AN: Sorry that took longer than expected. Not much longer for the conclusion of this story now, though :)
As always, my gratitude goes out to the wonderful people who were so kind to let me know their thoughts on this story! Have fun!
-o- Brothers -o-
Each Fire House was a family in itself, but that didn't mean for one second that firefighters from different houses were anything but brothers in arms. They had, after all, the same common passion for saving lives and the same deep understanding that each shift could be their last. It was something that almost came with the gear.
Herrmann, having switch shifts because of a parents' meeting at his kids' school that Cindy hadn't been able to attend, had a bad feeling about that particular call as soon as he jumped out of trunk 81. Skyscrapers on fire were always a bitch to get under control and, even though he trusted his fellow firefighters from 1st watch in equal terms, it just wasn't the same as working with Lt. Casey and the guys. These were his brothers too, granted, but the guys in his team were like extensions of himself.
When the warning came from dispatch that there was one of them inside, a Gabriela Dawson from Firehouse 51, Herrmann had felt his heart drop south and land somewhere between his boots.
He looked up at the smoking building, the orange glow of flames already licking the air behind the windows of the first floors, a power keg waiting to go off. "Jesus, Dawson, what the hell...?"
Fighting against the urge to rush into the burning building and look for the sassy paramedic, Herrmann looked at his current lieutenant for orders. "Please say search and rescue of top floors, please say search and rescue of top floors..." he whispered to himself, wondering if there was any time to call Casey and warn him of what was happening to his girl.
After having coordinated with the other Lieutenants in order to evacuate the tenants' side of the building, it was up to his crew to make sure there was no one left in the various business floors and servicing elevators. "Okay... Silva, Pfeifer, Smith, Bowman, Trout and Herrmann, you guys start on the first floor, check those elevators and sweep the building towards 50. The rest of you, you're with me," Lt. Morrison said, looking at the remaining group. "We know that Dawson from 51 will be leading a group of people from the restaurant at the top floor down to the 8th floor. House 65 will be in charge of making sure they get out safely. Our job," he said, picking up his mask, "is making sure that no one is left behind between 50 and the top floor. Let's go!"
Herrmann jumped to action, his anxiety easing up a inch at the lieutenant's words. He wasn't twenty anymore and the prospect of going up 50 floors in full gear was not something even twenty year old would be eager to do. And even though house 65 would be the one taking care of Dawson and her flock, he could at least make sure for himself that she was okay as he passed by 8th.
As soon as they got inside the building, a wall of heat fell on the them, making each and every firefighter grateful for the heavy gear that they were carrying and that allowed them to keep on breathing. Herrmann just wished that someone would remember to invent some kind of sweepers or something for the sweat running down his face. Come to think of it... he could look into that. Later.
"Trout, Silva, deal with the elevators," their lieutenant called out. "The rest of you, start climbing!"
"Elevator 1 is on fire," Silva shouted over the comm. "If there was anyone in there, they're long gone."
"Elevator 2 is stuck midway between 41 and 40," Trout pointed out, knowing that the team swiping the floors, listening in, would check the lift's car when they got to 41. "We need to cut the power," he added, already racing to the panel. The last thing they needed was for that elevator to join the other in a blaze of flames, especially if there was somebody inside.
Silva stood still, looking at the red digits that told them where the elevators were at, waiting for the lights to go out and signal that Trout had already cut the power. As he watched, the number that had been dancing from 41 to 40 flickered and changed, going from 41 to 35 in seconds just before the power went off. "Shit!"
"What?" Trout asked, joining him.
"I don't think that elevator is gonna be up much longer," Silva pointed out gloomy. "Guys, someone needs to haul ass to 35, like... right NOW!"
-o-
The sleeve of the their impromptu rope dangled at an odd angle from the ceiling opening, Andy's anxious expression at the other end of the fragile looking fabric not making it any easier to believe that it would work.
With a silent prayer to some deity that he wasn't sure he believed anymore, Matt pushed off his feet and grabbed the edge of the sleeve. His head protested against the sudden change in position and black spots danced at the edge of his vision. He stood quiet for a few seconds, catching his breath as he dangled in mid air, hoping against hope that his body wouldn't choose that exact moment to betray him.
"Hurry the hell up!" Andy's voice sounded strained, barely audible with the effort of supporting all 190 plus pounds of firefighter in his hands.
Matt ignored his body and followed Andy's voice. It could almost be described as one of those mind-over-matter things, if it still counted when it was Andy's mind over Matt's matter. The muscles on his back protested and spasmed all the way to his neck as he pulled himself up, inch by torturous inch until his fingers brushed against the edge of the opening.
He could feel Andy's hands all over his clothes, grasping and pulling blindly. Matt helped as much as he could, but by the time he dropped next to Andy he was out of breath and his vision had narrowed down to a slim stripe of black and white image. A film noir, framed by an orange glow fire.
"Okay... okay," Andy sounded as out of breathe as Matt felt. "I can see the door up there. I think we ca—"
-o-
The remaining cable, strained beyond any hope of feasibility, snapped, white sparkles flying from the wall as it collided with it with a whip lashing sound.
The elevator car dropped abruptly, no warning other than the scrapping of metal against metal, mechanical claws trying to fight gravity before the pull became too much.
Andy opened his mouth to scream, even though nothing but air came rushing out. He grappled around blindly, survival instinct telling him that if he didn't hold on to something, anything, he was dead.
There was no point, though. The whole structure was falling and anything he could grasp was condemned to same downward voyage. In lieu of salvation, Andy grabbed on to the only source of comfort he could have in his death. The other man dying by his side.
-o-
For a split of a moment, Matt, already nauseous from the effort of climbing out, thought that the falling sensation was just inside his head. His hands flew to the sides, trying to hold on to something that would help him set apart up from down before he lost the fight with his stomach again.
The reality of what was really happening arrived with sharp lucidity.
They were in free fall in microseconds, cables hissing and snapping like snakes around them. Matt could feel Andy's hands, holding onto his shirt.
When his fingers brushed against a random cable, Matt didn't think about the effect of attrition between fast falling limbs and motionless metal. He just wrapped his hand around it and latched on as hard as he could.
Matt grunted, closing his eyes against the pain. Metal sliced his palm open, hot knife going through butter, cutting so deeply that the firefighter feared that his fingers would fall off and they would both die.
By some miracle, when Matt managed to stop their downward momentum, his fingers were still attached to his hand and, what was more important to him at that very moment, Andy was still grabbing on to his shirt.
"Not letting you die, Andy," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke and pain. "Not again."