was daydreaming. It wasn't all dirty thoughts; maybe 20% dirty. Okay, fine, 30. Who cares? As soon as the phone rang, a switch flipped and she was Dispatcher Callie, capital D capital C.

Not that at work they were productive fantasies; they usually just served to make her more frustrated. And it was frustration she couldn't work out until she was home alone, without the responsibilities of working in EMS.

He just sounded so disgruntled on the phone that morning. So sleepy, husky. Sexy. Then later, caught up in her daydream about him, she hadn't heard him coming until his key was in the door to dispatch, so she grabbed a book and tried not to blush at him finding her daydreaming about him.

It wasn't that she wanted him, per se. Or at least that's what she told herself. He was an attractive, intelligent, educated male who she took care of, professionally.

And would like to take care of personally, if you know what I mean,

she thought.

They just flirted. That's not too inappropriate, right? It was just friendly, sometimes slightly suggestive banter. Banter that sometimes made her blush in a way not many people had been able to accomplish.

After finishing the call for a patient who had fallen and just needed help up, she surrendered to her daydream once more. She felt a calm smile drift over her face as she wandered back to the place in her mind where professionalism was strictly kept at the door, and once again found herself bare ass naked, bent over Michael's knee, and squirming.

*-*-*-*-*

She walked out to her car several hours later, grateful beyond words that her shift was over. Most calls didn't shake her. There was a wall she had constructed to remain professionally, emotionally distant from callers while still being the caring, supportive dispatcher people needed. She was a medical 911 operator; she saw all kinds of calls that would shake any normal person picking up that phone. But the calls that really got to her were calls for injured kids.

And she could still hear the mom crying on the phone, begging her to get help to her son faster.

She didn't see Michael leaning on the car next to hers until she was right next to him. He had his arms crossed over his broad chest and a slight frown touched his eyebrows.

"Heard you had a tough one, Cal."

She looked up at him and half smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes, appreciating that he cared enough to check on her, then looked away and shrugged one shoulder non-commitally. He didn't need to know that when she got home she planned on bawling her eyes out, then sleeping for ten hours before coming back for another brutal 12-hour shift.

"It's okay to care, Callie."

"Not really. If I care, I cry. If I cry, it doesn't benefit anyone or anything. It doesn't get the 4-year-old help any faster, Michael." A tear slid down her cheek and she swiped at it, frustrated with herself. "What good does it do? I have to be the eye of the storm. Calm, collected. I can't afford emotion for that."

He slung an arm around her shoulder, trying to still be the concerned friend/coworker when what he wanted to do was kiss the tear off her cheek. Instead, he pulled her under the shelter of his shoulder and squeezed her gently. Looking out across their campus, he said, "Thursday night, we're going to hang out. I would say tonight, but I know you'll be here. Thursday. We'll go get a beer, or whatever."

She looked up at his profile, seeing the curve in his nose from where a drunk had broken his nose a year ago at work. She saw his firm jaw, dotted with a full day's neglected stubble, his dark lashes framing green eyes that wouldn't look at her, wouldn't acknowledge they were stepping over that line. She just nodded, knowing he would see or feel her acceptance.

"You have my number," she said softly as she stepped away from him and into her car.

*-*-*-*-*

The next night after work, Callie was back to normal. She had cried her eyes out as predicted, and picked herself up and over it.

Shit happens,

she had told herself,

you just have to keep going.

So she did.

And now that she was feeling better, she was a bit dejected that after two and a half years of flirting, he finally asked her out and it was a pity date. Or worse, a pity friend date. Well, she wasn't going to have any of that. She didn't need that kind of thing anyway.

She was just going to take her best friend Ryann to the fair like they had planned. Rides, cotton candy, and games would be just what she wanted, and her best friend to keep her company.

I don't need his pity party. Even if he is super hot, and a big flirt, and even if I'd like to run my fingers through his hair, pull his face toward mine...

She grabbed her cell phone.

*-*-*-*-*

Michael's phone chirped announcing a new text message. Expecting shit for cancelling plans with his best friend Matt for Thursday night, he sighed and resignedly picked it up. But when he saw Callie's name on the screen, his apprehension disappeared and he grinned.

C: So, about tomorrow night...

M: Yeah?

C: You don't really have to. Thanks. I'm okay now.

Michael's smile faded.

M: You don't want to hang out?

C: It's not that... just don't want you to feel obligated.

