Leaves Chapter 1, a glee fanfic

So, I'm practically done my other fic, and I've been spending every minute trying to work out a new story line. And I came up with a kind of rough idea; unfortunately, it is a O/C story. Unfortunately for you, that is, because I know they aren't favorable. But stuff it. I love them like I love sniffing glue, but I know not all people roll that way. Oh, and I occasionally like to burst out in random swears, so be warned.

Please Review!

Understanding my way of Song: Girls are always italics; guys are always bold, girls and guys are both, this isn't too hard to understand.

Declaimer: As much as that would be great, I don't own Glee, or any music used in this particular fanfic.

Near the end of June

My favorite song came on the radio. That, along with the bright sunny atmosphere in the flat, the smell of sautéed vegetable and my comfortable sweats, nothing could stop me.

I haven't been to church, since I don't remember when.
Things were going great, til they fell apart again
So I listened to the preacher, as he told me what to do
He said "You can't go hatin' others who have done wrong to you,
Sometimes we get angry but we must not condemn.
Let the good Lord do his job, you just pray for them.

From behind me I heard the heavy thump, thump, thump of heavy boots against the stairs; I smiled when the men entered the room, not taking my eyes off the frying vegetables. A dark hand snuck up and grabbed a hot chunk of cucumber, hissing when the temperature sizzled against the dirty fingers.

I pray your brakes go out runnin' down a hill.
I pray a flower pot falls from a window sill,
And knocks you in the head like I'd like to.
I pray your birthday comes and nobody calls.
I pray you're flyin' high when your engine stalls.
I pray all your dreams never come true.
Just know wherever you are, honey,
I pray for you.

I hummed along, letting the deep voice of the men take over, filling the air. It must have gone pretty good; the bell had only rang a little over two hours ago. For traveling across all of Columbia, this team had to be the best; and they were all mine.

I'm really glad I found my way to church.
Cause I'm already feelin' better, and I thank God for the words.
Yeah, I'm gonna take the high road and do what the Preacher told me to do.
You keep messin' up, and I'll keep prayin' for you.

I pray your tire goes out at 110.
I pray you pass out drunk with your best friend,
And wake up with his and her tattoos.

I dished the vegetables onto the rice in that had been waiting for the sauce. Grabbing a large wooden spoon, I shoved it into the dinner and picked up the wide glass, sliding down the length of the wooden floors and plopping it in front of the ashy men. The spoon was quickly scooped from the glass to the plate.

The men fell silent, always loving me to finish up the song. I wasn't particularly good, not compared to my favorite cousin, but it was 'rich and innocent', so I obliged every time with a smile.

I pray for you.

"Amen!" the men yelled, throwing their glasses to the air and sloshing the water to the table. Yes, it must have gone fairly well. I sat down beside the Chief, smiling and accepting a clean glass of water.

The dish was quickly finished off, and I leaned back in my chair, balancing against back legs. Dad stood shortly after, joined slowly by Lenny. They dragged me to my feet and out the door, holding tightly to my elbows.

Laughing I looked over my shoulder, waving to the grinning grey men, still in their 'work' clothes. Seven echo's of goodbye as the door shut, but not one thank-you. Well, that's what you get, working with the men of service.

We only lived a few blocks from the station, and Lenny lived between us. The car barely rolled to a stop before the tall man was out the door, grinning and waving as he retreated into the apartment.

"So, how was it?" I asked, walking out of the beat up car and joining my father at the front. He was tall, and on the butcher side, with balding brown hair and blue-grey eyes. Thankfully all I inherited was the eyes.

"Just the usual, nothing to bad. We went for hot dog after; nice lady even gave me a wink." I laughed as he nudged my shoulder, letting me know he would never dream of hooking up with a hotdog seller. Like I didn't know that. "You coming back in with us tomorrow?"

"Of course! What else would I do on a Saturday on my summer vacation?" He pulled me into a tight hug, kissing my light brown hair line and pushing me towards my bedroom door. "G'night dad, love you!"

"Love you more!" I giggled and shut my door, quietly locking it behind me; it was a practice I had been doing for years. That little bit of safety that left during the night. I pulled a black tee out of my dresser, slipping it on and my lamp off before walking over to the window.

I loved this sight. I loved the city. All the lights that flickered and winked at me from four floors down, the culture and mixed people, I loved it all.

Smiling quiet contently, I snuggled into bed, curling around my extra pillow and nuzzling the soft blankets to my chin.

XOXOXOXOXOXO

I was always a light sleeper, and they always said the loss of sleep would be the death of me. Ha on them, I thought, snapping my eyes open. If I was a heavy sleeper, like, say, my father, I wouldn't have smelt the smoke oozing through the air.

I jumped out of bed, forgetting the emergency backpack on the floor. This had been drilled into me since I was young enough to understand the threat. The smell was feint, but caution still had me placing a hand to the door. No heat, but the smell was getting stronger. I twisted the knob and crossed the hall, sliding into the open door.

