There seemed to be some interest for this when I previewed it on Tumblr, so I rewrote my 'proposal' and decided to post it here. Hopefully, my updates will be timely, and I hope you guys like this. It's obviously AU, but it's better that way. Enjoy.

- One -

Dr. Logan Mitchell glanced up at the analog clock on the wall, the hands moving slower than he'd ever thought possible. Though he'd only been on duty for an hour, it had been a slow night. The emergency room was full of inebriated college students and feverish children, nothing to worry about. He diagnosed each of them before assigning them a nurse, moving on quickly to his next patient.

Most nights he would have had a partner for this shift, another doctor that would take away some of the pressure, but tonight he'd sent Dr. Benson home early, so he could be with his own sick child. He could only hope that he wouldn't regret the decision later.

But as he treated an elderly woman who had mistaken her chest pains for a heart attack, when they were actually caused by a little heartburn, a call came in from the fire department that there'd been a fire, and the casualties were on their way in.

He jumped into action, grabbing his most capable nurses before heading toward the door where the ambulance would pull up. As soon as the flashing lights came into view, he was ready, moving quickly to the back doors of the ambulance, standing back to give the gurney clearance, before quickly leading the team to an examination room.

Looking down at his patient, he almost felt sick, something that had happened very rarely since his first days in medical school. Burns covered most of the patient's body, inflamed and pulsing with heat. What skin remained on his chest was charred and swollen, and it was all made worse by the fact it was a tiny body. This patient, mostly burned flesh and labored breathing, couldn't have been more than ten years old.

Searching the group for someone to explain the circumstances of the boy's condition, his eyes fell on a man at the back of the crowd, towering over the small army of nurses that began to strip scraps of cloth off of the boy's exposed muscles, careful not to remove his skin. The man looked stunned by the sight in front of him, but he still had his wits together, and Logan quickly noted the patterns of sweat on his gray shirt, emblazoned with the insignia of the Los Angeles Fire Department. A quick look down confirmed the man's profession, still wearing his fire gear below his waist.

He caught the man's eyes, green irises wracked with concern, and asked him specifically, "What happened?"

The man stepped forward, ready to do what he could under the circumstances, and looked down at the boy once more, before his stomach churned and he looked up at Logan's face instead, "An apartment building. We thought everybody was out, but then I heard him screaming. He was in the basement. He almost made it out on his own, but the smoke…"

Logan nodded, reaching for an oxygen mask to cover the boy's face, hoping that the air would breathe life into his lungs, before asking, "Was there anyone else?"

"His mother," the firefighter confirmed, but his face dropped. "By the time we found her it was too late. There was no sign of anyone else in the apartment."

Logan stared at the boy sympathetically. Burns covered more than half of his body, and as the nurses cleaned him up it was obvious that he had a long fight ahead. He ordered more morphine, trying to sedate the boy, who had never regained consciousness. For once, this was a good thing, as the healing would make his condition less painful when he came to.

When he looked up again, the firefighter had withdrawn, and he had his suspicions that the man's stomach had gotten the best of him. Logan wished he could have thanked the man, who'd gone into a burning building to bring his patient this far, and set to work doing what he could for the boy.

Hours later, he hovered over the boy, who was covered head to toe in clean gauze, hooked up to machines that showed he was in no immediate danger, though he was at risk for infection and would need months to heal from the damage the flames had so quickly wrought. He'd been relieved only moments ago by another doctor, his shift over, but he came to check on his patient before going home.

He tried his best not to get attached to his patients, but it was so hard not to with the boy, whose face was the only feature not touched by the flames. The back of his hands showed that he'd been smart enough to protect his face, which would save him plenty of plastic surgery down the line. Though an untrained eye would think he was sleeping peacefully, Logan saw the furrow in his brow and knew that the morphine wasn't able to mute the pain, only dull it. Scanning the boy's file for the thousandth time that night, he discovered that Social Services had finally gotten around to identifying him.

His name was Charlie Evans, and he had just turned nine last month. His mother was his only known relative, and the two had only been living in Los Angeles for a few months. That explained why none of their neighbors thought to check on them when the fire broke out. He shook his head, knowing that emotional support was just as critical as medical treatment in situations like this, and he vowed to make the boy a special case.

As two nurses entered to change his gauze, a process that would be repeated every few hours for the next couple of weeks, he withdrew to the hallway, about to go home. As much as he'd like to stick around to monitor Charlie's condition, it had been a long night, one of his longest, and he needed to tumble face first into his bed and sleep it off. Dazedly, he walked toward the doors, before noticing a distinguished set of boots, leaned against a row of chairs in the waiting room.

Sure enough, on closer inspection, he found the firefighter, his gear placed in a pile on the floor, fast asleep across a row of chairs. Other patients were glancing at him curiously, and Logan couldn't help but smile at the way his large frame folded neatly into the uncomfortable chairs. Using his back to block the view of the other occupants in the waiting room, he nudged the man as gently as he could.