He raised an eyebrow and ran his hand through his hair in a telling nervous gesture. This mattered, and he wasn't quite sure why. She was feeling insecure, but why? Giving up trying to puzzle it out, he pushed the 'Dial' button on the top of the screen.

"Hello?" Callie's voice sounded surprised on the other end of the line. Still stirring and feminine, but with a touch of apprehension. He was used to her being so confident and in control at work that this change was noticeable, if only minor.

He didn't bother with 'hello'. "Why would I feel obligated to take a friend for beers? Like it's so taxing."

She hesitated a moment before, "I don't know. It just isn't necessary. I'm okay. You don't have to pity me."

"Pity?"

"Yeah. We've never been out before. Rough days happen, and I'm sure you'd rather be doing something else..."

Like what, clean the litter box? Do the dishes?

he thought. Opting for tact and trying not to snort, he went for the blunt honesty that their careers required, saying, "Honey, if taking you out for beers after a hard week was a chore, I'd be as crazy as some of our patients. Relax, it's just a beer. If you don't want to go I'll just have to keep flirting with you 'til I convince you."

She smiled, biting her lip. "Well, I sortof already had plans."

"Okay. Should I be jealous?" He grinned, knowing she wasn't seeing anybody. She had made it clear in passing remarks that she wasn't looking for anything.

"Definitely," she said, keeping the laughter out of her voice for a full few seconds before giggling softly. "Ryann and I were going to hang out at the fair."

"The short, dark-haired girl? Nice. They have beer at fairs. Lots of it. And anyway, it sounds like you need chaperones. Big, manly ones who carry large sticks." He made his voice deep on the last part, enjoying flirting with her.

"Yeah, probably. You know anybody who fits that description? Because I don't." She laughed openly.

"I'm offended, young maiden. I'll have to get out my very big stick and show it to you."

Even over the phone, he could make her blush. "Really, at the fair? That's brave. Most men would be too embarrassed in such a public place."

"Okay, so tomorrow then. I'll bring a friend, too -- safety in numbers. Meet you there at 6?"

"Yep." She grinned, knowing Ryann would be proud of her for making the plans. Her dry spell was only about as long as the Bible. And where this wasn't exactly her getting out of it, it was a step in what Ryann would consider the right direction.

"Bye, doll."

"Later, Mike."

*-*-*-*-*

Somehow, Ryann's interpretation of 'just a beer' was strikingly different from Callie's. There had been times when Cal and Ryann were out somewhere and ran into Michael; these things happen in small towns. So Cal's crush on him wasn't entirely off of Ryann's radar. And of course, Ryann wanted Cal to lighten up and have fun, which she told her. Repeatedly.

And besides, you can't go to the county fair without wearing a little bit of country gear. It didn't matter if you weren't a country person—it was practically mandatory. Which is why the girls were standing in Cal's room, staring each other down over a denim skirt, cowgirl boots, and a stylish red flannel shirt with a belted waist.

"Ry, I'm not a cowgirl. I don't know any cowgirls. Where did you even find this stuff?"

"I'll try not to take offense to that; these are from my closet. Oh come on, Cal. It's fun. Dress up with me, please?" Ryann pouted, just a little. She knew she'd win this eventually.

A deep sigh, followed by "Fine. Hand me the damn clothes. But I'm not wearing my hair in pigtails." Callie pulled her jeans and t-shirt off, tossing them into a hamper nearby. She reached for the borrowed skirt as Ryann smiled triumphantly.

She pulled the skirt up over tanned, freshly shaven legs and buttoned and zipped, noticing that the skirt that wasn't too risqué on her shorter friend was definitely sexy on her longer legs. Pulling it down to adjust the length only bared more smooth skin at the top, but brought the skirt to what Cal considered a more appropriate length for a 'friend thing'. The shirt cinched in at the waist with a wide black belt, the bottom hem meeting the top of the skirt so that when she moved, there were glimpses of skin between the two.

She pulled on the boots, and left her light brown hair to fall in wavy lengths down just past her shoulders. "Okay, it's not so bad. You win." She slid on some neutral lip gloss, brushed some mascara on her long eyelashes, and then announced she was ready to go. Ryann reached over and undid one more button on Cal's top, then gestured toward the door.

*-*-*-*-*

Michael scuffed his shoe in the dirt of the parking lot, half-listening to what Matt was saying. When he sensed Matt was waiting for a response to something, he just said, "Uh-huh."

"Really? You think it would be best if you gave me your Xbox? That's great; I'll come get it tomorrow." He punched Michael lightly on the arm. "I know you're nervous about tonight, but sheesh. Calm down, bro."