"Daddy. Daddy," I shook his shoulder gently, smiling into his face, even though this wasn't something to smile at. His eyes flashed open, and he grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the hall and down the first flight of stairs.

We pushed through the second emergency exit, flanked by a few others from the surrounding apartments. We reached the second floor when Margret – our neighbor – attempted to push by us, back up the stairs.

"Marge, you can't go back up there," Dad said, grabbing her by the arm. The air was thick with smoke and I could hear the crackle of burning wood.

"Y-you don't- Katy-katys up there- I have too- have too…" she covered her face with a shaking hand. Friday nights was Bingo, which explained a lot. We hadn't met very many people, because everyone but the children went to Friday night Bingo.

My dad turned to me, crooked smile and apologetic eyes. "Sweetie, I need to get Katy, take Marge?"

I clenched my teeth, but took the woman's hand, pulling her past the railing and whispering a "be carefully" to my father.

Completely unnecessary, I know, it's been his job for years. He's been saving people since before I was born. He was the senior that taught the newbies. He was the one they went to to ask all the questions. He would be fine. I had to believe it.

Margret started pulling against my resisting arm, trying to get to her three year old daughter. "Marge. Do you trust dad?" she nodded, "good. Then let him do his job." She stopped resisting and let me pull her through the third door.

The smoke had begun to sting my eyes, and I stooped low, trying to keep it from affecting my throat. The crackling of the fire made my heart race, but I could see the door. It was just down the hall, we would defiantly make it.

Through the crackle of the flames, I heard a heart stopping sound. No, not the creak of wood weakening, not the alarms of the trucks I had become accustom to. No, it was the sound of crying.

I didn't really have to think about it; I was around people saving people my entire life. The smell of smoke was so familiar in their uniforms that it wasn't what scared me. It was the doom that would meet the wailing voice. I stopped at the door, number seven. Four doors from fresh air, four doors from life.

I let go of Marge's hand, pushing her roughly to the door. Motioning for her to go. I was scared, as I stood at the door, the heat and smoke finally getting to me, to the voice. I waited, and waited. But dad wasn't coming. How long did it take to get one little three year old? Too long, as coughing echoed through the smoke.

My heart pounded in my ears, and my foot struck the frail wooden door. It was too late to turn back now. I sucked in a breath and plunged into the dark room, locating the cradle quickly. It was in a far room, and the handle was still cold. That was a good sign, I was sure.

I picked up the little boy, probably about five, don't ask what he was doing in a crib, and gently put his chubby legs to the ground. Taking his hand, I pulled him to the attached bathroom, handing him a soaked hand towel and grabbing one for myself. The room was filling with smoke faster than I liked.

Sinking to my knees, I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hold this over your mouth, okay? Keep low to the ground, but don't let go of me." My voice sounded strained, but I was taken aback at the calmness of it. He nodded through his tears, and I was surprised of the bravery of the munchkin.

I placed the cold cloth over my mouth, heading back out the door. The state of the bedroom scared me. The smoke had billowed in, filling it with dark dread. I tightened my hold on the small hand, crawling on my knees and attempting to get under the smoke.

When we finally reached the hall, I ushered the boy ahead of me, trying to see through the smoke. My eyes started to sing, but they wouldn't dampen. Keeping to the side of the hall, I used it to lead us to the doors.

A low moan, loud pop of fire, and slow panic as the door beside us erupted in flame. I pushed to boy ahead of me, throwing my cloth away when I realized the heat had long dissolve the liquid.

My heart leapt into my throat as we neared the last door, the sounds had long faded. I flew myself forward, above the boy and angled my arm above me. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

A horse scream of pain left my mouth as the burning metal of the door hissed against my bare skin. The boy stood and raced to the opening, leaving me to crawl out from the door. I stumbled forward, cradling my arm to my chest.

I couldn't really feel it. That is, until I was pulled into an angry hug. Another scream left my numb lips and Lenny pulled away, handing me warm bottle, lips moving with words, but I ignored him, stinging eyes flickering around parking lot.

Ladder 23, I should have known, why else would Lenny and Steve and Chief be around the front door, waiting? I saw the little boy, and, presumably, his parents; a rough head count was at fifty. Not that that really helped me. My icey blue eyes sorted through the people, not pausing when they didn't have the qualities I was looking for. But that's when I saw Marge standing on the street. Alone.

I turned towards the apartment, falling to my knees when the building burst into one flame. Hot air blew back my hair as the flames hit the gas pipe. The building gave one final struggle and crumpled. Rubble of fire exploded to the ground, one landing not two feet from me.

I couldn't hear the screams. One moment in particular stuck out at me as strong arms wrapped around my torso, keeping me back. I fought them, to no luck. There was just no way I could fight off a firefighter. The noise finally flooded back to me.

Past the roar of fire, the wail of sirens, the crying people, missing what few possessions the apartments held, but one voice rang clear to my ears. One of absolute pain; that, and knowing.

"Daddy!"

Songs: I'll pray for you; Jaron and the long road to love. (I do not own you)