Green eyes burst open, and Logan quickly realized that waking up to a fire alarm on a nightly basis would make anyone jumpy. He put a calm hand on the man's shoulder, regulating his quickened heartbeat, and showing that there was no reason to panic.

Sitting up slowly, the man only had one thought, and quickly asked, "How is he?"

Logan put on his diagnosis smile, enough to be comforting and optimistic, but to obviously show his concern, "Well, his body is about sixty percent burned, but as long as we can keep his heart rate down, his breathing consistent, and fight any infections, he'll be healing in no time. The kid's a fighter."

Years of experience fighting fires gave the man enough foresight to know what was ahead, but he asked anyway, "So what's next?"

"Well we're going to try and keep him stable, and sometime today he'll see the burn specialist. He'll also have a pediatrician, though his records show no record of one, and of course I'll be supervising. I've asked to be assigned his case."

"He got you too, huh?" the man asked, a grin appearing on his face. Logan immediately noticed his dimples, which transformed his foreboding presence into something more human and attainable.

Logan nodded, "You know, if you want updates on his condition, you should talk to…"

"I already tried, but the lady at the desk said that I had to be a family member to be put on his list of contacts. I mean, I don't even know the kid's name-"

"It's Charlie," Logan provided him. "Social Services came by a little while ago. Charlie Evans, and as you probably suspected, he has no family. The kid's alone in the world."

The grin disappeared, and he knew that the other man was probably having the same thoughts he'd had only minutes earlier. He nodded, adding, "Poor kid."

They paused a moment, and Logan looked over the tired figure, his face still smudged with soot from where his mask had sat only hours ago. He remembered vaguely that the man had revealed that he'd been the one to find the boy, and realized that he must have been just as exhausted from the night's events, if not more.

"I might be off the clock, but I know the signs of exhaustion when I see them," he added, as the tired eyes glanced up at him, unable to argue. "Do you need a ride back to the station?"

"You'd do that for me?" the man asked, before adding. "You don't even know me."

The eyes flitted down to read the nametag pinned to his white coat, and he introduced himself, wondering why it hadn't occurred to him earlier, "I know that you risked your life to save that kid, and that's enough. Dr. Mitchell, but you can call me Logan. Unless you end up as my patient, which I sincerely hope you avoid."

The man couldn't help but grin, dimples lighting up his face, "Kendall Knight. And now I guess I can take you up on your offer."

Before Kendall could object, Logan bent down to grab the pair of rather heavy steel-toed boots, lifting them with ease, which surprised the firefighter, shocked by the young doctor's strength. After all, doctors were known for their brains, not their brawn. Leading them out to his car, Logan asked which company he belonged to, realizing that the fire station was only blocks away from his apartment.

The drive was short, and Kendall turned up the volume on a favorite song, already comfortable in the presence of the other man. Logan couldn't explain the feeling of kinship between them, but he knew it was rare, and he wasn't about to complain. Long hours and night shifts had turned him into a sort of hermit, and he wondered if this was the last time he'd see the well-built firefighter. Somehow, he doubted it.

As they pulled up to the fire station, Kendall hesitated before asking, "I was wondering if I could get your number…for updates on Charlie, unless that's against protocol or something. I don't want to get you in trouble."

Though out of practice, Logan felt there was a trace of flirtation to the man's question, before shaking the thought. There was a nine year old in ICU that they were both very worried about, and it was only natural that Kendall would want to stay updated on the boy's condition. After all, he'd saved the boy's life.

Logan could only nod, and Kendall reached out his arm, nodding toward the fire station, "My phone is in there. Do you have a pen?"

Reaching into the pocket of his lab coat, he was unable to shake the feeling of writing a prescription. Take me to bed, and call me in the morning. He choked on his own thought, unable to look into those fascinating green eyes as he scribbled the digits across Kendall's forearm, trying to ignore the intimacy of the other man's warm skin under his fingertips.

"I should probably give you mine as well," Kendall encouraged. "In case something comes up."

Once again he nodded, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone before handing it to the other man, who looked up, evidently noticing the blush that forced its way to Logan's pale cheeks, before he finished typing in his information. After grabbing his gear out of the back seat, he gave the other man a smile and a quick wave before heading into the station.

Only a few moments later, Logan's phone went off, and he saw a text from the name that was cycling through his head, "I should've thanked you for the ride. Get some sleep, you deserve it. And let me know if anything happens with Charlie. Thanks."

He smiled, enamored with the idea of being so attached to someone so quickly. He should have known, the way the man had stuck out of the crowd last night, that there was something different about him. After all, he texted with perfect grammar, among the admirable qualities that Logan began to list in his head as he tried to argue with himself that no this was not a crush.

He did not have a crush on the hot firefighter that had walked through the emergency room doors last night after saving a nine year old boy from a blaze. That was far too cliché and feminine, and he wouldn't have it. Except he would, if given a fighting chance.