Michael ran his hand through his hair, then shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm not nervous, okay? It's just, we haven't hung out before outside of work. It'll be fine. No worries."

Matt laughed. "Yeah, no worries? I can see that." He rolled his eyes. "Chill, we'll get a beer, go on some rides. Loosen up, it'll be fun."

The girls pulled up in Ryann's new red Beetle, parking nearby. They met up with the guys, Michael and Cal making introductions before they headed into the fair.

They stopped inside the front gate at a booth to purchase bracelets and game tickets, and then made their way inside, chatting amicably and dodging screaming children and sulky teens.

The first ride they came to was the bumper cars. Cal stopped mid-sentence when she saw them, grabbed Michael's arm and dragged him over, determined to drive them. They stood in line behind a group of loud teenage girls, a few of whom were not-so-subtly checking out Michael as they stood there.

"Looks like you have a fan club, mister," Cal said, elbowing him in the side and gesturing with her head toward the girls. "Should I get their numbers for you?" She goaded him, enjoying the slight blush sliding across his cheeks.

"Yeah, maybe 10 years ago. Should I break their hearts?" he asked, grabbing Cal around the waist and dragging her up against his body. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he nuzzled her neck and dropped his mouth down to right next to ear. He was so close she could feel his breath heat her ear.

Trying to keep steady legs under her and a smile on her face as the line advanced, Cal tried not to lean against his firm chest.

"Is it working?" he breathed, his voice husky.

"...that depends entirely on your goal, Michael," Cal said, looking at the disappointed looks on the girls' faces.

He grinned at her, pulling away slightly but leaving his arm draped around her waist. "My goal, doll, was to make you blush. I love it when you do that. And I see that that's score 1 for Team Michael." She swatted his chest playfully.

"You don't make me blush. It's just... the sun."

"Right," he said, winking at her.

When it was their turn, she jogged to the car with her favorite number on it -- number 8. Michael took number 17 next to her, his eyes glued to the hem of her skirt as she bent over to grab the seat belt ends off the floor before lifting her legs high to climb in. He kept praying for a gust of wind to lift it, for her to bend just a little too far. Fate must have been on his side because right as she was climbing in, he caught a glimpse of shiny teal panties, tightly caressing the smooth skin of her ass. Just for a moment, and then it was gone.

And that's all it took for him to go almost full-mast.

At the sound of the whistle, they drove off, circling each other around the large track, taking every chance to ram into each other. They called to each other, challenging and flirting. She blew him a kiss after one particularly hard hit as she T-boned the side of his bumper car, then drove off laughing. The excitement and adrenaline kissed her cheeks with a red tint, a smile never leaving her face.

As the whistle sounded again, calling an end to the violence that was simulated car crashes, Mike climbed out of his car, crowing his victory.

"How can you win at bumper cars?" Callie asked, laughing as she accepted the hand he offered her to help her out of the car.

"It's all about attitude." He held onto her hand as they strolled out of the corral. They wandered down an aisle of venders, looking for Ryann and Matt, who had gone off in search of hot pretzels and nachos. They found the two in front of the petting zoo, animatedly discussing Molly, the blue ribbon pig that year who had managed to sweet-talk Matt out of his nachos.

Ry spotted Mike holding onto Callie's hand somewhat possessively and winked at her friend. Callie blushed and tried to drop Michael's hand, but he held on and brought her knuckles to his mouth, brushing them in a soft kiss that sent warm shivers shooting low in her belly.

Callie looked over Ry's shoulder and saw a woman selling bathing suits, sarongs and other clothing at a stall. She put her arm through Ryann's and pulled her in that direction, telling her how she creamed Mike at the bumper cars, making sure he heard her bragging. He hung his head in mock shame over losing to a girl and laughed as they sauntered off.

"So, you rammed her, huh?" Matt asked, laughing at the innuendo in his question.

Mike punched him playfully on the arm, "Har, har, you Neanderthal."

"If I were a Neanderthal, I'd take that shortie you left me with and toss her over my shoulder. Carry her back to my cave and show her my club." Matt winked lewdly, and Mike just rolled his eyes, used to his friend's outrageous sense of humor.

"Looks like they might try on a suit. Better go lend them our gentlemen's opinion," Matt grunted, following the girls.

Hands in his pockets, Michael followed, trying to keep the image of that glimpse of Callie's panties out of his mind -- unsuccessfully -- so he could keep his cock from standing at attention. The image of her in some of those skimpy swimsuits did nothing to help the situation.