A/N: Just a small story driven by the prompt "Waking up and seeing the empty spot in the bed beside me...I wish you were here right now." Dedicated to Harrimaniac27 as a thank-you for the lovely fic request written for me. Enjoy!

(This was rewritten because I just wasn't quite happy with it the first time. I really do hope you enjoy!)

I wake up, cold and shivering, despite the warmth of July seeping throughout the station. My gaze immediately falls to the empty bed beside me, and I immediately remember why.

The inferno had engulfed the house, but there were still reports of people inside. Roy and I had taken the second floor, vigilant of any signs from them. Roy came out of the last room we had to check and gave me a thumbs-up. We were all clear; nobody was on this floor.

I stand up and pull on my turnout pants before making my way into the bathroom. The cool marbled surface of the sink greets my hands as I lean my weight into them. I look into the mirror and the face that it reveals is a mess. It has to be lying. That person is not me.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Only one more floor to go. Roy lifted the HT to his mask and shouted the good news above the increasing protests of the house and the glee of the beast consuming it. I nodded as Roy signaled we move on.

I splash the running cold water on my face and scrub the filmy sweat off with my hands. I locate a towel, and then dry off before heading off to my bed again.

He took only a few steps forward before panic filled his eyes. Instinctively, I reached out for him, but we never touched. He had fallen through the first floor and continued to the debris-covered concrete basement below.

The sound of soft breathing fills the air as I silently make my way into the dormitory. It's a comforting, familiar sound except for the one person who's off. I look at the bed occupied by Charlie Dwyer and notice how out-of-place he seems amongst the rest of the A-shift crew. It wasn't that he was any different from the guys, he just...wasn't Roy.

I panicked and began to breathe too quickly. I didn't remember going down the stairs, I just remember the basement door giving in easily. Whether it was because of the adrenaline coursing through my veins or because the door was weakened with age and abuse, I don't know. I'm just glad it did.

"Roy!" I screamed in a futile hope. I couldn't hear myself over the noise above us. "ROY!" I removed my SCBA mask, not giving a thought to what anyone would say if they caught me without it.

I swam through the debris, until I saw the familiar outline glowing like a coal ember. "Oh, God. Roy, no." I whisper as my throat stopped up with smoke and stomach acid. I didn't have to check; the red stains on the wood in his chest inked the story.

I head towards my bed, but stop as I notice a force pulling me the other direction. Turning, I realize it's Roy's empty bed.

I tentatively step towards it until I'm at the edge where I slowly slide out of my turnout pants in preparation for an alarm. When they're ready for use again, I slide into Roy's bed and immediately feel the indent of his body in the mattress. It fits my profile and brings with it the soothing aura of familiarity. I can also smell his aftershave; it's spiced but with a soft edge, an intimate aroma.

I double over, releasing the feelings that had pushed their way up for my stomach. I can't breathe, and I'm not sure if that's because I don't have oxygen or because of Roy. I don't want a single clean breath; I need to hold out. I need to be punished for not catching Roy. If I had reached just a bit faster, a bit farther, we would be leaving this death-trap and laughing at each other's soot-covered face.

I don't want to be here. I want to be back at the station, showering in the stall next to Roy's, tossing jokes at one another. I want to be at his house, complimenting Joanne's cooking, not having to explain to her and the kids how I killed their husband and father.

Thankfully, the smoke came snaking down around me, settling in a thick haze that slowly lifted me out of this hell towards a waking conscious.

When I reach under the pillow to pull the scent into me, I hear a soft rustle as my fingers brush against something. I gently close my fingers around it, mindful of the other sleeping. I tenderly bring it to my face to inspect it in the almost nonexistent light. It's a note, written in Roy's handwriting. I peer around at the others to make sure they're sleeping. Soft snores return from all around.

I squint my eyes as I read the treasured paper.

"Junior, I know I'm not there right now, so just hang on. I won't be on vacation long. Promise. -Roy"

I exhale a breath of relief. Roy is safe. Safe. I like the feel of that word in my mouth. He'll be back in two shifts, and we can laugh off this unwarranted nightmare. A smile creeps across my face as a peaceful sleep takes me to much-needed rest.